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I let out a huge sigh of relief when they stop working and get everything ready to put him on the stretcher. Reassurance spreads through me like water in a dry riverbed, filling every empty space before rising up.
I watch, holding my breath as they load him onto it, and my only concern is making sure he’s still breathing. In my mind, I’m sure that he’ll be safe once he’s inside the ambulance, as if that piece of machinery could protect him from outside wickedness. Only someone badly twisted could do what they did to this human being.
When they’re rolling him inside the ambulance, I’m finally able to see his face.
And it’s like a bucket of icy water has been dumped on my head.
“Gael?” Oh, my God, Gael. My mind is running, but my body is stuck in horror.
Is that really Gael? What happened to him? What is he doing here?
My mind swirls like a pinwheel on a windy day, trying to understand what I just saw and what he’s doing back here after leaving everything behind. After leaving me behind. But most of all, trying to understand and come to terms with what had happened to him.
There’s no stopping the tears or the bile coming up. I lean against something to keep myself upright. I place a hand on my mouth to keep myself from shouting his name and to stop the sobs that are coming.
“Sir?” Someone shaking my shoulder pulls me away from a full breakdown. “Sir, are you coming with us?”
“Yes.” The word is out even before my mind can form the words. My heart, not my head, is deciding for me.
All the way to the hospital, only one question spins inside my head.
What the fuck happened to him?
Chapter Two
Gael
I blink my eyes open, but while my eyelids are working just fine, the night that envelops me is not dissipating, and it’s making my nerves stand at attention, just like the hair on the body does when it’s too cold.
I tap around me to find the light switch in my too-small place—too dirty, and too dark to be good for my health.
It’s a roof over your head, the most practical part of my mind reminds me gently.
Then my focus goes back to my hands, to try to understand what I’m touching. It’s too soft to be my bed. Sleeping on the floor on a few sheets doesn’t really protect the body from the hard floor. I’m lying on this soft slice of heaven that’s way too good to be something I own. I really want to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but months of sleeping with one eye open have taught me to trust my instincts. Right now, they’re saying ‘run, run, run,’ and like I always do, I get ready to bolt.
I hold my breath and listen to what’s happening around me. Not even the silence is a free card to safety. They could be hiding in the dark, just waiting for me to be careless. I have the signs of my stupidity branded on my skin.
Don’t think about it, I say to myself, because I need the reminder to forget what was and remember what is. Reality is my only friend.
One day, this will be only a memory . . . my mind insists. I don’t believe that anymore. There is no new day or new life for me. I’d been sure I was going to have everything when I left it all behind—my family, from whom I was running, Cameron, and with him my heart—just so I could have some peace. Just so I could become a man in control of his own life. Just so I could marry the love of my life.
Instead . . .
I keep touching everything around me, making sure not to make noise or rock the bed too much.
I reach for what looks like a lamp switch and press it, but instead, the sound of an alarm fills the room. My heart nearly bursts out of my chest, and my breath is squeezed out of my lungs in a sharp exhale. All the while, my body trembles, unable to break free of this freezing spell.
Then it’s like a ton of bricks has fallen on me, as if every single atom in my body is radiating pain, as if my skin has been pulled open and my insides are visible to everyone.
“You’re safe,” someone says, before a hand reaches out and helps me lie back against the pillow.
I want to laugh, because it’s been years since I felt safe, or even just okay.
The sarcastic laugh ends in a wheezing cough, when my too-abused throat can’t handle the burst of air. Then I keep coughing, so much and for so long, that my eyes fill with tears, and they run down my cheeks, wetting my ears and then the pillowcase. I try to move my hand to wipe them away, because looking weak is not something I can afford. Instead, a soft hand dries them for me, but I still hiss in pain when they touch my face.
Now that I’ve been discovered, and no punch has sent me back to sleep, I try to bring my other hand to my face to check the damage. No one would have entered the room without turning the light on, so there must be something wrong with me.
How the fuck I am going to survive if I’ve lost my sight?
