Page 12 of Love is Blind

The destruction.

All the loss and every ounce of hate.

He gets to bask in the filth.

Yet someone like Birdie has to rely on others to be her eyes. Needs a man as ugly as me to tell her she’s fucking beautiful.

It’s not just cruel, it’s brutally unjust.

But I knew that.

Knew the world was a dark and twisted place the second I pulled my daughter out of the water and touched my fingers to her neck, trying to find a pulse.

My fingers curl around the granite.

I should’ve left the moment she spit her drink in my face. But, no, I stuck around and let things escalate. It was harmless at first. Just two wounded warriors passing time and drinking their troubles away. Then she threw me a curve, and I leaned into it. An occupational hazard I suppose.

I touched her.

Told her she was fucking beautiful.

Two detrimental strikes—one more and I’m out.

But fuck was she beautiful, and it was a goddamn sin she didn’t know it. The longer I sat there listening to her, the harder it became to keep my eyes off her. Something started to twist in the pit of my gut.

Hunger.

And with every smile or scrunch of her nose, that hunger grew into a ravenous need, spreading like wildfire through my veins.

I wanted to taste her.

Sink my hands into those honey-colored locks and ravage that tempting mouth.

Leave her panting as I wrap her legs around my head and feed off her pussy.

Lose all my darkness in her light.

Releasing my grip on the vanity, I push the hair away from my face and reach into my kutte for the orange prescription bottle. I came here to numb myself and now I feel more fucking alive than I have in months.

Time to remedy that.

I turn on the tap and pop off the top of the bottle, shaking some Percocets into my palm. I’m about to pour them down my throat when the door opens behind me. Ready to unleash my fury on the intruder, my gaze cuts to the mirror and my eyes land on Birdie. She’s got one hand outstretched and the other tightly grips her cane. I don’t say a word as I watch her move around the bathroom, her cane tapping away at the floor.

If one didn’t pay much attention to details they wouldn’t know she was blind sitting at the bar, knocking back shots. But seeing her like this, moving around with that cane, makes it real. The thing is, I’m not deterred in any way. If anything, I think I’m in awe and that fucking angers the shit out of me.

I reach out and shut the water. Closing my fist around the pills, I turn to face her. I need her to go away. If she could see, she’d run.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss, my jaw tight.

She lifts her head and follows the sound of my voice, piercing me with those pretty baby blues and suddenly, the pills feel like a brand against my palm. My hunger intensifies. The need all too consuming.

But I don’t know what I’m fiending for more—the drugs or her.

Shaking the thought from my head, I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

“You’re in the men’s room,” I growl, flexing my fist around the pills.

“Well, that’s a relief. I thought I was in the kitchen.” Smiling, she turns her head, tapping the cane as she starts for the stalls. “Go about your business, I promise not to look.”

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