blind - owen teague | ✔️

21. Cry Tough

My senses were under the surface of the water and I was just trying to break free. The drug was a ball and chain to my ankle and it was dragging me down with it. It refused to let me breathe.

As my senses imploded, trying to work, my heart jerked at the feeling of such a warm arm around me, something pressing on the back of my neck, my body encased with live warmth other than the surrogate the blankets provided.

I didn't want to relax into it, but my body betrayed me as my eyes slowly opened beneath those white bandages. Everything was foggy in my mind as I slowly turned over, causing the warmth to shift.

There was an angel in bed next to me.

My hands slowly moved up and I found my fingertips meeting a cotton shirt. Pressing my hand down, I felt an erratic heartbeat. Was he there?

With effort, I whispered, "Owen?" My voice was thick and rough, coated with the heavy sedatives that the drugs provided, which traces were stuck in my bloodstream.

Everything was still. My heart was aching still, from however long ago, that fight, that argument, how he left and the door slamming reverberating my bones. We lied so close together, but I felt miles apart from Owen.

"[F/n]?" A sigh of relief fell out my lips at the quiet sound of his baritone word, and I could have sobbed.

"I-I'm sorry-" I began. So many words came to the surface. I wanted to apologize, beg for forgiveness, say everything I couldn't say.

"Don't start." Feeling his hands on my arms, I got tense, then relaxed. His hold was firm and I felt my limp body be pulled against his warm chest. I buried my face in it and hummed softly in relaxation.

Did he forgive me?

"It... It was all my fault. It was nothing you did. It wasn't you. It was all me. I got anxious and I snapped." His words dripped honey, sad and lonesome and my heart began to soak an empty weight inside me. He was hurting.

"What scares you?-" I could barely whimper the words as my brows knitted, confused. All I wanted to do was hold him, love him. Didn't he want that too?

"You hating my appearance." He said. "You not wanting to love me anymore because of it." Oh, Owen...

"Owen, I can't hate you because of your appearance." My words were murmured as I brought my hands up to feel his overly warm cheeks. He felt feverish and suddenly, something warm and wet slid over my hands. He was crying.

He hated himself so much he tried to push it away to love me. He tried to push those murky feelings away for weeks so that I could have an inkling of what my lover looked like.

My strong Owen had broken down to tears in my hands. He was fragile too. He was broken down too. He wanted this as bad as I did and he was just as scared as I was.

"I've already fallen for your personality and nothing is going to change that, unless you push me away. I was wrong to push you away when you hurt me. I'm not a materialistic person. I'd never hate your appearance." I whispered as my fingertips rubbed away those tears I felt.

He was just as cracked as I was. Who made him that way? Who made him believe his appearance appearance wasn't good enough? Society? Another girl?

Who had broken him to think his appearance would change the feelings we had inside for one another?

Suddenly, I was wrapped in a bone crushing hug and a warm face was buried into my shoulder, and I felt a broken sob come from Owen's lips. My heart broke at the sound, and I ran my fingers through his silky hair.

Warm tears soaked the fabric of my hospital gown and I pulled the velvety blanket around his frame, coddling him. The tables had turned and it was my time to hold him together, like he held me long ago.

He was broken too. It wasn't just me. He hurt too. This wasn't only my hurt, we had the same heart. The same broken, bruised, and bleeding heart.

We couldn't give it up before our time was due.

As he cried, I realized this was how we hurt one another. We were scared, in love, and the unknown was what was looming over our heads. But, in the time we spent, that's where we could feel love... Love wasn't seeing, love was feeling. Love was just this unfurling feeling in your chest, where you gave your all to someone, even if they didn't return it.

You might not have the same interests, or you could. You just fell for that person's being. The way they spoke, if they spoke at all. The way they touched you and made you feel like you were better. They made you the best version of yourself and saw the potential in you, even if you didn't. And you gave that back.

Some days, it wasn't 50/50. Some days, he was down, so you had to give 70 to his 30. There were trials. You were going to get hurt. Things were going to happen, but what mattered is you didn't stop fighting for that love.

That was love, in its purest form.

"Owen..." I whispered as I felt his sobs cease, finally. I stroked down those strands atop his head and I felt him pull away slightly. Calloused fingertips touched my cheek, barely brushing the end of my bandage.

He was trying to say he wanted it off.

My heart jumped in my throat, and I brought my hand up to wrap around his wrist, frowning slightly as his nail slid beneath the edge.

"Now?" I asked quietly.

"Now."

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