Blind Love: English Read online

  "It's too tempting."

  "Jonathan!" I gasped.

  "Don't blame me, bitch," Jonathan said right into my face. "I’ve had the hots for Ethan Fucking Thompson since longer than I care to admit. I introduced you to his singing for fuck's sake, and now you're going out on a date with him just because you have boobs! It's not fair!"

  "Hey! It's not only because I have boobs!" I defended.

  "And a hoohah."

  "Jonny!"

  "Shut up and stay still, I'm applying eyeliner." The pout I was hearing in his voice almost made me laugh, but I had to hold it in since I didn't want him to mess my face up and all.

  When Jonathan was finished with my hair and makeup, he helped me with zipping up my dress – my black chiffon, strapless, short dress. I fumbled with my necklace's lock for a few moments until I got it in place and then I heard a thud.

  "Jonny, you alright there, buddy?"

  I heard a groan.

  "Jonathan, you're not trying on my shoes, are you?"

  He choked out a, ''No."

  Ugh! Unbelievable!

  "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" Ethan asked. We were sitting in a quiet corner in some fancy restaurant which – according to Ethan – we’d entered through the back door. It was nice; soft, live music playing in the background, and someone with a French accent asking if you need anything every now and then while filling your glass of water or that fine wine we were gifted once we sat down at the table. Ethan was saying all of the lovely words that made me dizzy and all warm and fuzzed up from the inside … Yep, it was really nice.

  "About twenty times in the past hour," I grinned, teasing him a little.

  "Ah, I haven't said it enough times, then," he said. "You look very beautiful, Anna."

  My heart was making its way out of my chest, and I thought it would reach there soon. Ethan was worming his way inside of my heart so fast and so deep, and I was falling. Hard. My guards were going down. The walls, the fences I'd been building since what felt like too long were breaking in front of his kindness and wonderful nature. And – it was scary.

  I was so scared that along with the fences that were breaking, my heart would do the same, too. I've already had my heart broken. Twice. Last time was way harder than the first. And if I allowed Ethan into my heart and then he decided to break it … I didn't know what would happen to me. Dying of a broken heart could be it.

  "Excuse me," I called when I heard the click of high heels that I knew belonged to the waitress who served our table. I could tell it was her passing by from the smell of her perfume.

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "Can you show me the way to the ladies' room, please?"

  "Yes, of course, Ma'am. Here." She took my hand in hers and I got up, excusing myself as I left the table and walked to where the waitress was leading me. She was really kind, talking to me while walking, telling me to go to the right and go to the left. She told me when there was a table or anything in the way or nearby with such a quiet voice. She didn't just take my hand and drag me, and I really appreciated that. But it wasn't easy. Not at all.

  Asking for help was one of the hardest things for me to do. I hated it. With passion. Only because when I did it, I felt that I was more than just disabled – I felt useless. Useless to the point where I couldn't show myself where I wanted to go.

  I didn't really want to use the bathroom, I was just stalling, I knew I was. I couldn't find the words to reply to Ethan – or better yet, I did know what I wanted to tell him. I just wasn't sure if I should say those words I wanted to say. Because I was scared. If I told him how I felt, or what his words did to me or how they affected me … it'd make me weak in front of him, so weak. And I wasn't talking about disability this time.

  I didn't want that.

  But … my heart, it was telling me to go for it, that by refusing and blocking I might be losing something really good and wonderful, and I just – I didn't know.

  The waitress left me in the bathroom and told me she'd come back in five minutes. I stood there with my back to the closed door, trying to gather my thoughts together in a place I knew would provide me with privacy. I didn't know that cruelty would be what I was going to get along with it.

  "I'm dying to get his autograph, but he just disappeared. I couldn't find his table and the waiter wouldn't tell me," I heard some woman saying, and I knew right away she was talking about Ethan.

  "Me, too. This is so disappointing, I mean, we were this close." The voice sounded younger than the first one.

  "Did you see the girl that was with him? Do you think they’re together?" the first one asked.

  "Oh, please! Have you seen her?" I could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

  My chest tightened and my throat closed.

  "I know, he could do so much better."

  My eyes welled up and my breaths hitched.

  "It must be something he's doing for charity or something. I mean, this is Ethan Thompson we're talking about – to leave all of the girls who would kill for a night with him and go date a blind one? I don't think so."

  What I remember after that was nothing but a blur of events. I don't remember what I'd told Ethan to get out of there or what my excuse was to end the night and our date so abruptly. I only remember that I was hurt more than I could explain, and I didn't even know where to go from there.

  Part of me knew that maybe they were just bitter, that maybe they were just jealous that Ethan Thompson had chosen me over everyone, over them, or even someone like them – someone who was healthy and looked perfect, not someone like me. That part told me not to listen to them, that it was nothing. But then again, the other part of me begged me to walk away. Not from them, but from Ethan. Because they were right – Ethan could do so much better, he deserved so much better. He deserved someone who could look back at him right in the eyes, someone who would look good beside him, someone who didn't need help constantly. Someone who wasn't as damaged as I was.

  But – I couldn't just let go. In the past few months, Ethan had become such a great friend, and I lived for our talks at night. He was kind, funny, and his personality was made of gold. He always made me feel better. He always eased my pain, and that part wasn't only since we’d started talking. No, he did it long ago when he sang about not letting go.

  It took me a week to realize that I should be very grateful for what I had, grateful for him. Grateful that I had someone as wonderful as Ethan in my life. Not just because of how wonderful he was, but also because he was someone who was able to see past my disability and still think that – despite everything – I could make him happy.

  I couldn't let go of that.

  That's why the next Friday night found me sitting by my dining table, having my second date with Ethan – an indoor date, which I’d asked for. Ethan wanted to take me out again, but I didn't want a repeat of what had happened on our first date. Not that I'd told him or anything; I’d never mentioned it. Only to Jonathan, but not Sandra.

  Jonathan knew everything about me – more than even Sandra did. I loved Sandra the most, I'd give up my own life for her if it ever came to it, but I didn't always tell her everything – not because she wouldn't understand or because she'd be judging, not at all. It was just that I hated to bother her with the weight of my problems and the difficulties I faced. She took everything to heart, and every small little thing could make her depressed for days.

  Jonathan had been my best friend since I was little. He was there the day that kid let me walk into a hole and break my ankle. He was there when another befriended me for a whole week just to get me to trust her enough to let her do my eyebrows for me, only to end up with her shaving them off completely just to have a good laugh at me with her other friends. He was there when Brad admitted that if it wasn't for my looks, my body, and the fact that I was a virgin, he wouldn't have gone into a relationship with me. He was there when Stefan asked me to have a surgery where the chances of its success were only twenty-seven percent, b
ecause he couldn't take how embarrassing I was to him anymore. He was there when Stefan left me eventually when the second surgery failed just like the first.

  This time, he was the one who told me to fight for what I wanted and to never let the words of two people who had no drop of compassion inside of them prevent me from being happy. To not let go of something good, to not let go of someone who made me happy.

  I took his advice.

  "What do you think?" I asked, smiling.

  "It tastes like sin," he replied and I laughed lightly. We'd just finished eating the dinner I’d cooked and now we were sitting on the couch in the living room, eating strawberries with chocolate. Ethan was blindfolded, as I was trying to prove to him that food tasted even better when you lost one of your other senses and you focused as much as you could on the taste – because seriously, your taste buds worked better when you couldn't see what you were eating or didn't even touch it. They worked even better when you had no idea what you were eating at first, because every sense in you tried really hard to figure out what was it that you had in your mouth.

  I had my left hand over his right cheek, my thumb touching the corner of his lips so I would know where I was going as I fed him. To be honest, I was enjoying touching him more than anything else.

  "See? I told you," I said.

  "My turn," he said, then I felt his hand as it brushed mine while it went to remove the blindfold, I assumed. My smile grew as I sat back and waited for him to start feeding me. A moment later, I felt the melting chocolate as it touched my lips and I opened my mouth, taking a small bite and then closing my mouth over it, savoring the taste of the sweet chocolate mixed with the sweet-salt of strawberry while humming before chewing and swallowing.

  The next time when I expected another bite, I was met by warm lips pressed into mine and hot breaths fanning over my face. I gasped at the feel of his kiss and froze for a second before I recovered quickly and kissed him back, closing my eyes in enjoyment as my lips moved in a perfect rhythm with his.

  When he broke the kiss, he didn't pull back. His forehead touched mine and his hands hugged my face. "You have no idea how long I have wanted to do this," he whispered against my lips.

  "Why didn't you?" I whispered back.

  Another kiss was the answer to my question. This time his tongue touched my lips in a plea to let it in. I parted them to touch my tongue with his and was rewarded with his groan.

  Our kisses grew hotter and hungrier when Ethan pushed me gently onto my back and lay on top of me. My hands tangled in his soft hair, pulling it and pulling him into kissing me more and harder.

  "Is this – is this okay?" he panted into my neck when his hand touched the bare skin of my stomach from underneath my blouse.

  I nodded into his shoulder, biting my lip. His hands were eager as they touched me, kneaded silky skin, palmed soft flesh and took my clothes off. My own hands were not less eager than his, as the feel of his tight muscles and well-defined abs was enough to make me mad with lust.

  I felt his tongue as it touched my left nipple then the cool breeze on the sensitive skin when he left it to suck on the other, the sensation causing my eyes to roll to the back of my head and my moans to grow louder.

  "Ethan! Oh, God!" I moaned when his hand touched between my legs from underneath my skirt.

  "Let me take you upstairs and make love to you, Anna." His voice was begging, his breaths were pleading and the feel of his arousal against my body was too hard to be ignored – pun not intended.

  In my bed, his lips touched wherever his hands couldn't, and his hands touched wherever his lips left their trails on my body. His body worshipped mine, softly, gently, tenderly. Oh, God! He was killing me so softly. Killing me with the way he whispered my name and groaned his need. Killing me with the way he pleaded with my body with his to feel how much he wanted me, how much he was enjoying me. Killing me with how he never left me, not for a second, how even when he was undressing, he kept his hand tangled in mine or touched my cheek or my neck while the other unbuttoned buttons and unzipped a zipper.

  Eventually, he found his way between my legs, telling me, 'You feel so fucking good,' and I asked him, 'Don't stop, oh, please, don't ever stop!'

  I came, crying out his name, and he groaned mine when he did. We stayed pressed into each other for what felt like too long and not long enough at the same time. We kissed until we fell asleep.

  Every time we made love he made me feel as if it was our first time together. He was always so tender, kind and gentle with me that I wondered how I’d ever hesitated for even one day to be with him.

  One morning, I woke up in my bed – naked and lying on my stomach – a smile plastered on my lips, when I felt the familiar warm fingers touching the bare skin of my back. Fingertips drew mysterious patterns over each and every inch he could touch, starting from between my shoulder blades and down my spine to the beginning of the swell of my backside where the sheets covering my lower half started.

  "What are you doing?" I whispered my question, eyes still closed, still facing the opposite direction, and a smile still alive on my lips.

  "Shhh!" he whispered back. "I'm playing you."

  The blush made sure to make me feel it as it spread all over my face. "Like a guitar?"

  "Like a piano," was his reply that made my smile widen.

  His lips then made contact with the same spot he’d been touching between my shoulders. He kept kissing me over and over again, soft, tender kisses that didn't stop until he rolled me over to lie on my back, only to touch his lips to my neck and up to my ear where he whispered the last words I’d ever imagined he would someday say to me.

  "I love you, Anna."

  I'd never understood what the words 'My heart skipped a beat' meant until that moment. But that was exactly what happened to me. My heart did skip a beat at the sound of his words. Maybe two. The world just froze, and I couldn't hear anything beyond his breaths that tangled suddenly, could feel nothing other than his body which grew warmer than it had been just a moment before he spoke those four words.

  "What?" was all I managed to say.

  "I love you, Anna," he repeated. "I love you so, so much, more than anybody has ever loved anyone before. I can't even describe it."

  It was my breaths’ turn to tangle and hitch. "Ethan, what are you saying?" My tone was almost confused, disbelieving and my expression shocked.

  He chuckled lightly, nervously. "I'm in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to marry you and have kids with you. I love you."

  I couldn't stay in bed, between his arms, any longer. I had to push him away from me and get up, my legs touching the soft material of my satin robe that I'd dropped beside my bed last night before I got in. I picked it up off the floor and put it on, walking three steps to my desk, and sat down on the chair beside it, burying my face in my hands and taking deep, calming breaths. My insecurity was getting the best of me as Ethan's words echoed in my head over and over again, causing the doubts to fill my heart and the ache in my chest to grow stronger – until it was almost impossible to not just let go of what I was holding in, curl into a ball and cry like I never had before.

  It was too much.

  A minute passed, and then I felt him as he knelt in front of me. His hands touched my wrists, pulling my own hands down to free my face, then he lifted my chin up with his fingers, probably to look at my face as he asked, "What's wrong?"

  "You can't be serious," I stated, so sure and confident of my words.

  "Yes, I can. I am," was his fast reply.

  "Ethan, you can't mean what you just said."

  "I mean it, Anna. I mean it. Why is that so hard to believe? It's how I feel." I could've sworn I heard hurt in his voice, but it just couldn't be.

  "Do you have any idea what this means?" I asked, though not really waiting for an answer, so I went on, "Do you have any idea what you are saying you want to go through?"

  "Yes! I know what I feel! I know what I
want. I want to be happy. You make me happy. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, why is that so hard to get?"

  "Do you get what you're saying?" I asked in frustration. "Do you have any idea what little I could do? I can't simply go get married and have kids – it's not that easy.

  "All I could ever do for those kids would be to give birth to them and that would be about it. I could never feed them, I wouldn't know if they liked this new food or hated it. I wouldn't be able to see their expressions to know what they need when they are too young to tell me so themselves. If they get their clothes dirty, I won't see it, they'll just keep wearing it. If they’re doing something dangerous or crawling toward a place where they shouldn't be, I wouldn't be able to stop them, I'd be too afraid to go after them and maybe step on them. You'll have to do everything yourself, because they simply can't not have both of their parents not taking care of them. Do you have any idea what you are going to go through if that happens?" By the time I was finished, tears were streaming down my face and my voice was cracking and shaking, pain wrapping my every word – because God knew how much I wanted all of that, how much I wanted all of it with him, but it wasn't easy, wasn't the least bit simple, not at all. And I just had to tell him. Some of it, at least.

  The next thing I knew, Ethan was taking me in his arms and hugging me tight, tight, tight – something he'd always done every now and then. By now I understood he only did it when feeling down or so low that he didn’t know what else to do. Something I’d grown to love so very much, because I knew without him telling me that those hugs helped him get through whatever he was going through, as if he was taking the power he needed to move on from me. Me of all people. Someone who liked to pretend to be so strong because it was easier than showing how fragile she truly was.

  "We'll figure it out, Beautiful Girl. We'll figure it out. I love you, that's all I know. Whatever happens to us later, we will deal with. Love will keep us strong, Anna. Please, trust me on this. I love you."