Some Faraway Place

by Lauren Shippen

  “I told her that there’s a whole subset of humanity that can read minds and make fire out of nothing and, you know, she had a normal person’s reaction to that,” I explained.

  “But she believed you?” he asked before murmuring to himself, “That was always my question, how you would even go about making someone believe you.”

  “She believed me all right,” I said. “And you know how you get people to believe you? You give them proof.”

  “Proof…” His eyes suddenly went wide. “Rosie, you didn’t.”

  “What?”

  “You went into her dreams?” he asked.

  “What, you’ve never read a date’s mind?” I asked and the guilty look told me my answer right away. “See? Don’t act like you’re better than me. How else was she going to realize I wasn’t pulling a prank on her! Telling her about the dreams I’d been in seemed like the easiest and best way to help her understand!”

  Aaron rocked back on his heels, his arms going up, hands waving in front of him.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “Dreams? Plural? And, wait, you told her what you saw? You didn’t fall asleep and try to meet her in her head? Give her some advance warning?”

  “I didn’t think that would work!” I defended. “The only reason I’m able to talk to you in your dreams is because you’re a telepath! No one else ever knows that I’m there. Telling her about the dreams I’d already been in was the only way.”

  “So it wasn’t that she was freaked out about Atypicals,” he said.

  “I mean, I don’t know, I guess she might have been, but she was a little busy being furious with me!”

  “Yeah, I bet.” He snorted.

  “Oh, that’s really helpful, thanks,” I said. “I spent all of last night thinking about how the girl I love told me that I’d completely invaded her privacy before she dumped me, but please, be a smartass about this.”

  “I mean, I understand where she’s coming from!” Aaron said.

  “God, couldn’t you just have said, ‘Sorry, that sucks’ and left it at that?” I yelled. “Why aren’t you on my side in this, Aaron!”

  “Because she’s right!” he shouted back. “It is an invasion of privacy.”

  “How could you say that?” I asked. “You of all people should understand what it’s like—what it’s like to have this—this—this—freaking weird as hell look into people’s brains!”

  “Dreams are really private, Rosie,” he said, like I didn’t know.

  “And thoughts aren’t?”

  “I can choose not to listen,” he said.

  “Is that really true?” I snapped.

  “What?”

  He rocked back on his heels as he asked it, like it was being punched out of him.

  “I mean, can you really choose not to listen?” I repeated, taking a menacing step toward him. “All we have as evidence is your word, which…”

  I wanted to take the words back the moment they left my mouth. I wanted to rewind back to the beginning of this whole conversation, to the beginning of this year, to the beginning of my life. But they just hung there, those weighty words, the implication of them ringing throughout the kitchen.

  “You know what,” Aaron started quietly after a moment. “You can take the bus to work.”

  He grabbed his laptop and I listened to his footsteps rush upstairs, his door open and close, and then I was alone, in the empty kitchen, the only sound the oil sizzling on the cooktop, still eggless. I turned off the burner, put the bowl of scrambled eggs in the fridge, and went outside to sit on the back porch, grabbing this notebook, which I’d set on the counter when I came in all but ten minutes ago, on my way out.

  It’s cold out here. March has come in like a lion. Emily loves that expression—she’ll use it for anything. Other months, a good opening sentence of a book, a particular flavor in a dish I’ve cooked for her. To her, it just means something that’s bold and undeniable, like she is. Like I’m not. For me, right now, it just means what it’s always meant: that March in Massachusetts is fucking cold.

  The monster that lurked in my dreams all those months ago hasn’t stalked me in the dreamworld since my second visit to the AM. It followed me out and now it’s got ahold of me in dreams and in life. Pretty soon the monster is going to be all that’s left of me.

  community/TheUnusuals post by n/thatsahumanperson

  Have any of you ever told a non-Unusual about your ability? How did it go?

  onmyown

  Don’t think we’re not noticing that you’re posing this question without any personal context, which is a bit weird for you. How badly did it go?

  thatsahumanperson

  Really, really badly. But it wasn’t me. My sister finally told her girlfriend about the dreamdiving. As she put it, she “doesn’t have a girlfriend anymore.”

  onmyown

  Ouchhhhhhhhhhh. That sucks. Is this the first person your sister has ever told?

  chuckxavier

  Is there any concern that your sister’s girlfriend would tell the greater public? (ETA: ex-girlfriend)

  thatsahumanperson

  n/chuckxavier, I don’t think so. She seems like a good kid and I don’t think she’d want to do anything to hurt my sister. She also loves all things superheroes, so I feel like she knows the importance of keeping this kind of stuff secret, you know? n/onmyown, yeah. It’s the first person really anyone in my family has told. I’ve never had a girlfriend I’ve been serious enough about that it’s seemed worth it. And after seeing what my sister has gone through … god, I don’t know how I’m going to do the whole wife and family thing—telling anyone seems terrifying.

  theneonthorn

  honestly, this is why I’ve never invested in building relationships with anyone who isn’t either a) Unusual or b) knows about them. there’s still always shit to deal with because a lot of Unusuals in one place can have some … bad side effects, but it’s easier than trying to constantly get people on board with the idea.

  thatsahumanperson

  Yeah, that makes sense. I guess on some level I’ve always thought I would end up with another Unusual. I just haven’t met all that many of them. And a lot of y’all know how weird even Unusuals can be about mind readers—it’s not the easiest ability for people to digest.

  theneonthorn

  you’re telling me. without going into details, my ability is … well, for a lot of people, it’s even less likable than mind reading. I also haven’t really ever had a successful relationship, platonic or romantic, so maybe don’t take advice from me.

  onmyown

  Aw, come on, thorny! You’ve got us!

  theneonthorn

  yippee.

  MARCH 5TH, 2017

  In the month since I went to his apartment and we had our big fight (I seem to be getting into a LOT of those lately), I haven’t heard a word from Damien. Our nearly constant texting in the few weeks we’d been friends went to total zero overnight and, even though I sometimes got the temptation to reach out, especially after everything with Emily, I never did. I was too proud to make the first move, especially when I knew that he would never take that leap himself. So when I got a text with nothing but a time and the name of a local diner, I assumed it was an emergency.

  “Damien,” I said as I slid into the booth across from him.

  “Rose,” he said, matching my tone, like we were two enemy spies meeting. That was a bit what it felt like, what with all the people who had warned me to stay away from him.

  He didn’t say anything else to me, instead flagging down a waitress to ask for two cups of coffee.

  “What am I doing here, Damien?” I asked finally when the waitress had come back with mugs and Damien still hadn’t said a word.

  “Having coffee.”

  “Damien.”

  “They also have pretty good pie,” he said. “I mean, I know you’re picky—”

  “I am picky,” I said, “and I can give you the whole lecture about what makes the perf
ect pie crust, I always have it prepared—”

  “Yippee.”

  “—or you could just tell me why you texted me.”

  He sighed.

  “I’m leaving,” he said after a moment.

  “What? You invited me here, you can’t just—”

  “No.” He cut me off. “I’m not leaving here, right now. I’m leaving Boston.”

  “Oh,” I said, a little surprised that this was reason enough for him to reach out after a month of radio silence and more than a bit confused.

  “When will you be back?” I asked, feeling like it was my turn.

  “I won’t,” he said and that was when I understood.

  “Oh,” I said again.

  “Mark—” He cleared his throat, like Mark’s name had gotten stuck there. “I’ve been asked to leave town, to leave everyone alone, and I—I’m going to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because for once in my goddamn life, I want to do something right,” he growled.

  I didn’t want to say “oh” again, so I said nothing.

  “It’s taken me a month, but I—there’s nothing keeping me here,” he said. “I don’t know what I was waiting for, what I was holding onto, but I know it’s finally … it’s time.”

  “So … why did you ask me here?” I asked, still barely understanding what was happening.

  “I wanted to say goodbye, I guess,” he said, shrugging a single shoulder. That was the first moment I took a really good look at Damien since sitting down. He looked better than when I last saw him, though that wasn’t a difficult metric to clear. His hair was clean, he was wearing a hoodie that actually looked like it had been purchased within the last year, and the bags under his eyes were … well, they were still there, but not quite as pronounced. Maybe my trip into his dreams had really helped.

  “Do you want to leave?” I asked as I watched him rip a sugar packet and dump the whole thing into his coffee.

  “What?”

  “Do you actually want to go?” I asked again.

  “I don’t know what I want,” he mumbled.

  “Are you just going because you don’t know what else to do?”

  “I mean, what else would I do?” he scoffed, taking a sip of his coffee and wincing.

  “Not run away,” I suggested.

  “I’m not running away,” he said. “I’ve been asked to leave. Repeatedly. By several different people.”

  “But that’s not fair,” I said, shaking my head. “You can’t just be run out of your home.”

  “I don’t have a home,” he mumbled, ripping another sugar packet and dumping it into his coffee. “And I’m dangerous.”

  “You don’t have your ability anymore,” I pointed out.

  I watched Damien fold the now-empty sugar packet over and over and over again until he had a tiny little square. It reminded me of Emily, and my heart hurt.

  “I had this argument with my dad a few months ago,” I started, “about how I can’t be expected to do the same as Aaron when he has total, perfect control over his ability. Perfect, perfect Aaron.” Damien just kept folding.

  “But that’s totally unfair,” I went on when Damien didn’t immediately join the Aaron-pile-on, “and I mean, my dad should get that. He has Alzheimer’s and it would be totally unfair to expect him to remember that we asked him to take out the garbage or whatever. I shouldn’t be expected to sleep like a normal person. I shouldn’t be expected to stop something that’s just … in my nature.”

  “I don’t think it’s really the same,” he said.

  “Oh, suddenly you’re the expert on this stuff?”

  “I’ve been trying to learn,” he said. “I’ve done a hell of a lot more therapy than you, that’s for damn sure.”

  “So you’re telling me that we’re just … always responsible for what our abilities do to us?”

  “What’s going on with you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at me. “You’re acting … odd.”

  “What do you mean?” I snapped, probably proving his point.

  “Come on.” He stared at me in a way that made me think he’d be using his ability on me if he still had it. “I know we’re not the best of friends, but I can tell that you’re pissed about something. And it’s not me leaving town.”

  I sighed, leaning back in the booth like putting physical distance between us would stop the questions. But he just kept staring.

  “I told Emily,” I said and he looked actually surprised. “And it went … bad.”

  “She was pissed that you’d been in her dreams, huh?” he said, and that immediately set me off.

  “Yes!” I yelped. “How did you—”

  “I’ve been around the block, remember?” he said. “I know what it’s like to have someone hate you because of what you do with your ability.”

  My body relaxed slightly at that because I realized that this wasn’t going to be the conversation I had with Aaron all over again. My brother was somehow under the impression that he was perfect and had never had a conflicted feeling about his ability. But Damien understood. He understood having that monster inside of you, and I didn’t think he’d judge me for it.

  I was wrong about that.

  “It’s just not fair,” I said. “I was actually looking forward to sharing the dreamworld with her. I mean, I hadn’t figured out the exact logistics yet, but I wanted to. And now we’ll never have that. I might not have that with anyone.”

  “You don’t know that,” Damien said. “Just … next time you have a girlfriend, don’t go into her dreams without permission. Or just never go into her dreams.”

  The thought of having another girlfriend—one who isn’t Emily—made me feel queasy, but hearing that particular advice from Damien of all people really grated on me.

  “I can’t just not go into her dreams,” I said. I’m still not sure I believe that that’s a lie. “I’m not going to never sleep around my partner and when I sleep, I dreamdive. It’s a pretty simple equation.”

  “But you’ve got pretty good control over it now, right?” he said. “So I’m sure you could work it out.”

  “Why does everyone assume it’s so goddamned easy to do that? To just not do the thing my body wants to do.”

  “Look,” he said, “all I’m saying is that it seems that going into the dreamworld is the source of all your problems. Maybe take it away.”

  “It’s only the source of my problems because no one will ever give me a chance to explain that it’s not … it’s not a creepy thing!” I said, my face heating in an effort to get Damien to understand. He’s the one person who’s supposed to. “You said yourself that it’s not our fault. It’s like any other Atypical ability—I didn’t get to choose it.”

  “But you choose to spend all that time in the dreamworld,” he said.

  “And you choose to be an asshole,” I snapped. “At least my dumb, destructive choices never put anyone in danger.”

  “What, you think you’ve never hurt anyone?” he asked. “You think it didn’t hurt your family that, after learning your dad is dying, you chose to spend two months in some other place entirely instead of spending time with them?”

  “Fuck you.”

  I don’t know why I didn’t get up and leave in that moment, but I was stuck to that stupid vinyl booth, looking at Damien’s stupid, sad face.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What?” I wasn’t being glib when I asked that, I genuinely wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly, he spoke so quietly.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, only slightly louder. “That was way out of line.”

  “Oh,” I said, picking at the corner of the paper place mat to avoid making eye contact. “No, you—you’re right. I hate that you’re right, but you’re right.”

  “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

  I stepped forward, bringing the edge of the void close to me, to feel the seams where my world ends and someone else’s begins. I could feel a few different threads, one that was sharp and cold but not in an entirely bad way, like a rough wind that chaps your face but also makes you feel like you have more oxygen in your lungs, like you’re more alive somehow. That was Sam, I knew it immediately.