Chapter Twelve
Maddie
“Oh my God, I’ve gone blind,” I whisper into the darkness that surrounds me as soon as my consciousness snaps back like a rubber band, the headache pulsing behind my eyes becoming a secondary concern to my missing eyesight.
What the hell happened between the first sip of whiskey and now that has rendered me sightless? And why can’t I remember it?
A bubble of panic appears in my chest as I sit upright from a familiar-smelling cloud of softness, my hands gripping tightly to the comforter I’d know the soft crinkle of even if I were dead. How am I in my bed? How did I get here? And why can’t I see anything?
Whimpering as the panic grows with all the speed of a spreading wildfire, I release my comforter and begin slapping against my bed, hoping to find my cell phone.
Not sure what good my cell will do, given that I’m blind now, but hell, what’s a girl to do when she wakes up without properly functioning eyes and no clue how it happened?
Unfortunately, I don’t find the little cellular device that could very well save me at this moment, leaving a door open for the bubbling panic to seep through.
And when the panic breaks through with all the force of a wrecking ball, all rational thought flees from my mind like a bird leaving its nest for the first time.
“Are these the aftereffects of using the wrong lube? Oh my God, have I been blinded by cooter-burning sex juice? Or did the hockey stick do more internal damage than external? Is this self-inflicted? Have I actually blinded myself? What horrors did I partake in during my past lives that my sight has been stolen by a product meant for masturbation and a big wooden stick meant for hitting shit?” I practically wail, falling back into my bed without enough dramatic flair, my breaths now coming fast enough that I’m sure I’ll pass out very quickly if I continue.
Hell, maybe hyperventilating into fainting will help.
It might be the vacation I need at this point, this entire day rating so high on the shit radar that it would be funny if I wasn’t on the brink of hysteria.
As it is, my heart has started beating to a rhythm better suited for remix music they play in dance clubs nowadays, the headache behind my eyes matching the beat like it’s afraid of missing out on the fun.
My thoughts are turning as frantic as my pulse, my breathing still coming in much too fast, and I only vaguely wonder if this is how I die.
Rubbing my fists into my eyes, pathetically hoping that’ll get them working again, I cry out, “My eyes! My poor, poor eyes. I know I’ve seen some things in the world that would make someone consider plucking their eyeballs from their sockets, but I had so much more to see!
How will I do my job without my eyes? I can’t see through a camera lens with my nose!
Do they make Braille cameras or something? Or how will I ever watch or read por—”
Just as I’m really gearing up to delve into a spiel about how desperately I need my sight, my cell phone begins to ring from nearby, the screen’s brightness illuminating the room enough for me to see the error of my ways.
Pausing as I listen to my ringtone, my eyes actually scanning the surroundings that have now become visible, I rapidly deduce that I’m actually stupid.
The hockey stick clearly stole a few too many brain cells when it hit me, because I can see everything well enough.
Or rather, well enough for what the light from my cell allows me to see.
It was just very dark in my room, which is weird, because I was sure it was only midafternoon when I almost concussed myself.
Sighing at my own ridiculousness, the panic dissolving quickly enough that my shoulders slump and my entire body almost turns liquid, I reach for my cell and see a number I don’t recall programming into my phone.
I don’t remember adding him as a contact, nor do I remember taking the goofy photo of us both that is now the picture taking up the entire screen as Caiden’s name flashes on my screen.
Clearing my throat, I answer demurely, “This is Madison, fully sighted and confused. How may I help you?”
Caiden’s chuckle trickles through the speaker, forcing me to bite back the sudden urge to smile, my cheeks heating instantly while butterflies break free in my stomach.
A very quick one-eighty from the pure panic that had me in a chokehold not even two minutes ago, but apparently I have no problem proving to myself that I am a very fickle creature when it comes to handsome men who laugh so prettily.
“You good up there, Blue?” he eventually asks through his laughter that shouldn’t sound so attractive. Alas, those flutters between my legs say otherwise. “Pretty sure we heard something about your eyes? You haven’t gotten yourself into more trouble while we’ve left you alone, have you?”
I shake my head, realizing too late that he can’t actually see me through the phone, so I clear my throat once more and answer, “Nope. No trouble. Just a little misunderstanding between me and myself.”
“What kind of misunderstanding would have you crying out about your poor eyes?” he pushes, entirely too amused by my sudden downfall. I really don’t know what atrocities I’ve committed in past lives to deserve this day that was clearly plucked from the depths of Hell, but here I am. Suffering.
Deciding my reputation and dignity have long been tarnished thanks to the lube that was evidently created by a pussy-hating masochist, I grumble beneath my breath and fall back onto my bed before confessing, “It’s dark in my room, but when I apparently passed out, it was still daylight.
I thought I’d suddenly turned blind and had a very brief moment of panic. That’s what you heard.”
As expected, Caiden breaks out in more peals of laughter, and I sling my arm over my face with a wince when I’m a little slow to remember I’m wounded and have fresh stitches in my forehead.
“It’s almost eleven in the evening, Blue,” Caid finally replies, still sounding much too amused, but at least his giggles are now under lock and key.
“You drank a whole lot of whiskey so Rayne could stitch you up without anesthetic, and you passed out about five minutes after he was done. Bax carried you to your apartment and put you to bed. You’re not blind unless you’ve somehow managed to do something to your eyes while we left you unattended. ”
“Left me unattended,” I parrot blandly, because as ridiculous as it sounds, it seems almost valid that I’ve gotten myself into some wonky scenarios today without any of them present.
It’s like I need a keeper or something to steer me from disasters.
Obviously, I’m not going to state as much out loud.
Instead, I mutter, “I’m not a puppy that needs to be monitored. ”
“A puppy is safer on its own than you are,” he argues playfully, and my face contorts into a dirty look before I can stop myself, even if it’s only partly true.
It’s not like I have days like this every single day.
I’m sure I’d have died long before today if that were the case.
For some reason, the universe just decided that I needed a good old-fashioned shake-up, and sadly for me, that involved four handsome strangers and an unlucky day to end all unlucky days.
“Whatever,” I huff, refusing to admit that he’s right. “Why are you calling, how are you calling, and when did we take the photo I have saved as your contact?”
I hear the smile in Caiden’s voice as he says, “I wanted to see if you wanted dinner, since it’s late and you slept the rest of the day away. Figured some calories might make you feel better after the day you’ve had.”
Oh. Well, that’s actually pretty sweet.
Then he ruins it.
“You took the photo, and several others I have saved on my phone, so I programmed my number into your phone and attached the photo before Bax carried you home. I’ve also sent you all fifty-three other photos you took.
Some are close-up nostril shots, but they were too funny to delete,” he concludes, and my eyes close as I search for patience.
I’ve never exhausted myself so thoroughly in only one day.
Usually, I can go a week, maybe even more, before I grow tired and fed up with myself and the shenanigans I occasionally get into.
Today, however… Well, today can fuck right off a cliff.
A very tall cliff that overlooks a rocky shore.
Spiky rocks, too. If today could be impaled on sharp, jagged rocks protruding from the sea, then that’s the fate I would wish upon it.
I’d like to think a genie would grant me that particular wish if I shared with them the tale of today’s antics.
“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” I mirthlessly quip, lacking the enthusiasm I’m sure he’s looking for. I can’t find it in me to be chill about it. I’m so done with today. Maybe I should just go back to sleep. Yeah, maybe ridding myself of this day entirely is the way to go.
Just then, like a famished beast crawling from the depths of its cave, my belly growls deeply. It’s a reminder, nay, a threat, that I haven’t eaten since this morning, and if I don’t eat something pronto, my stomach won’t be responsible for whatever actions it forces the rest of my body to do.
The mere reminder of Baxter’s pancakes has my mouth watering, another hearty rumble coming from the depths of my empty belly, so loud that Caid snorts from the phone. I forgot he was there for a very brief moment, and I make a pitiful little cry just as he asks, “What the hell was that noise?”
Do I answer?