Blinded

“Just lay back and relax, okay sweety?” I nod and do as asked of me. The nurse is elderly – her voice rough and shaky. I like the elderly – mainly because they have no fucking clue as to who I am.
She starts unwrapping my left hand – the currently “good” hand.
“I’ll just check and see how your hand is heeling.” I nod as she continues to remove the bandages.
When a cool breeze slides over my hand, I realize that my hand is completely unwrapped. I barely even felt it.
I hear the nurse walk back and forth a bit – her clogs making dull thumps against the linoleum floor.
I just wait for her to return with that cold liquid that stains so much that I’m about to cry, and then wrap my sore hand up again before she goes to torture the other one.
I hear a chair on plastic wheels roll closer. Then the cold touches my hand and I wince, but the stinking pain isn’t there. I frown briefly.
“It looks really good. Your fingers are completely healed, so I’ll just wrap up your palm this time.” She keeps dapping my hand with the cold…thing. I sigh, then smile.
I’m free.
“It must be nice to get your hand back.” I can hear her smile in her voice, and I smile back wider.

“Yeah,” I say softly – my smile quickly turning into a grin.
She keeps wrapping up my hand, and each time I feel the bandage twirl around my hand, I smile wider. It’s not being tied around my fingers. I’ll have my fingers back!
I hear footsteps – rubber squeaking against linoleum. The nurse keeps wrapping my hand, so I assume someone’s entered.

“Hello there,” the nurse says kindly.
“Can I help you?” I wait for an answer from whoever entered. I hear their feet shuffle a little.

“I’m a friend of his.” Frank’s voice is low and uncertain – hesitant even.
My smile fades. Is he okay?

“Oh, okay.” The nurse’s voice is so kind. I’d love to see her face – to see if it fits her voice well. In my head she’s got wrinkles around her eyes – signaling that she smiles a lot.
“Okay. Next hand,” she says enthusiastically, before I can feel her carefully unwrap my other hand. I wince a bit as the bandages pull a bit at my sore fingers.
“Sorry, honey. I’ll be as careful as possible.”

“It’s okay.” I wince again. Why must it hurt so much?

“Maybe your friend will help you through the pain,” she asks – or says. I’m not sure if it’s a question or an order. No matter what, it’s directed towards Frank, so I just focus on not focusing on the pain in my hand.
“Don’t be scared sweety.” Is Frank scared? Of sitting with me, holding my hand?
Did I do something wrong? Was my apology too pathetic?
I meant every word, but- Didn’t Frank see that? Or hear that… No! He should’ve seen it! He’s the one who can still see! He’s the one who can see my facial expression and spot all of my emotions! He’s the one who can tell if I’m scared or sad or angry or sincere just by looking at me! He’s the one who can actually see if I’m still in the room!
Why won’t he hold my hand? I can’t even see if he’s still in the room, and he won’t even hold my hand?
“Aw. Sweety.” The nurse pats my wrist. I sniffle. I turn my head and wipe my cheek on my clothed shoulder.
“Should I make him leave?” Her tone is hushed, but I think Frank can easily hear it anyway.
And I want him to.

“No. It’s okay.” I hear the nurse sigh, before she pats my wrist again.

“I’m gonna go now, okay?” I nod, before I turn my head and wipe my other cheek against my other clothed shoulder.
I don’t even know the color of the sweater I’m wearing.
I can’t see it.
I look straight ahead, and I still see nothing.
I bow my head. What if I never see again? I can’t live like this. It’s too hard. It’s too humiliating and degrading and-
I can’t do it.

“I’m sorry, Gee.” I suck in a sudden breath at the sound of Frank’s voice. Why hasn’t he said anything before? Why hasn’t he talked to me? I apologized to him and it took him this long to say it back?
What did I ever do to him, anyway? Oh, right: I kissed him. Like I’ve done – oh, I don’t know – a thousand times before! Or maybe just around 50 times. And sure; they were all on stage, but that doesn’t change it! I just-
It all meant-
Okay, it meant something! They all did! But it doesn’t mean I’m in love with him! It doesn’t mean I should love him!
“Gee, I really am.”

“I don’t care,” I mutter as soon as he’s finished his sentence. Why should I care? He doesn’t! He never has! I’m blind and he still doesn’t care how I feel! He never cares about me! I’m just his toy! He said he can’t be my toy, but I can’t be his either!

“Gee,” he sighs. He doesn’t even sound upset.

“Don’t.” I shake my head.
A tear rolls down my already moist cheek.
“Just leave.” I close my eyes – not that I can really tell.
I hear him take a deep breath in, and then let it out in a rushed sigh.
His rubber-soles squeak against the linoleum floor and softly trudge away – out of the room.
I open my eyes to see. I guess what I see resembles my future.