“You—” I looked back up at him when he didn’t continue. When we first met, Damien was so quick with his words, wielding them like knives, and now he seemed to stop after every other thought, uncertain how to complete them.

“Look, I don’t know how many chances a person deserves to get, but Emily should have given you at least one.”

He looked straight at me as he said it, like he really wanted me to know that he meant it. Looking back on it now, this was his way of saying goodbye. I wish I’d said something.

He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his pocket and threw them on the table, before getting up out of the booth, standing right at my shoulder for a second, and looming over me.

“You wanna know what I want, Dorothy?”

I looked up at him. Nodded. His jaw clenched.

“I want to not be me.”

He brushed past me and I didn’t turn around to watch him go. It had become painful to look at him, so I just listened for the sound of the bell in the doorway to chime to know. He was gone.

I’d had this idea of how my life would go and there’s not a single part of it that’s matching up to that idea. I’m not even sure why I went to meet Damien, what I’d been hoping for. I had barely known him—had barely even scratched the surface of who he really was—but he had made me feel comfortable, unselfconscious about the kind of Atypical I am. At least, he had until tonight.

I got a text from Sam today, asking if I wanted to come to a classic movie night at her house this week. I got it while on the bus to meet Damien and couldn’t decide if I wanted to respond. I’d texted a little bit with her, and with Caleb, the empath, in the past month, but I wouldn’t necessarily call them friends yet. I’d been too caught up in my feelings about Damien, some lingering sense of loyalty to him because he was my friend first. Because I wanted to give him a chance. Because I want to be given chances myself. But Sam and all the rest seem nice. Normal. Or, at least, as normal as a bunch of Atypicals caught up in the midst of conspiracy and trauma can be. A kind of normal that I could maybe be a part of.

I’m going to text her back. I’m going to text her back and try not to think about how a classic movie marathon is something Emily would love. Try to make new friends. Try to be normal for a little while.

MARCH 8TH, 2017