Feeling For You (DNF)

Chapter 15: DNF at Disney

Author's Note:

Hey everyone! I like this chapter because it has a few import backstory details, but also emotional conflict *insert evil author laugh*. To be honest, this took me longer than it should have to write, but in my defense, I had the flu while writing :(

I'm better now, though, so here you go! A Disney chapter, I hope you enjoy! Please vote or comment if you like the story so far!

I've been doing total word count updates every five chapters, and I'm happy to say that the total published word count so far is now 57,000! We aren't quite at the halfway point in this book, so Feeling For You might turn out to be longer than I originally planned, probably minimum 115,000 words 😅

Word count: 3785 

For this chapter, I recommend listening to Waiting On a Miracle by Stephanie Beatriz (from Encanto), Wherever I Go by OneRepublic, and/orYours, by Conan Gray. I threw a Disney song in there, it fits the occasion haha ;)

 ⚠️TRIGGER WARNINGS: This chapter gets a little angsty at the end, but there aren't many triggers otherwise. Still, please scroll to the bottom of the chapter and preview the list if you want to double check!

I haven't been to Disney in nearly a decade, and for a good reason. My empathy makes dealing with the vast crowds and hordes of people nearly impossible, and last time I was there, when I was fourteen, ended with me hiding in the bathroom with my eyes screwed shut and my hands over my ears, trying to stop the torrential flood of emotions from every side. 

My last visit to Disney was meant to celebrate my fourteenth birthday, at my request. I had wanted to do something normal, something that other kids did for their birthdays. I wanted to fit in, for once. I was already the weird kid who was homeschooled, with no friends besides Sapnap, since I didn't meet George until I was sixteen, two years later. The experience was more frightening than fun, especially when a janitor found me at the end of the day when he tried to lock up the bathrooms. Humiliatingly, I was sitting with my ears still covered and eyes tightly closed, tears running down my cheeks, on the floor of the handicap stall.

I'd done my best to act sane and have a normal birthday, but it was a pointless effort. There were just too many people, and at fourteen, I couldn't keep myself safe and control my reactions like I can now. 

Although, all things considered, I'm still not fantastic at it now. Out of the twenty three people alive on Earth who have encompassing empathy like me, seventeen of us are registered with a specialist in Oklahoma who we each check in with every 6-12 months, to contribute to learning more about our condition. I've never actually met any of the others, but I know we all come from vastly different backgrounds. All different ages, genders, and races, we're united by this rare affliction we share. 

The specialist, Dr. Lambert, has told me a little about some of the others, without breaching their privacy or personal information. I know that the youngest is only four years old, and that he will have to grow up with this condition just like I did. The oldest is a woman of ninety three, an impressively old age that proves my condition doesn't affect life expectancy, thankfully. 

Out of this group, I'm far from the most skilled at controlling my emotions. Part of our annual research includes undergoing a variety of tests, and doctor monitors our results and skills compared to each other. A man in his late thirties is the best at maintaining composure, but from what I've heard, the old woman isn't bad either. Out of the seventeen people who actively monitor their condition, I'm ranked tenth at controlling my empathy, and twelfth at hiding it. 

I've worked for years developing these skills, but I'm still not where I want to be. I know that it comes easier to some than others, like the ten year old in fourth place at hiding her empathy. Despite fighting tooth and nail for as much control as I can get, I'm still barred from living a regular life, and even interacting normally with other people.