Clarity 3 (6 page)

“
It is my honor to be needed by you,” he tells me. He places a kiss on my forehead. “I need you, Winter. I need you to need me. Just put a little faith in me, and let me take care of you. I promise you that you won’t need to rely on anyone for much longer.”

I shift uncomfortably. Part of me is desperate to cling to any reason to stay with him—but another, wiser part knows that leaving is the safest route. “I don’t know...”

“You’re the most important person in my life,” he tells me quietly. “I need you to stay.”

My eyebrows knit together in confusion.
“That’s bullshit,” I tell him plainly, thinking about the night before. Damn this man and his mixed signals. “Maybe you want me to stick around for the operation, but you don’t actually want
me.
”

“You’re wrong,”
Liam says as he places a finger under my chin to lift it slightly. He places a demanding kiss directly on my lips. He slips a hand under my coat to pull me more tightly against him. He kisses all the fight out of me, and leaves no question of his intent. He kisses me until tears tumble from my eyes and I surrender to his touch.

“I want you,” he says
softly, once he pulls away. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I want you in every possible way. Don’t you dare tell me to find a fucking
healthy
woman. You’re healthy. In your heart and soul, you’re the purest, wisest person I’ve ever met. You see more than anyone can dream to see. I wanted you long before I’d even met you.”

I am
left standing there speechless and embarrassed with a tear-soaked face.

“Come on,” he says softly, as he
takes my arm and gently guides me back across the street, weaving between the slow-moving traffic. “I got you a few things so you’ll be more comfortable. Some clothes, a toothbrush, and a razor.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” I say quietly.

“I couldn’t find a braille computer, but I’ll go pick up your old one as soon as I can. I’m on call at the hospital later, so I could grab it before work.”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

Liam pauses to retrieve the shopping bags that he had dropped in the street earlier. I’m surprised that they are still there, but when he thanks someone, I realize that the doorman of his building was taking care of them for him.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Liam tells me as he guides me into the revolving doors. “I know it was a huge mess. Maybe let’s go for breakfast and talk about it?”

I only then realize that I am quite hungry. “Sure,” I say with a grateful nod.

“Oh!” he says, as we enter the busy lobby. “I nearly forgot.
I also got this.” He digs into his bags and retrieves a small box, which he places in my hands.

“What’s this?” I ask him curiously.
I make a face of puzzlement as I run my hands over the box.

He chuckles to himself as though something is extremely funny
before leaning forward to whisper into my ear. “It’s a box of twelve condoms.”

“Liam!” I shriek, shoving the box back at him hastily before blushing furiously. “Why would you make me hold that in
public?”

“Why would
you
doubt whether I want you?” he demands as he guides me into the elevator.

“That was uncalled for,” I say glumly, but I am fighting back a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he says as he pushes me against the wall. “No one was looking. And no one’s looking now.”

When his lips descend to mine
again, I realize how close I was to losing him. I feel a lump of emotion in my throat as I acknowledge my self-sabotaging and fearful behavior. This really does need to change. I really do need to become braver and learn how to live again. “If you didn’t stop me from getting into that cab...” I whisper.

“It doesn’t matter,” he tells me. “I would have gone after you.”

“Glaucoma is often called the
‘silent thief of sight’ because it destroys the eyes slowly, causing permanent harm long before any noticeable vision loss. The disease is mysterious, for although Glaucoma has been known since antiquity, modern researchers still struggle to understand its causes. While some treatments can stall the loss of vision, there is no cure, and it remains leading cause of blindness all over the world. Patients with glaucoma usually experience damage to the optic nerve, the cable behind the eyes which connect them to the brain...”

I suppress a yawn as the monotonous drone from the audiobook
lulls me to sleep. I have spent all day snooping through Liam’s old laptop and trying to learn more about him. I have little else to do while I wait for him to finish his day at work and retrieve my computer from my dad’s. Unfortunately, instead of finding something scandalous like kinky erotica, I keep stumbling upon things that reaffirm that he actually is a good boy. For example, his boring medical textbooks. Does the man ever have fun? I know he has some of my books in paperback, along with a few other fiction titles on his shelves, but I can’t determine what they are. They could be extremely interesting.

It’s very difficult and frustrating to try and snoop in a man’s apartment when you can’t see any
of his stuff. There could be disturbing paintings on the walls depicting graphic murder scenes—or any other telltale signs that I’m dating a serial killer—and I would have absolutely no inkling.

My imagination is running a
way with me, and I dearly miss having my computer nearby to jot down my thoughts. Liam said that I could use his to write, but it’s just not the same. This isn’t mainly due to the lack of accessibility features, but to my emotional attachment to the little machine. I never realized how important my computer was to me until this forced separation. Even on the days when I was at my dad’s and unable to work due to Grayson’s nearness, I was comforted by knowing my computer was nearby in case it was needed. I even kept it in the bed with me while I slept, like an electronic teddy bear.  

For so many years, my computer was my only friend.
I suppose that if I could bring one thing to a desert island, it would be that computer. And some sort of portable, infinite power source.

I suppose I’
m going a little crazy. Being stuck in a new environment and unable to work is making me restless. I was never the type of girl to do nothing and wait around for a man to come home from work. Even if he is a doctor—even if the ideal thing to do would be to put on a little dress and prepare a sweet-smelling dinner for his return. That’s just not me. The very idea makes me ill.  I have my own work to do.

Besides, I’d probably burn the building down trying to cook in
the unfamiliar kitchen.

I shift onto my back as I lie on Liam’s
bed, ignoring the narration about various types of glaucoma. At breakfast, he insisted that I sleep in the bed from now on, for he felt uncomfortable about me taking the couch. We actually had a really nice conversation over waffles, and sorted out a lot of the awkwardness from the night before. I am now wearing his old baseball jersey as I nestle between the sheets, and it’s rather soft and perfect for sleeping. I probably shouldn’t be napping in the middle of the day; he did give me lots of options of things I could do with the spare time while he was out. He gave me James’ phone number, so that I could call the judo master to take me to the dojo and train. He said there was also a gym downstairs in the building which we could use.

I might have liked to practice some judo, but I won’t have suitable attire until Liam returns with my suitcase. Isn’t it funny that we have to wear specific clothing for self-defense training? A sports bra and athletic gear. I never seem to be wearing appropriate clothing whenever I get attacked.

I wonder if I would have been tougher last night if I had been wearing the right clothing. Maybe I leave all my toughness in the sports bra, and when I take it off, I go back to weak old me. I wonder if the solution is to wear the sports bra forever, or whether I should try training in ordinary clothes. Does anyone train while wearing high heels and a skirt? It seems to make sense to me that if you’re going to get attacked while wearing those things, you should also train in them.

Maybe such feminine and compromising clothing should never be worn
. Maybe I should always wear athletic gear. Or maybe I should just never go out in public. Maybe I should go home.

I sigh at these thoughts, and shift my body to turn off the annoying audiobook. I’d rather lie in bed and paint my own stories across my mind. I might not be able to w
ork at the moment, but at least I can prepare for writing; I can play the ending of the book over and over in my mind until it’s perfect.

I try to do this for a few minutes, but my thoughts run away with me.
I keep thinking of a book I’d love to write called
Snowfire
. I’m not sure where I heard the word, but I think it’s a beautiful oxymoron, and would make for a great romantic suspense. I would love to create a character based on Liam. I wonder if he’d help give me feedback before I send it to my publisher? I’ve never had anyone that I trusted enough to read my writing before it was finished and bound in a book. At that point, there’s very little anyone can say or do to improve it.

The real magic happens in the process. Could Liam be part of my process? Could he contribute to my work and be healthy for my career? I could try my best to be good for his—it is the reason I’m staying in this congested, stuffy city
, after all. Well, it’s part of the reason. My mind wanders again, imagining the perfect relationship where both parties feed each other’s success; is it possible? Could we really  support each other and make each other larger instead of dragging each other down and sucking the other person dry?

All the relationships I’ve witnessed have been parasitic. One person would bleed the other person of all their energy and love
so that they could perform better in their own life, without any consideration for the other person’s fulfillment. The only exception to this was my parents—but of course, my mother died. She left my father brokenhearted, and our whole family easily crumbled without her. She was our pillar of strength. We all leaned on her so much that we didn’t even realize how quickly we would fall flat on our faces without her. We also seem to have lost all connection to each other.

I realize that I’m
making the classic writer’s mistake of dwelling too much on own life. I have been way too absorbed in my own story. This hardly ever happens to me, but it’s been a huge issue lately. This is another reason I prefer to be solitary—when there’s too much drama in my own life, it really distracts my mind from my work.

It’s a great problem for writers, trying to maintain focus.
Sometimes you feel inspired to work on something entirely different from what you should be working on. Sometimes you’re even forced to live your own story instead of contemplating and creating a better one.

When my phone rings,
I jump slightly. I move to reach for it, eager to hear Liam’s voice—hopefully with news of my computer. I turn over in the bed, and feel around for the place where I dropped my phone. It takes me a few seconds to find it, but I quickly fumble to answer and place it against my ear.

“
Hello!” I say in a pleasant voice.

There is only static
and a strange rustling on the other end of the line.

“Liam?” I say with confusion.

The sound of heavy breathing filters through the phone.

I sit up in bed, beginning to feel worried and anxious. My body grows tense. “Who is this?” I ask again.

“Do you think I’m evil, Helen?”

Hearing the voice from my nightmares causes me to sit up even straighter. I feel as though ice water has been poured down my spine.

“I never wanted to hurt you. My sweet Helen. I don’t know why I did any of those things. I just couldn’t control myself. Do you think I’m evil? I must be evil. What other explanation is there?”

My lips part slightly as I look around the bedroom nervously, paralyzed in a sort of terror. I know that
Grayson is not here with me, but I feel as though he might be. I am suddenly very aware of how alone I am in this apartment.

“I’m
a monster,” he says quietly. “I know that now. They said there’s something wrong with my brain, but I don’t believe them. I’m just evil. Pure evil. The things that I’ve done to you... they were more than just criminal. They were sinful. Do you believe in Satan?”

“How did you get this number?” I finally manage to ask.
It’s not the forceful demand I intended; my voice leaves my throat hesitantly, in a feeble squawk.

“They told me I needed to call you and apologize,” Grayson says. “
They said I needed to make peace with you and myself in order to get better. Carmen gave me the number and the nurse dialed for me. They gave me some privacy to talk to you. But they’re all idiots; I can’t make peace. You should stay far away from me, Helen. If I ever see you again, I will do things to you that you could never imagine. I will do far worse to than I’ve ever done before. I want to take you—in the worst possible way. I want to feel you bleeding and crying and screaming. I can’t control the monster inside me.”

My entire body is seized by a spasm of dread.
I feel a great pressure in my chest, and a sudden inability to breathe. The muscles in my arms and legs constrict until the tension causes me pain. Even though they are just words, I can imagine them so clearly that it is almost as though he is right here, doing those things to me now. It seems to be too much for my brain to handle, and it has hit the pause button on my entire central nervous system.

“
There’s something special about you,” Grayson whispers. “Only you, Helen. You make me want to do things I would never do. I think it’s your innocence. It hangs around you like a cloud. Like an aura of light, glowing around you. I have tried to figure out what it is, Helen, and I think I finally know. It must be innocence. Only innocence could be so beautiful. So pale and fragile that it shouldn’t exist. Like fine porcelain. Like precious glass. I wanted to break it before anyone else could—but I didn’t succeed. It’s still there.”

There’s a pause on the line, filled only with his ragged breathing.

“You’re still innocent,” he whispers, “and I still want to break you.”

I finally remember how to breathe, and I remove the phone from my ear. I press the button to end the call, but it takes me a moment to find it with my shaking hands. I
take several deep breaths as I lower my head to the pillow. I curl my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around myself. It has never taken such a great effort just to breathe. I can feel the tension in my shoulders and thighs as my body feels strangely stiff and locked into place.

All my beautiful thoughts
have been chased away.

I can’t think about work anymore. I can’t think about anything. I don’t want to think about anything. If I ponder his words, it will drive me insane. There is no sense to them; they are just ramblings of a madman.
But more terrifying is the fact that there might be some logic in them. What if I did take a moment to think about what he said, and I understood him?

What if it really is my fault? What if I brought out the worst in him?
What if I do the same to Liam? What if that’s my curse, and no one will ever love me? What if there’s just something about me that people can’t stand? What if I really do have this strange aura he’s talking about?