Page 14 of Close Quarters

I almost asked him what was wrong with Riley that he deserved a sucker punch but managed to hold back. Then again, it was probably better not to explain in the first place. All it took was a ‘weird’ explanation, and people tended to treat me like more of a freak than they already did.

“Some sounds just drive me nuts,” I said, gesturing to my brain. “You might as well drag your nails across a chalkboard. They’re basically the same thing in my head.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Drives me nuts. Feels like I’ve got all this shit in my head as it is. Add in noises like that, and it’s like you scramble it all up and set it to spin dry. Ends up making me feel like I’m going to lose my mind, and then I start…feeling bad.”

He grunted. “Is that why you take meds?”

I eyed him. “Are you thinking you’re the person I’m going to share why I take my meds with?”

“I’m just asking,” he said, jaw tightening and looking away. “You’re the one who likes to talk a lot.”

“And you’re the one who doesn’t want to talk ever.”

“Well fuck you, maybe I do now.”

I opened my mouth and then thought better about it. No one on this ranch would ever describe Reno as someone they wanted to have a nice sit-down chat with. He had always kept to himself and generally didn’t like to be bothered. I knew there were probably a couple of guys from his cabin that he got along with just fine, but even then, it wasn’t like he was opening himself up for conversations with random people.

Yet now, suddenly, he wanted to have a conversation? Was this his way of finding a way to take his anger out on me? Or was he…was he scared about what was going to come? He had never seemed interested in participating in what the ranch had to offer before, so what had changed? Or…maybe nothing had, and I was just getting a glimpse behind the angry curtain he always kept around him.

I hated the idea that he was possibly using this as ammunition against me, but I hated that he might actually be attempting to connect with someone and would go unheard if I did nothing. I knew all too well how that felt, how much it could sting just as much as words intended to be painful. It wasn’t less painful or more, fire and ice both gave you a burning sensation, but I’d yet to find anyone hurt by either who said they preferred one over the other.

“I was…diagnosed with ADHD after I got to the ranch. Shrink took all of five minutes to figure it out,” I told him, slumping in my seat and hoping I didn’t regret this. Lord knew how many counselors and teachers I’d dealt with who never caught it, but one dude with the thickest glassses I’d ever seen had done it in no time. I hoped school systems were better at catching that shit now and maybe make some poor kid’s life a little easier.

“Is that why you’re such a spaz?” he asked.

“Alright, fuck you,” I said. It didn’t matter how many years had passed. That word still managed to sting as badly as it had when I was ten, and I was not allowed to play with the other kids because they found me annoying. “Sit there and be a raging dickhead. And I know you don’t give a shit if anyone likes you, but if you ever start wondering why, just think of conversations like this you’ve had with other people.

“I don’t want any fucking…” He stopped himself, his hands balling up into fists on the table, glaring at its surface. I almost thought he would lose it right then and there, but I watched as his temper disappeared. After nearly a minute, he took a deep breath. “I meant, is that why you’re so…why you have so much energy all the time, and why you talk so much?”

I eyed him warily, still smarting from his comment. Then again, how many years had I spent accidentally saying an offensive or wrong thing, bothering someone, and then wishing I could take it back or say it differently? It would be more than a little hypocritical if I didn’t give him the chance I wanted others to give me.

I gave a heavy sigh and nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly why.”

“Because you can’t…” he thought about it for a moment. “Or you have a deficit of attention?”

“More like I can’t control my attention,” I told him with a shrug. “Everyone seems to think it’s ‘Oh, ha-ha, he gets distracted by shinies and squirrels,’ but my brain can’t help but not focus on things. Even when I want to focus on something, or when I want to ignore something, my brain doesn’t let me.”

“Like…a clock ticking?”

“Yes! It drives me bonkers because I can’t block that noise out, so it just tick-ticks the whole time in my head. Then suddenly, I can’t focus on anything in my head, and it feels like I’m losing my mind.”

“And…the rambling?”

“Because I’m talking about something I can focus on. So all that split attention gets shoved right into it and fuels it, like strapping a rocket on top of a car. All I can do is zoom forward. The meds…I don’t know, I guess they’re supposed to make it easier for me to drive the car, make it less likely to swerve all over the road. Doesn’t make it completely drivable, though. I still constantly have to fight for control of the wheel.”

His nose wrinkled. “That sounds…annoying.”

I actually smiled. “Yeah, it kind of is sometimes. And, uh, clearly, it means I don’t always make the most thought-out decisions. They tell me it’s supposed to get better with age, but we’ll see.”

He scoffed, and I thought it was almost a laugh. “So, you’re like this because something in your brain is busted.”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, wariness returning. “That is definitely the way you could put it.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Must be nice.”

I stared at him. “Seriously? Even if it does calm down in the next few years, do you think there’s anything great about this? I mean, yeah, if I can focus on something productive, I can work harder than three guys but fuck, man, imagine having that, but the trade-off is that sometimes it mentally hurts to pick up your dirty laundry.”

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