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“Don’t make an asset out of my blindness.”
Oh hell. She tensed because his words were sharp and his body had stiffened. Did she think that? Was she so comfortable with him because there was always a way to choose how she responded to him? Be annoyed but don’t throw a spoon in the sink, be awkward but cover it by keeping it out of your voice. Move things before he tipped them over, sign to others so he wouldn’t know he was in the way. She’d never been able to manipulate Hamish but Damon’s blindness made him vulnerable to it.
“I didn’t—”
“You did. You think I wouldn’t give almost anything to see a sunrise, to see green and blue, to see my parents, the guys, to see my own adult face. So don’t tell me you like the fact I can’t see you. It’s offensive.”
She pressed her feet to the floor and tried to stand. He was drunk and he didn’t mean to talk so sharply, but she wanted some distance. He clamped down on her waist. “Don’t bolt on me. Sound is important to you, how the fuck important do you think it is for me? Talk to me, get angry with me.”
“I’m um…you, ah.” He wasn’t slurring, he wasn’t incoherent, but his inhibitions were down. How long had he been waiting to say all this?
“It’s insulting, Georgia. If you’ve been managing me, guarding yourself, then we don’t have anything real together.”
He might’ve smashed a bottle and held its jagged end to her neck. “If that’s what you think, let go of me.” She could walk on him. He didn’t need her, he never had, and never would. And she certainly didn’t need him.
Both of his hands lifted and she jumped up, knocking into the table, making bottles wobble. Was she manipulating him, making of him something she could contain and compartmentalise by managing her responses to him?
Yes, sometimes. Hell.
He looked straight at her. “I know you got uptight about Liz and Bron. I know that striptease was out of your comfort zone. I’ve had a few beers too many, but it’s my equilibrium that’s impaired, not my judgement. I’ve had women want me so they could mother me, manage me and cure me. I want you to fucking be with me for exactly who we both are, and I’m a blind guy who would desperately love to see you blush and frown and smile and laugh. I want to see your anger and your fear, your bad hair days and your crabby moods. Don’t make it harder for me by only giving me selected highlights.”
She took a deep steadying breath. “Damon, I’m going to walk away so I can think for a minute. I’ll come back and we can talk.”
He stood up, the chair barking on the floor as it bounced off his legs. “If you walk away you’ll only prove my point. You’ll edit. You’ll come back with a script. I want you raw, Georgia, as painful and imperfect as that is, that’s what I need from you, not your eyes or your arm, or your protection. You, I need you.”
He had her trapped between the table and his body, but he might not know that. “Yes, I manage you.” He had her trapped between his disability and her fear of its role in what they had together. And he was well aware of that.
“How?”
“Damon, ease up, mate. Come on, it’s tattoo time.” Angus made a signal to her, did she want help?
“Fuck off, Angus.” Damon’s focus on her never faltered. “God help me if there’s any fucking sign language going on. This is an argument between a man and woman who are fucking crazy about each other. It’s no one else’s business.”
Angus eyeballed her. “Is that right, Georgia?” She could push the table away, push Damon away. One decent shove and he’d be on the ground. He was crazy about her and she knew that and she wasn’t sure how they’d ended up in this fight, but if he wanted it, she’d bring it, otherwise Jeffrey, Hamish, the men she’d wrecked herself trying to manage, won again.
“I hold you at arm’s distance because I’m scared I still want to fix you and I know that’s not what you need. I need space from you because I’m worried you’ll become everything to me. I can’t afford to be dependant like that again. It’s not healthy for me. You know that.”
Angus forgotten, Damon made a come on gesture with the curling fingers of one hand. “More.”
“I wanted to tear your heart out when I saw you with those women and that’s not a mature adult response. You do that to me and it scares me senseless.”
His chin lifted as if he was bracing for a hit. “More.”
“I guard my responses because I care what you think about me and I don’t want to lose you.”
“More.” His voice was torn up, frayed like his balance, but the tone so uncompromising. He was weaving on his feet but he wasn’t backing off.
She braced on the table, lifting her face to his, her eyes open and tears threatening. “You can’t see how I adore you, and I don’t have the words to tell you and if I’m not careful I could lose your love so easily. I could just smother it out.”
“Are you crying, Georgia?”
“Yes, damn you.” She shoved him away and he staggered. Angus sidestepped, not willing to catch him this time. “I’m crying and everyone is watching us and I hate you.”
Damon’s legs gave out and he tipped forward, going to his knees, one hand out to the floor. No one moved. Alicia Key’s If I Aint Got You played.
Every instinct compelled her to go to him, help him to stand or simply fold him in her arms. But she gripped the table and held her ground, her face wet, her sobs now audible. He was not helpless and he’d pitched this battle, made it something bigger than it needed to be, humiliating her in the process.
He lifted his head, sat back on his shins. He looked right though her. “Now I see you, Georgia. Now I see you, and I’m incapable of forgetting how beautiful you are.”
