Blind Love: English (7 page)

The next thing I remember after that was waking up to the sound of the beeping of a machine that I could tell was a heart monitor. Add to that the smell of the cheap cleaning liquids that filled my nose and I knew right away that I was in a hospital. I didn't know if my eyes were open or closed, all I knew was that I didn't want anything except for the pounding in my head to stop. It was throbbing, hurting, and if it wasn't for the fact that I was scared that screaming out in agony would make my head hurt even more, I would've done it with all of the power I could manage. I was in too much pain.

My head. My chest. My right arm and my shoulder … my heart. All hurt badly.

"Anna!" It was my sister's voice that I heard, surprised, joyful and a bit disbelieving.

I felt my eyes blink a few times and that earned me a gasp from her; apparently it was all she needed to confirm that I could hear her. "Oh, my Gosh! You're awake! Oh, my Gosh!"

"S-sandra," my voice was hoarse as I spoke her name. I felt her hand as it held mine softly but firmly, assuring me that she was there beside me with her touch and then with her words. "I'm here, Baby Sister. I'm here." I was almost able to hear the tears as they fell out of her eyes.

"E-th-than," I choked out. Now, when I’d said my sister's name it hurt to speak, my throat ached and burned – it was painful. But when I spoke his name, it wasn't only my throat that hurt, ached and burned; my heart ached more, burned more. It was pure torture.

"He's here, Sweet Girl, he’s barely left since you were admitted here. I'll wake him up." My hand that was in hers gripped it as tightly as I could to stop her from doing what she wanted to do, and I knew it had worked when her hand wasn't pulling away anymore like it had been before I gripped it tightly.

"Ou-t," I said, "I w-want hi-m out."

"Anna!"

"P-ple-ase-" My eyes burned when they welled up with tears.

"Okay, okay, I'll get him out," Sandra said in a rush, sounding all freaked out. I had no idea if it was because I was crying or because my heart monitor's beeping had quickened and it somehow sounded as if it was louder. But sadly, it wasn't loud enough to cover the words I kept hearing in my head as if they had just been spoken right now.

… out of pity …

… she's fucking blind …

… out of pity …

… she's fucking blind …

Later on, I learned that I had been in a coma for three weeks. The first thing I made sure that they'd do for me was to never let Ethan in again. I didn't want to hear his voice, or feel his presence; I just wanted him gone.

… she's fucking blind …

Sadly, I couldn't tell Sandra the reason why I had to break up with Ethan, not only because I didn't want to bother her with unnecessary drama that she didn't need in her life, but also because I didn't want to hurt her.

It wasn't only Ethan's words that kept ringing in my ears; it was Dominik's as well. The way he was pleading with him and
begging
him to
'stay with me'
or
'think about it'
in his own words made me think of so many things. My head kept playing so many scenarios of what Dominik had meant.

One scenario told me that Dominik was pleading with Ethan to stay with me. Maybe Ethan was telling him that he was going to break up with me soon or something, maybe after one final
fuck
, as he'd put it, and Dominik knew that if I was hurt, Sandra would be, too. And maybe he simply didn't want her depressed or even sad.

Another scenario told me that Dominik might've felt bad for me, to be dumped so soon and so fast, and he was just trying to reason with him as to why he should stay with me.

Also, there was the scenario where Sandra and Dominik did all of this to find something for me to fill my life with while Sandra was spending time with Dominik. But then again, my heart wouldn't accept that; Sandra would've never done that to me. She would've never humiliated me that way. Never.

My head just wouldn't stop working – it was pathetic.

Speaking of pity, I just couldn't get over the fact that Ethan had really dated me out of pity. That the girls I'd heard talking in the ladies' room were right, and that maybe I was truly a charity case for him, or maybe he just wanted to look good in front of people and fans? That he wanted the media to talk about him for being that oh-so-kind guy who dated a blind girl despite the fact that he could get any girl he could ever want.

I was hurt, broken and
humiliated
beyond words.

A month later, Jonathan helped me find a new place, a smaller house just for me. Away from the house where Ethan knew where to find me. And away from Sandra, who was dating his brother – the same one who that day was begging him not to dump me.

Sandra wasn't very fond of the idea of me living alone. She had many long talks with me trying to change my mind about it, saying we could move somewhere else together, but I couldn't do that. It wouldn't be fair. Not to me and not to her.

Nearly every day Jonathan would find an excuse to spend the night or even most of the day when he wasn't working, until he was pretty much living with me, on the couch in my living room. It wasn't so hard to get what he was doing. He wanted to keep me company, he wanted to make sure I was okay, he wanted to protect me from whatever – because he was my best friend and he had to be there. And to be honest, I couldn't complain about him doing so, because despite the fact that I didn't want to admit it, it was so good to know that that shoulder I'd need to cry on every now and then would always be there for me – nearby, always. I was grateful.

I changed my phone number because Ethan wouldn't stop calling. He wanted an explanation, I believed. He just couldn't get it. I heard them. I heard
him
. I couldn't even take the fact that I'd have to speak those words again when I'd tell him what he did. So I said nothing. I just never replied to him. And the last time he called before I changed my number, it was from an unfamiliar number that I didn't know who it belonged to, and I was stupid enough not to think it might be him using somebody else's phone.

"Hello!"

"Anna, please don't hang up!"
 It wasn't the commanding tone in his words that made me do as he said, but it was the pain I was able to pick up from his words. He was so good.

I said nothing, I just held the phone in my hand, gripped hard and barely breathed.

"I'm sorry,"
 he said, shocking me, how did he know that I’d heard?
"I'm so fucking sorry. Whatever I did to make you so angry with me, I'm so sorry I did it, it won't happen again."

He didn't know …

"I'll fix it. I swear I'll fix it, just give me the chance. One more chance, I promise I'll fix it."
 His voice …God! That voice! The pain, the hurt, the cracking! He was so, so good that I knew if I listened to more I might even start believing that he was sorry.

He wanted a second chance, but I'd never seen the need to give him one.

"Lose my number," was all he got from me in a reply before I hung up. He didn't
deserve
anything from me, not even my thoughts.

Oh, God! The thoughts …the memories …

I won't lie. I couldn't stop thinking about him. And it wasn't always the bad thoughts where I'd hear him calling me what I was and learned that I'd meant nothing to him. It was good thoughts, as well. Though, I didn't know if I should call them good.

The bad memories made it easier for me to hate him, made it easier for me to let go of him and just live without thinking of how it could’ve been if he wasn't a liar, if he’d meant whatever he'd said to me about love and adoration.

The good memories made it hard. So very hard to forget him. Every time I remembered his soft words and his tender touches along with his warm whispers, I wanted to do nothing but curl into a ball and cry like there was no tomorrow, something that I'd always done when I was feeling too sad and hurt. And trust me, there were
many
times that I'd wished there was no tomorrow. I was
that
depressed.

Waking up was the hardest, every morning I'd miss him the most, for he'd spent almost every night with me and slept in my bed. I'd never forget the warmth I felt inside of my heart rather than surrounding my body when his arms were hugging me tight to his every time a new day came. Almost every time I woke up, it was to a kiss on my shoulder or a kiss on my neck, or his fingers stroking my skin. Every time I woke up to his presence, to his warmth, to his scent, I'd felt safety and comfort. Now, every time I woke, it was to an empty bed, the other side was always cold, and my pillow only ever smelled like my shampoo. Now, the warmth, the safety and the comfort were gone. All gone, leaving ache and pain where happiness and ease had once been.

But I was a fighter. Yes, I was. I'd fought brain cancer and won, for fuck's sake. I'd managed to live for ten years in darkness without asking for help every two seconds. I'd glued my heart back together when it broke, not only once but twice, even though I was only a teenager, and was able to smile again. And despite the fact that Ethan broke me like no other had – only because I loved him like I'd never loved anyone before – I would still fight to be able to forget him, because if I didn't … I would lose my mind. So soon.

That was what I've been telling myself for the past year. That I'd fight, that I'd forget and that I'd be okay. Someday. Just not today.

It was a beautiful day outside. I was out in my front yard the minute I finished having breakfast. I sat on the green grass and lay back, looking up at the blue sky and the light of the bright sun, seeing the birds as they flew across the sky, swaying and swinging up and down, left and right, singing with the happiness I imagined they must be feeling. It was such a beautiful sight. I didn't want to close my eyes. I
never
wanted to close my eyes.

It has been like that ever since I got my sight back a few months ago. I enjoyed everything and admired every little, tiny detail – I couldn't get enough. I'd spend most of every morning doing nothing but ogling things that most people didn't even give a second glance.

Who would've thought that all I needed to be able to see again was to land on my head over and over again, get a concussion, and need to repair the damaged parts of my brain with so many necessary surgeries?

It was a month after I woke up from that coma that I started seeing sparkling colors every now and then. The sparkles soon – but not soon enough – turned into blurry images and then into clearer ones that would come and go in the same second. But then one minute, finally, I was no longer blind – maybe poor sighted, but not blind. And I'd never, ever forget that day when it happened.

I was in my room, sitting on my bed with my clothes spread all over the bed. I was folding them before I'd have to get up and put them in the closet the way I'd know where and how to find them again.

Suddenly there were those blurry images again, causing me a serious headache and great confusion. I was seeing colors. So many colors. And then there were hands. Two of them. The motion of said hands turning upright caused my mouth to part wide open as I gaped in shock at the fact that I was seeing my own hands. I was looking at them, like, truly seeing them. And not just that, but the image I was seeing didn't just disappear right at the same moment like the other times I’d seen it – no, the image stayed. Lasted. Cleared. And then, I found myself looking from my hands to all of the colors around me. Red, blue, orange, yellow, green, brown, white, aqua … Oh, my God! I could see. Those were my clothes. I could see my clothes!

But ... how? Was this real? It couldn't be. I just couldn't believe myself.

I looked around, seeing a desk, chair, carpet, window, light! There was light! I could see light!

The image that was getting clearer was blurring once again and I freaked, feeling that it would go now like all the other times, and I hated it, I wanted it to last, last forever. Please, last. Just a bit more, I begged silently. My breaths now came in short gasps and I started sobbing, so happy for a minute only to become miserable again. Though I loved that minute to the fullest, I hated that it had ever happened, because I felt that when it disappeared again and I went back to only seeing black, I would be even sadder than I had been about how I was. Because then I'd only feel how this very beautiful thing, this remarkable thing of being able to see, was taken away from me. And all the things I felt when I first became blind would hit me, full force. It was agonizing.

But then it happened. I blinked. And my vision was clearer again –all I needed this time to see better was to blink the tears away. Simple as that. My tears were blurring my vision. That was it.

My face broke into a huge grin as more tears came down from my eyes, eyes that with a great hope in me I felt like I wouldn't have to call useless any more. I shot out of bed and looked around me, left and right, confused maybe or what, I didn't know. I only knew that I couldn't find the door right away, I didn't know where it was. My eyes circled the room while I stayed in the same place until spotted it, slightly agape. I took hurried steps to it; my feet were clumsy and I almost fell, but I made it. Though when I opened it, I didn't find a way for me to leave the room – it was my closet door, after all. And at the realization, I started giggling like a school girl; all of the excitement and happiness I was feeling were just too much to put into words. I did as I had before and searched for another door, and when I made it there, it was the right one this time, and I left my room.