Page 37 of There's Pumpkin About You
I will never understand the contradiction that arises when everyone thinks I feel nothing at all, even though it’s those around me that are heartless.
ChapterSixteen
GUS
“Purple? Are you fucking kidding me?”
As I look over all of the paint swatches on the outside of the barn, my skin starts to heat and itch. The imaginary ants under my skin take their imaginary legs and let them bite into every inch of my flesh. I clench my fists to stop myself from ripping off my own skin to flick off every one of the tiny assholes. I bet every one of them has Wren’s teasing face on them.
I loosen my hand just enough to scratch at my palm with my middle finger. The ants die down a little when I feel my nail nick my skin. Sometimes pain distracts from discomfort.
“What’s wrong with purple? It’s a bright color. Eye-catching.” Wren asks.
“It’s purple.” When I look down at her, I only have a clear view of the top of her head and the way it quizzically tilts to the side. “It was red and blue before.”
“So what? It has to stay the same color?”
“If I say it does, then yeah.”
She looks up and folds her arms. “Because your ego has its own sovereign nation?”
“Because I’m the owner of the fucking thing, Wren. We’re working together on this, but the final decisions still land with me.”
“The purple was asuggestion, Gus. Not a decision. You see how it’s surrounded by other paint swatches?” She dramatically gestures towards the other swatches on the wall.
“I know it wasn’t a decision,” I argue back. “The decision was me telling you that it’s not even an option.”
“God, you are stubborn,” she huffs under her breath. She tries to move past me, but I block her path with my body.
“I’mstubborn?”
Bash stops working when he hears my voice rise. Wren’s chin is now stubbornly in place, chest heaving and hazel eyes bright with fire.
“This coming from the woman who couldn’t leave me alone for more than twenty-four hours so I could make an informed decision aboutmybusiness!”
“Because I knew that nothing about your decision would be ‘informed’,” she yells, forming air quotes with the last word of her sentence. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to believe that a goat bit me on the ass!”
I did admit to myself that Emilio may have actually done that the moment he nibbled my finger a few days later, but I never admitted that to Wren. Any chance for me to be wrong and she would have jumped at it and never let me forget it.
“If I could just interject here—” Bash begins nervously, but we both hold up a hand to stop him. “No one is telling you that this barn isn’t yours and no one is trying to take over, Gus. Get your head out of your ass for two seconds so you can see that not everything is about you and your needs. Have you even considered that this is your brothers’ farm just as much as it’s yours? Have you asked them abouttheirpreferences?”
There is a tone that floats its way into people’s voices when they can see I’m not going to agree with them. Back when I was stupid enough to share my thoughts and feelings with others, their voices would take on a distinctly patronizing intonation. Their heads would tilt just like Wren’s, their eyebrows would lift just like hers and their lips would purse in the same manner. It’s the look that used to tell me that they thought they were talking to someone with the same mental capabilities as a fucking child. People use my neurodivergence as a way to make themselves feel superior, because, to them, what would an autistic know about simple matters such as sharing?
I take a step back from her and Bash, the latter of whom has his eyes closed mid-wince.
The fact that I’m already overstimulated is enough to have my head spinning, but then comes the debilitating mix of shame and anger that coats my chest. It burns, and yet I refuse to reach up and rub at the area as if it will make the slightest bit of a difference.
A bitter scoff forces its way out of my chest and I couldn’t have stopped it even if I wanted to. I don’t want to, though.
“I was an idiot,” I mumble. When she shoots me a confused look, it breaks the last thread of restraint I have. “Do you think it’s easy? Having to run a company knowing full well everyone expects you to fail, not because they believe you to be bad at the job, but merely because they can’t be assed to take the time to find the difference between being autistic and being a fucking idiot?”
Those hazel eyes widen. She steps toward me, but I maintain the space between us. “August, that’s not why I was asking you, I pro?—”
“You think I don’t recognize the tone that everyone uses, or the way they all phrase it like they’re talking to a goddamn child? I’m more than aware that I struggle with certain things, but none of that means that I’m so fucking stupid or oblivious to what is going on around me. It doesn’t mean that every single thing I say or every decision I make is down to my disorder. Sometimes when I make a decision about my company, it’s coming from the owner of said company. So, back off.”
I leave the barn. I leave the smell of paint and the weight of judgment that suffocates me and walk off to God knows where. I need space and I need to be alone. I feel a breakdown coming and you can bet your ass that that’s the last thing I need anyone seeing.
* * *
