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He was feeling bad because he didn't grasp I was disabled sooner.Disabled. God, I hate this word.
It makes me feel like I am less than. Like this is how people perceive me. And I hate that this knowledge feeds my own insecurities about myself and my place in the world. I hate that I still end up judging myself by hearing-people’s standards. I hate that being pitied makes me forget that I can do all the same things they can do. It's just noise that escapes me, but they don't care.
They make my deafness into the only recognizable characteristic of my personality. Like there is nothing else about me that's worth pointing out.
And I know I'm being uncharitable. It was nice of Carson —Mr. Gabriel!— to seek me out to apologize for startling me and being rude.
It tells a lot about his inherent goodness behind that glowering forbidding stare and that bad rep of his that his conscience pricked him enough to make him want to say he was sorry and really mean it.
Which I know he did.
I know he was sincere.
I'm the one that has a problem.
I wanted him to come apologize, but at the same time, I didn't wish for it to be about my deafness. Which I know is unreasonable.
I'm okay with being deaf, even proud, really. But I don't like that deafness is the only thing hearing-people remember about me, the one single thing that defines who I am for them.
I guess there is nothing wrong with wanting for his apology to mean a little bit more because, like I said, for a minute there, it felt almost like he was kinda flirty.
But, probably, intentions got lost in translation at some point.
What I should do is put this behind me and stop thinking about him altogether.
That's right.
I will start now.
No more thinking of those sea-green eyes staring me down. No more thinking of those sexy slabs of wet, glistening muscles covered in ink and, definitely, no more thinking about that scrap of a towel that left so little to the imagination.
No more thinking of what the sight of that thick wet beard and of those big shoulders, big arms, and big hands did to me.
No more thinking of the smile he cast my way when he stopped me in the hall or the little thrill I felt when I saw he had gone through the trouble of learning my name.
See, easy? I'm not thinking about any of that anymore.
Because… well, what would be the point, really?!
It's not like my attraction to him could be anything more than a crush, right?
And it's definitely not like he sought me out because he felt the same.
He was only concerned with acting politely after being rude to someone who's deaf.
No more, no less.
The fact that he looks too handsome for words and smells like the sexiest cedar forest out there with hints of lemon and sandalwood that carried even to the tablet that he kept passing to me shouldn't matter.
It does not.
Besides, even if I was wrong and he sort of liked me, and he had a double motive in hunting me down, I have to keep in mind what Penny said about him.
And I'm not ashamed to admit I've done my fair share of research on him. Google really opened my eyes to how very kind she was when she described his rep and those of his bandmates because the things I've read were way worse. Sheesh.
You strip away that preppy —oh My God, so very preppy— name, Carson Gabriel the IV, and you're left with nothing but trouble.
I mean, I know he's a rock star, so he's supposed to be kind of a bad-boy type, but damn, he's wild!
