The Infinite Noise (The Bright Sessions, #1)

by Lauren Shippen

There’s a prickly kind of nervousness skittering up my arms but it doesn’t make me want to tear my own skin off.

Dr. Bright even said that I’m one of the most powerful empaths she’s ever known,” I add, my cheeks warming.

I’m good with not doing/getting/having what I want.

I do not excel at having feelings. Or, really, I don’t excel at having the right feelings. And I wish I had the energy to hate that I’m this way.

Somehow, all of that just makes me miss Adam more. Yeah, his emotions are overwhelming and sometimes unidentifiable, but they fit. It’s like a Picasso painting. All the pieces don’t fit together—the eyes, the mouth, the nose—they’re in the wrong place, the wrong shape, the wrong size. But the whole thing together just makes sense.

Sometimes Adam’s feelings get inside of me and show me my odd, misshapen bits but in the process, it’s like being put together. The thought of having lost that makes my stomach churn.

Adam’s emotions clear out everything; they quiet the infinite noise of the world and let me find the yellow parts of me that hurt.

I really like Adam. As in, like him like him. A lot. I like the way he barely ever fully smiles and I like how excited he gets about Shakespeare and I like the way his feelings feel.

One of the most famous lines and, in my opinion, kind of the wrong question. It’s not “to be or not to be,” Hammie—you are. Whether or not you like it. The question is how?

We don’t have the liberty of telling each other, “Hey, I’m having a depressive episode so I’m sorry for being distant or weird or useless or making myself bleed.

Maybe I’ll wake up one day and be Daydream Adam, excited to take on the world. I’ll roll over in bed with complete ease, smile at my husband, whistle while I make coffee, and go to a job that I love and never want to hurt myself ever again.

This.

You will remain in this oppressive nothing. Always.”

Depression is a bully.

wanted to kiss Adam. I’m … adjusting to that. That thought has come up a few times and it’s like, that’s cool. That I can do. I think. It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed somebody.

A strange mix of relief and anticipation swirls in my body. Finally, I have something that’s my own and it’s good and no one can take that away from me. It doesn’t matter how much other people invade me every day—fill me with things I’d rather not feel, confuse my head and my heart—because this is mine.

I’m waiting for a boy who can feel everyone’s feelings. I’m waiting for a boy who is something more than human.

My head has officially exited the proceedings. My heart is demanding I listen to it, pounding against my rib cage and being lifted up by butterflies fluttering madly under my diaphragm.

In a millisecond, he’s right in front of me, his hands coming out of his jacket pockets and rising to my face. I feel his cold palms on my cheeks and I should flinch at the sudden burst of ice but he’s leaning toward me and then— And then.

The cacophony inside of me transforms into a symphony. There’s no warmup, no build; just instant, intricate, immeasurably beautiful music. The icy weather is a distant memory—every part of me is drowned in the most comfortable fire. I’m more aware of my body than I ever have been but also my entire world is narrowed down to Caleb’s lips on mine.

His fingers wind into my hair, clutching me closer to him, like I’m not the only one who’s wasted hours imagining raking my hands through his hair and down to his neck. I’m holding on to the back of his letterman jacket for dear life. Caleb is still moving with the momentum of walking to me—so quick and decisive—that we nearly tip over. One of his arms leaves my head to wrap around my torso, catching me, and I melt. That’s it. If ...

his smile is enormous, reaching his eyes and beyond. His perfect hair flutters minutely in the frigid breeze and I give in to months—years—of repressed desire and touch my hand to the edge of his hairline. The gesture makes something in his smile soften and I’m embarrassed at giving in to the impulse.

I didn’t realize it could be this good.

I don’t have to try and hide who I am anymore and Adam’s walls start to dissolve.

Knowledge is power. Knowledge is king. Knowledge can help me prepare for whatever crazy thing is going to get thrown at us next.

She nods and I can feel that she wants to step into my room, sit down on my bed, put her arm around me. But she won’t because she knows she’s already too close. If she touches me, I’ll just start drowning in someone else’s worry.

“I never wanted life to be this hard for you,” she whispers, and my vision comes into focus enough to see that there are tears in her eyes.

“You’re not a loser, Caleb,” she assures me. “You have a beautiful gift. I wouldn’t change anything about you.” “But…” I lead, wobbling on the diving board again. “But, when you’re a parent, you hope your child is…” “Normal?” I finish for her, feeling like a failure. The genuine love she has for me is in every cell of my body, but that doesn’t stop my own body from producing disappointment like that’s the only thing it knows how to make. “Yes,” she agrees sadly. “We love that you’re you, that you have this ability. But it might make things harder for you. Just like—” She stops herself mid-sentence and I fully understand how frustrating it must have been for Adam all those months. I badly want to know what she was about to say. And then, thinking of Adam helps me put the pieces together. “Just like dating a guy might make things harder for me?” I grimace and I feel the cloying toffee of pity drip into my stomach. We haven’t exactly had the Conversation yet, because I’m not sure how to have it. Or if we even need to. My parents haven’t asked and I haven’t told them, but we all know. Or at least, I think they know. If not, I may have just dropped a bomb on my poor mother. But I don’t feel any surprise from her, so I doubt

“We don’t need to do the loud and proud thing,” I rush out, before backpedaling. “Not that I’m not proud. It’s not like I’m trying to hide it or anything. It’s just that…” “You have bigger things to worry about,” she finishes. A weight lifts from my shoulders. If I didn’t know better, there are times when I’d think my mom was an empath too.

Things are going to be hard. But for the first time, I start to wonder if things might be easier together.

“Neither of us is going to be the normal one,” he says practically. “I think it’s best we just accept that.”

“We’ll be weird together.”

To Brendon Urie, for giving me music for fifteen years. You took me from my own emo phase all the way through writing Adam into existence. Neither of us would be who we are without you.

To all of you who pick up this book and see a little (or a lot) of yourself in Caleb or Adam, whether you’re in high school or high school is a distant memory. There’s nothing I can say to make those painful moments less painful, but I hope knowing you’re not alone brings a bit of comfort. To every person who has been following Caleb and Adam’s love story for the past few years and beyond: thank you. You keep me green. Stay strange.