“Fuck, Dyl. That sounds shitty.”
“Yup, it’s definitely shitty.”
“So, if I see this happening to you, is there anything I can do to stop it? Even though you might not know it’s coming?”
He lets out a sigh. “That can be hard because I might tear your head off,” he laughs. “The other thing is that there’s almost always a ‘point of no return.’ If I’m heading down the road toward a full-scale meltdown, I have up to a certain point to try and avoid it—but if I pass that point, it’s like I’ve missed the last exit, and it’s gonna happen no matter what I do. And the shittiest part about it is that I never know exactly where the ‘point of no return’ is. If things are getting loud and chaotic, sometimes I can handle it for a long time, getting overwhelmed. But other times, I’ll start to feel overloaded, and then something will trigger me, and I go from zero to one hundred in one minute, meaning I barely have time to even recognize the signals, let alone react.”
I shake my head. How anyone copes with this disorder, I don’t know. It sounds horrible.
“I can predict some things but not everything. It can also be related to what kind of day I’ve had, how well I’ve been taking care of myself, how much sleep I’ve been getting, et cetera, et cetera. There are a lot of different factors.”
“Jesus, Dylan, that sounds like a lot,” I say. I desperately want to offer him comfort, to reach out and touch him, but I know that won’t necessarily work, and there’s a good chance it could make him feel worse.
“It is a lot,” he says simply. “When I’m in the middle of it, It’s like the only thing I can do isfeel. And I feeleverything: every noise, every light, every smell, everywhere my clothes touch my skin. I hear the hum of the air conditioner working in the background, the sound of cutlery scraping on plates, the sound of a coffee machine, everything. My brain tries to process every single tiny point of sensory input all at the same time.”
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“Yeah. Another crappy thing is that there’s usually somewhere in my brain that can see what’s happening and wants to stop it, but there’s no way to override my nervous system.”
Dylan’s voice has gone flat, so I know he’s starting to feel stressed, but I just need to know one more thing.
“I don’t want to upset you, Dyl. I know it’s hard to even talk about something that bothers you so much. I just really need to know one thing: how can I help you? Is there anything I can do if I notice you might be getting overwhelmed?”
Dylan gifts me with a huge smile and turns around so he’s crawling across the length of the couch toward me. Which, considering his height and size, doesn’t look quite right. He notices I’m biting my lip, and then he starts to laugh too. “Okay, I was trying to be sexy, but it probably didn’t look like I thought it would,” he says, and we both laugh. It’s a needed respite from our serious conversation.
“Baby, I always think you’re sexy. Always.” I grin at him, and I’m rewarded with a gentle kiss.
He shifts again so he’s straddling my lap, but he sits back far enough so we can still talk.
“You need to remember that sometimes it’s going to happen, no matter what. Sometimes you can’t really help. But your best bet is probably trying to get me out of the problem situation. Like I said, there’s no stopping a true autistic meltdown.
“Personally, I struggle a lot with shame and embarrassment if it happens to me in public. So the fewer people that see me having a meltdown, the easier it will be for me to regroup afterwards.”
I know this is the reality he deals with every day, but god, I hate that he feels shame because of his autism. I rest my head on the back of the couch as Dylan shimmies a little closer to me. He looks down at me, his gaze open and trusting.
“I wish you didn’t have to feel that way,” I say, reaching up to caress his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into me, that catlike move that makes my heart flutter. “Just so you know, Dylan, I honestly wasn’t embarrassed at all when it happened that night. All I felt was this intense need to help you, even though I didn’t exactly know what was happening.”
I don’t mention that the other thing I felt was pain on his behalf. It was painful to watch because behind the rage and yelling, I could see how much he hated what was happening and how he would do anything to make it stop. I saw it in the way he gritted his teeth and his hands were clenched into fists on the table.
Dylan slides closer again on my lap, close enough now so that our dicks are pressed together through the layers of sweatpants we’re both wearing. He holds both sides of my face, looking into my eyes. I love his attention on me like this when he’s able to give it. Because it doesn’t come easily or naturally to him, it feels even more special.
“Thank you for caring so much that you want to know this stuff. I don’t like talking about it. But I know you’re doing it because you care about me.”
“Dylan, I love you. Anything I can do, ever, please ask me.”
He smiles at me. “Okay, Reed. I will. I promise.”
This time when he kisses me, it’s not gentle. It’s urgent and needy, so we hustle back to the bedroom, where we find a couple of ways to release some of the stress from the hard conversation, and it’s more than worth it.
Chapter 34
DYLAN
PullinguptotheHot Dam Homes office, I know I’m smiling like I’ve got a wire coat hanger stuck in my mouth, but there’s no hiding the fact that I’m as happy as I’ve ever been. Naturally, Sam, who happens to be working in the office today, notices my good mood right away, so he follows me into my office, plunking down in the chair across from my desk, followed immediately by Mason.
“I’m going to assume, based on the fact that you came in nearly four hours later than normal today and the giant smile you’re sporting, you and Dr. Delicious have managed to pull your heads out of your asses?” Sam asks with a cocked eyebrow.
I want to give him a dirty look, but my face won’t cooperate, so I keep the goofy-looking grin. “Yes, we worked everything out. We’re… together now.”