Page 22 of Sin Like the Devil

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Lost in the vast expanse of blackness that paints my vision, I rely on the ever-present beat of my guide stick. My life has been reduced to that incessant, steering tap, counting out each pace to be committed to memory.

Fourteen steps forward. Five left. Rough cotton bedsheets. Three steps right. The sleek metal of a built-in lamp. Six steps back. Smooth wooden wardrobe doors. More cotton folded neatly inside.

That’s how I know Xander unpacked my shit for me. The obsessively folded piles. He’s as meticulous about his space as he is his carefully chosen words.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You know, “experts” say that eighty percent of human perception comes from the eyes. Vision. It’s by far the most important sense of the five. When our other senses fail us, our eyes will always protect us from danger.

But who can see the incoming threat, the approaching tiger salivating over its prospective prey, when your eyeballs are two useless lumps of meat in your skull? I may as well be walking around with two empty sockets where my eyes should be.

Fingertips gliding over stacked clothing, I explore the over-washed fabric, searching for signs of my favourite t-shirt. It’s a remnant of a past life. The memory of its charcoal-grey colour and neon band slogan are fuzzy in my memory after five years of nothingness.

There.

I can feel the frayed edges and smattering of holes in the fabric. Unlike some, I couldn’t give a fuck what I look like to others. You quickly stop caring about being judged when your whole existence is ripped away by a doctor in a white coat that you can no longer see.

Tugging the t-shirt over my head, I smooth my mop of hair away from my eyes. I keep it longer on top but shoved back as the strands distract me when they tickle my face. It used to be golden-blonde, brighter than the sun, but I haven’t seen my reflection since I was eighteen.

I’m sure for a lot of people, losing their vision two days after coming of age would be the end of their life. And in some ways, it was for me. But the narcotic abuse I put my body through, and continue to do, started long before a dirty needle stole my entire basis for existence.

“Raine? You up?” A fist thumps on the door.

Quickly yanking a pair of skinny jeans into place, I fumble my way back towards the bedroom door. This room is smaller than the last one I had. It’ll take some time to remember the correct paces to cross the space. I’ve already stubbed my toe twice.

Swiping under my nose, I make sure any remnants of the pill I awkwardly crushed and snorted in the bathroom are gone. I’m sure Lennox has already noticed the shakes and cold sweats.

I’m trying to stretch out the last of my stash for as long as possible. After my morning hit, I feel all warm and tingly. Navigating a pitch-black world is just a little less terrifying when my mind is swimming in happy chemicals.

“Password?” I drone.

There’s a pissed-off exhale.

“How about open the fucking door before I break it down?”

I feel for the handle then swing the door open. “You’re such a morning person, Nox.”

I don’t know what my friend looks like. We shared a particularly awkward encounter early on in our friendship when I requested to run my hands all over him to produce a mental picture of his appearance.

I know he’s big. Burly. Grumpy. And a certified, grade A asshole. Except to me and maybe Xander. Lennox doesn’t care about anyone or anything but those he considers family. It’s his modus operandi.

Thunderous footsteps thumping past me, he barges into my bedroom with a low growl. I slam the door shut behind him then resume fastening my jeans. Though he’s seen me in far less.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Family meeting,” he grumbles. “The almighty one is on his way.”

“Now, now. Don’t go inflating Xander’s ego any more than it already is.”

I hear the creak of expanding bedsprings as Lennox takes a seat. “Hardly.”

“Does this family meeting have something to do with your guava-scented girlfriend?”

“Jesus, Raine. Do you know how weird it is to hear how you categorise us in your head?”

I drop my shoulder against the wall and unleash a smirk. “Alright, Mr…” I take a deep inhale. “Hm. Burning wood? Campfires, maybe? Or is that tobacco? I thought you quit smoking.”

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