Blindness

by Ginger Scott

  Cody rolls to his side, my hand still in his, and I feel his other hand along my arm, almost like he’s bracing it. I feel his forehead against my shoulder, and I know he’s doing that so I won’t feel uncomfortable having him look at me while I bare my soul.

  “I don’t like it here. The Appletons? They’re not like you, Daddy. I was supposed to be living here with Trevor. But he left. Don’t be mad at him—he had to. You’d be proud of him; he’s a real hard worker. He was chosen for this amazing internship. I’m thinking about joining him next semester.”

  Part of me wants to keep the rest of my conversation in my head, but then I feel Cody’s grip loosen, and his body start to slide away. The coolness left behind jars me, so I continue.

  “You don’t have to worry, though. I made a friend,” I say, my heart racing with panic that Cody won’t stay to hear the rest, which makes me speak louder and faster.

  “You’d actually like him a lot—probably more than Trevor,” I admit, unable to stop the smile on my face knowing exactly how much my dad would love Cody. “I only know him a little, but I’m getting to know him more. I try to make him smile. His eyes crinkle when he smiles—just like yours.”

  Cody is still next to me, his grip on my hand once again strong, but his body is stiff. I’m rewinding mentally, realizing just how far I went. Shit. I said way too much! I don’t even know what I’m doing here. This all suddenly feels way too intimate—wrong. My pulse is speeding up the more I think about what Trevor would think if he saw me, saw this—saw us!

  I slide the pillow from my chest to the side and work my fingers until they’re out of Cody’s grip. He remains next to me, but isn’t moving. I’m pretty sure I just made him feel unwelcome in his own bed, the awkwardness creeping in now and almost choking me. I have to leave, leave this bed, and then leave this room. I’ll be calm until I shut his door, and then I’m running.

  Yes, that’s it. I’ll run.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry. I just unloaded, like, way too much on you. I’m…I’m just going to go,” I say, pushing myself up to sit at the side of the bed and slip on my shoes. The light is dim, but I can tell that Cody’s eyes have shifted to me. He’s still not moving or speaking, and I don’t really want him to. I just want to get out of his room without him saying a word.

  “Thank you, truly,” I say as I stand and look once more at the ceiling. “The stars? They’re amazing,” my voice wavers, and I turn and walk to his door. I’m gripping the handle, willing myself to keep it together for just a few more seconds until I’m out of his view. I feel his body behind me, and see his hand flat against the door.

  His breath against my neck raises every hair on my body. I’m looking intently at his fingers splayed out on the wood paneling of the door in front of me, my hands still gripping the door handle. Beyond this door, my life continues on one path—a path I know. A path I love. But I’m stalled, considering what happens if I stay in this room. I’m paralyzed. Fear. Indecision.

  “Cody, I…” I start, but don’t know how to finish.

  “Just stay,” he says, his voice barely audible, and the air released from his words sends more chills around my neck and down my entire body.

  “Just…” I hear him swallow, and even though I can’t see him, I know he’s struggling. I keep my eyes forward and watch his fingers curl into a fist on the door, clinching tightly. “I won’t…I wouldn’t make you uncomfortable. I’m not asking you to do anything. Please…please just stay,” his head falling flat against the back of mine as he speaks. I can feel him breathe me in, and I feel like I’m racing down a hill, lightheaded from the conflict brewing inside.

  “Okay,” I whisper, not even aware that it was me speaking. I’m on autopilot, turning away from the path I know and recognize on the other side of the door, but desperately worried that it won’t be there when I finally leave this room.

  Cody’s hand slides from the door to my shoulder, and I shiver as he traces the back of his fingers down the length of my arm, until he finds my hand once again. He pulls me to him, forcing me to turn into his body. I keep my eyes focused on the words on his shirt, reading the dates and towns to myself. Some tour shirt—a concert, perhaps? Or maybe a race? I’m trying to keep my mind busy with this pointless task when Cody reaches for my chin and pulls my face to look at his.

  His eyes are serious. Even in the darkness of his room, I can see the flecks of blue—I’m that close. I watch them as they move to the side of my face to follow his hand as he pushes my hair away slowly, tucking it behind my ear, but leaving his hand there, his fingers tangled deep within my hair. He tilts his head to the side, and I think for a moment he’s about to kiss me. I lick my lips on instinct, and I feel him tense up from it.

  His hand forces me forward into him, and I close my eyes, almost believing that if I don’t see it coming, I won’t be able to stop it. I feel his chest press to mine next, then his hand wraps deeper into my hair so he’s cradling the back of my head. His other hand slides up my side to the middle of my back, and his chin comes down above my head so I’m completely tucked within his embrace. I’m sheltered, and it’s the first time I’ve ever felt my heart actually stop from being in someone’s arms.

  Giving in, I bring my hands up Cody’s back so I’m hugging him tightly to me, my fingers gripping at his torn T-shirt. I slide my face flat against him and let out everything I’ve been holding in—it feels like for years.

  I cry. I cry hard. I didn’t see it coming, but I can’t stop it now. Cody is pulling me with him slowly to the bed, and when he sits down I fall onto him. He reaches around my legs and pulls them up so I’m draped over his lap, my body still cradled in his arms, and the sobs coming harder than before.

  Cody pulls the blanket from the side of his bed and brings it around me, wrapping me in it and rocking me side to side. I stop the tears only for a few seconds when I listen to his voice trying to calm me. “Shhhhhhhh, it’s okay. Sometimes you have to cry,” he says, kissing the top of my head and squeezing me tighter.

  I’m shattered in his arms, unable to breathe without my body shaking. We stay like this for several minutes before I realize he’s slowly slid us up his bed, and I’m now laying flat in his arms. I’ve never slept in anyone’s arms—Trevor can’t sleep with me on him, not that I really ever tried. I’ve always gone to sleep alone, even when I’m lying right next to someone. Thunderstorms as a child, breakups in high school, roommates, the first time I had sex with Trevor—I’ve always drifted off on my own time, often hours after everyone else.

  I let my eyes grow heavy, lulled by the constant stroking of my hair and the feeling of Cody’s fingertips as they graze along my scalp and neck. I’m pretty sure that what we’re doing isn’t okay, and I know even now, without even thinking about it, that I will never tell Trevor. But I’m not leaving this…this feeling. I’ll sort through the consequences—tomorrow.

  Tonight I’m going to dream, and lay here in Cody’s arms under the stars he made for me.

  Chapter 7: The Mask I’m Wearing

  I can’t face Cody. He’s in a deep sleep, slightly snoring, when I wake. The sun is shining through the cracks in his blinds. I’m a little ashamed.

  I dreamt of him last night. I dreamt of him while I lay in his arms. In my dreams, he kissed me. It was soft and sensual and beautiful. It was right here, in this bed. I look at him, and focus on his lips, his mouth. They look strong. It’s maybe my favorite thing about him—other than his eyes. His smile stretches the full width of his face. When he’s giving one genuinely, it fills me with butterflies.

  But Cody is my friend. That’s it—it ends there. And his stepbrother, the man I plan to marry one day, hates him. My head is spinning just trying to sort through my situation, trying to find fixes, ways to keep Cody in my life without keeping it a secret. Regardless, I know nights like last night can’t happen again—and I can never talk about it…with anyone.

  I manage to slide from the bed without making it move. I’m so worried
I’m going to make a noise that I bend down to the floor so I’m on my hands and knees, and I army-crawl my way out of Cody’s bedroom. I stop to take in where I am one last time. His handmade stars have faded with the sunlight seeping into the room, but I’ll never forget how they looked. And I may never be able to look at the real stars without comparing them again.

  Cody’s door opens without any noise, and I hold my breath until I’m safely out of his room and sprinting down the carriage house stairs. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my throat. I almost feel like I’m going to be sick.

  I make it to the backdoor at the kitchen and am relieved that it’s unlocked when I tug on it. The house is quiet. I’m sure Shelly has long passed out from drinking her problems away. I pull the gallon of milk from the fridge, and looking around to make sure I’m completely alone, begin to gulp it down. I’m so thirsty, and my stomach is turning—when I was a kid, this was the only thing that ever soothed me. Mac never cared when I drank from the container. He did it more than I did.

  It’s barely seven. I know Trevor will be awake, and I know he probably called me last night. I put the milk back in its place and tiptoe up the stairs to our room. I stop briefly at Shelly’s door just to listen. I hear nothing but the light mumbling coming from her television. I’m sure she’s down for the count.

  I’m so happy to see our room. Like I’ve been out in the wild and just made it to home base. I think maybe part of me was worried it wouldn’t be the same, that it would be gone somehow. I sit down on the bed and lay flat on my back. I turn my head to the side to take in our clothes—Trevor’s, and mine—lined up and intermingled in our closet. The picture I have of us from our last Dean’s dinner is propped up on the night table on my side of the bed, my phone charging next to it.

  When I scoot up the bed, I notice the message light blinking. My body reacts with a shot of adrenaline, my eyes almost not focusing, and my head swirling with dizziness. I’m tense until I listen to Trevor’s message, and when I realize it’s only from a few moments ago, I’m flooded with relief.

  Without stopping to think, stopping to plan, I hit dial. I realize I’m not sure what to say when the ringing begins. I’m thinking about hanging up, but then Trevor’s voice is there—familiar, warm, and happy.

  “Hey, you are up!” he says, almost surprised. My wits are about me enough to realize that it is a little earlier than I usually get up on a Monday. My first class isn’t until ten, and I’m only at my internship on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  “Yeah…I couldn’t sleep anymore. I decided to just get up. Must have been in the shower when you called, sorry,” I say, the hardness in my gut needling at me from my lie.

  “Good. I mean…not good that you couldn’t sleep. Just…I’m glad I didn’t wake you,” Trevor says, his voice sweet and full of sureness.

  My guilt swallowing me up just a little more, I try to up my enthusiasm to match his. “I miss you. What are you doing home? Aren’t you usually in the office by now?” I ask, suddenly worried that something’s happened.

  “Yeah, I actually just got home. We were up all night going through some old case files,” Trevor says through a yawn. “I was just hoping to catch you before I went to bed.”

  “I’m yours,” I say, my arm covering my face at the double meaning—perhaps a reminder to myself.

  “Well…I happen to have two tickets to West Side Story at the National Theater this weekend…” he doesn’t even have to finish, and I’m squealing in the phone. I’ve been to a few live theater shows in Cleveland, but nothing truly big. To see something on stage, at the National? The building is approaching 200 years old. And of all musicals to see—I used to watch West Side late at night when I waited for Mac to come home.

  “When can I come? When can I come? When can I come?” suddenly I’ve become a puppy, ready for my treat.

  “I thought you might be excited. I have a ticket for you already. You’ll need to leave Friday morning. I’ll pick you up at the airport. The show’s Friday night, but I have Saturday off. An actual day off! Thought we could spend it together and then you can head back Saturday evening,” Trevor’s voice is proud; he loves surprising me.

  “Perfect,” I say, the torn and twisted feeling that was torturing me minutes ago fading.

  Trevor chuckles a little. “You’re easy, you know that?” he jokes.

  “Hey, don’t think this means you’re going to get me in bed that easily,” I tease back, already thinking about the sexy outfit I’m going to pack. I stand to look for it in my top drawer. I really only have one, and I bought it right before we moved in together, not thinking about how uncomfortable life would be in his parents’ house. Also not foreseeing the distraction covered in ink and piercings—who was now suddenly standing in my doorframe.

  Shit!

  “Okay, well I’ve gotta get some sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open. Love you,” Trevor says.

  “I love you, too,” I say, almost a whisper, hoping that somehow Cody would miss it, and wishing like hell he didn’t have to hear it. His face looks like it did after his mother slapped him.

  I expect him to bolt, so when he doesn’t, the discomfort that’s already clouding up the entire room gets thicker by the second. We don’t speak. We don’t even blink. We just stand there, chewing on lips, flexing fingers, shuffling feet and staring. It’s like I knocked the wind out of both of us with one tiny sentence.

  I’m riffling through every possible thing I can say, nothing coming to mind, when Cody finally breaks through.

  “Hey, I hope…I hope I didn’t make things weird,” he’s unable to look at me, and it breaks my heart.

  I want to rush him, throw my fists on his chest and pound, yelling “Yes. Yes, you made things weird. But I don’t regret a single second. And I have no clue how I feel about it!”

  But I don’t. I just look down, and nod slightly, unable to square up with his eyes. “It’s okay. I chose to stay,” I say, giving him just enough, hoping he understands. I force myself to look up, and when I do, I meet his eyes. I see that small glimmer in them, and I know he’s feeling the same thing I am. His smile almost appears, but it fades fast.

  “That Trevor?” he asks, nodding toward my phone.

  I look down at it in my hand, and toss it on the bed before I look back to Cody. “Yeah, he was just getting home,” I don’t know why I tell him that, like I’m making an excuse for Trevor not coming to find me in a jealous rage or something. Cody just stares at me, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

  “I won’t say anything,” he says after awhile.

  I just nod in response, my lips in a tight smile. I can’t thank him—I’m not sure I’m thankful. Part of me wants him to put up a fight for me, to try to take me from Trevor. He’s about to leave, when he turns back to face me for one more question.

  “So, you’re going to see him? This weekend?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose while he waits for my answer. He looks like he’s about to be pushed off of a high dive. I give him the shove he needs.

  “Yes. I leave Friday,” I say, no longer thinking about the sexy bra and panty set in my drawer, but instead of reasons my flight might be cancelled, and wishing for the storm of the century. And for a fraction of a second, Cody looks at me with eyes that are begging me to stay. I can see the plea balancing on the tip of his tongue as he bites it with his teeth, stopping himself.

  “Yeah, well…have a nice trip,” he turns abruptly. He’s down the stairs quickly, and seconds later I hear the back door slam closed. I’m at my window immediately, and I see him reach into his pocket for his keys, climb into his truck, and fly from the driveway.

  I was hoping class would be a distraction. The seats are all full because midterms are approaching. I know I should be paying attention to Dr. Rush. I’ve managed to bring my grade up to a high C, and I’m sure if I took Cody up on his offers to help, I could be at a comfortable B. But I’ve been afraid of quiet time—alone—with Cody. And last night is proof pos
itive why it’s a bad idea.

  “Ms. Hudson?” my name sounds muffled, like it’s being announced from a tunnel. When I look to both sides, I realize the other students are all staring at me, some of them snickering. I’m sure he asked me a question, but frankly, I wouldn’t be able to get the answer right even if I did hear him.

  “I’m sorry. I’m a little lost,” I say, hoping that my honesty will buy me a pass. It doesn’t.

  “Yes, that seems to be your thing. Getting lost,” Dr. Rush frowns. He’s not going to let this go, so I shrink down a little in my seat to try to shield myself from the heat of everyone’s judgment. My shelter is short-lived, though. “Please, join me at the board.”

  Oh God!

  I poke my pencil under a few pages of my notebook and slide from my seat to the front of the class. It’s a large class—about 80 students. The tiered seating gives everyone a clear view of my hot, red face. My hand is sweating so much I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to hold the dry erase marker he’s about to hand me. I wipe it on my jeans and look to the side as I do. I don’t know what compelled me, what made me do it—but there he is.

  Cody is sitting in the corner seat in the top row. He’s never joined my class. He’s known I was in this section since the first time I went to his tutoring session. Of all days for me to be called out for daydreaming!

  “Ms. Hudson, can you please show us the first step in solving problem number seven,” Dr. Rush says, the tone of his voice clearly expressing his expectation for me to blow it. I take a deep breath, and glance at Cody from the corner of my eye. I see him sit up from his slouch and lean forward at his desk, folding his hands together in front of him. He’s waiting to watch me fail, too.

  I look up at Dr. Rush first, and he only prods me on, to begin writing. I close my eyes, and then open to look hard at the problem. I stare at the F’s and C’s and the strange horseshoe symbols. I can almost hear Cody’s voice in my head. I decide to trust it, knowing it’s really the only thing I’ve got, and I start to write. Once I complete the string, I click the lid on the marker and put it down. Looking back up to the professor slowly, I say, almost in a question, “You start with the derivative, and first define its limit?”