blind - owen teague | ✔️

11. ...It Pours

"The swelling of the brain is applying too much pressure to the eyes. This is why everything seems this fuzzy, dark black, maybe even grey." Anisa spoke.

My heart was hardened to a heavy burden and I wasn't really sure what to think. It wasn't happy. I wasn't sad. I felt numb.

"I know this will be hard, but slowly the pressure will elevate to normal, and your sight will regain in due time. All we can do is watch the swelling and make sure you're comfortable in this time. Would you like to go home for this?"

"No. Can I stay?"

Waking from my dream, I sighed and buried down in the soft, starchy hospital pillows, staying in my warm, black cocoon. I didn't want to go home. The accident was such a reminder and I'd rather stay here so my mother didn't blame herself.

I was surprised she hadn't visited. She hadn't even called. She didn't even want to call my doctor and leave the message. She was probably far in grief. She didn't need that.

The rest of the day after Anisa spoke to me was very uneventful. The high of Owen's touch had faded quickly. Anisa's truthful words had set in and I knew deep down she was right, and that hurt beyond reason. The truth hurts. Maybe I couldn't handle it.

It was back to routine after I had fallen asleep, back to breakfast and missing juice boxes. I didn't quite like that, it set me on edge now. After breakfast was the mandatory nap, and I had just now woken up from.

It wasn't a dream, just a recollection of this past week and a half of torment with routines and meeting Owen and a beyond mind-blowing talk, touch, sight session.

My heart tugged at the memory and I wondered if he had felt any of what I felt. I wondered if he felt any of that. I wondered if he felt the heat rush, the breathlessness, the utter lighting up of all the senses.

The negative part of me dwelled on the great possibility that he didn't. He was just being kind. He was just... Nice.

A smaller, brighter part of me mused that maybe he had, and maybe he wanted to try that again. Maybe he wanted to show me more of the world as he saw it, how I felt it...

The door clicked and music played, growing louder as it drew closer. My brows furrowed. There were clicks and pads as feet shuffled in the room. Boots and sneakers? Heals and sneakers? Boots and flats?

Two people?

I heard a deeper and a smaller, more feminine voice. Then I heard Owen's chuckle, unmistakable as my heart squeezed in admiration, then clamped in the truth.

I stilled. It stung, spreading a cold weight that crushed the warmth that spread when I recognized his laugh.

Anisa was right.

Owen brought a girl here. Friend? Girlfriend? Didn't matter. Stupidly, I had begun to think I was special. This is what Anisa meant.

Of course she was right. I just didn't want to believe her. I never listened. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. Stupid. I couldn't even follow simple advice. Distance myself. Get a grip. I'm here to get better. I shouldn't be making friends.

I could feel myself frowning at the thought of the word friend and even then my own heart slapped itself for thinking that it was anything more without realizing it. All we did was touch. All he did was make me feel better.

It all led back to pain.

I heard the familiar thump of Owen's bookbag on the ground and the crinkling of cheap plastic. The straw on the juicebox. I must have napped later than I thought. It was already time for Owen to do his homework.

"You can't just drink her juice box." Female spoke. I didn't know her. I didn't want to know her, as selfish as that sounded.

"I do it all the time, little red."

Red? Redhead?

"Don't I, [F/n]?"

I didn't move or respond. My heart was too wrapped up in its own pity party. Anisa was right... Anisa was right...

"Must be asleep."

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know. Just know she can't see a thing for now."

"That must suck."

"She's handling it pretty well."

You must be the blind one, Owen Teague.

I felt the velvet slide higher on my body. Suddenly, I didn't want it anymore. I didn't want Owen's touch, his blanket, nothing. It all responded back to pain because I couldn't stop getting my hopes up unconsciously.

I bit my tongue and stayed still as I was swaddled with the blanket again, surrounded by his smell. I couldn't escape it for now. I had to endure it.

Their topic changed to something more boring, homework. It was painstakingly unbearable. I wanted to drown, but I was almost choking on the smell of the blanket. I knew I liked the scent, but I didn't want to.

I wanted to cry. My head pounded. I felt lightheaded, and soon, the black faded to an empty void and I was once again unconscious.

-

"I'll definitely let Nickey know that you wanna hang out." My head still pounded as I emerged from my subconscious. Her voice was closer this time. Next to my bed?

"Good. Maybe we can do something this weekend. Saturday. Tomorrow and Friday, I think I'll be pretty busy." With what, Owen?

"Aw..." Her voice was an animated sad emotion, obviously playful. I missed my own playful banter with Owen. No I didn't! Make up your mind.

I know I did.

I felt a hand on my upper arm where I was laying on my side, not facing the direction of the voices. It was warm. My skin provoked his touch more, longing, warming to it. Owen!

I knew my skin missed him, but my heart warned to not get anymore attached. His hand rubbed gentle, soothing strokes, back and forth, as if to rouse me.

"Come on, [F/n]. Time to wake up." I didn't want to wake up. I don't want to meet her. I don't... I can't...

Turning, his knuckles brushed my jaw as I swallowed back something, a jolt of warmth, a shock, but my mouth was dry.

My voice was scratchy, and rough. A morning voice. "I don't feel good, Owen." I had to be strong. Tears sprung to my eyes. "Can you please leave?"

There was an obvious frown in his voice. "Now?" He asked. His tone was wary, guarded. Red hadn't said anything.

"Please." My heart clamped and a knot formed in my throat.

He was silent, the room drop dead and my heart thumped emptily, willing my head to not do this.

"Alright. See you tomorrow, [F/n]?" His tone was barely a whisper. Maybe he felt it too.

Just another girl.

I couldn't say anything. Only nod. Maybe, Owen. Maybe.

Maybe I just like my heart being stepped on.

The door did its annual one-two with the exit of Red and Owen, and a choking sob left me. Goodbye, Owen.