We Used to See with Wide Eyes

My thoughts were hazy, surrounded, clouded with the different emotions and crazy ideas that raced around and around my brain.

My movements were robotic, wash… Rinse… Dry… Repeat.Think the steps over and over again trying to repress the very thoughts that could bring me to my knees.

My ears only strained for the familiar clanging of the bells knocking against the glass and a certain someone's footfalls to grace the floor.

I had waited exactly three minutes to call Brendon after I fled from my parent’s tears and our phone call had only lasted long enough for me to get out, “I need you,” before I completely shut down and hung up, barely functioning enough to get to the diner myself.

I check the clock. It's been 45 seconds. Time moves slower when you're waiting.

The tick tick tickof the clock takes on a slower rhythm.

Tick. Silence. Tick. Silence. Tick.

The soft clinking of the dishes and my breath sounded quietly in my ears.

Wash… Rinse… Dry… Repeat.

Think about anything but the anvil of information over my head, which was ready to fall at the slightest gust of wind.

Wash… Rinse… Dry… Repeat.

One of the pans was particularly dirty, and I was scrubbing desperately with the steel wool. My efforts grew too vigorous, though, and the soapy plate slipped from my hand and fell into the sink where I heard it promptly break into pieces.

"Shit," I muttered, trying to not cry. I threw down the steel wool, cursing my clumsiness.

I reached into the soapy water filling the sink to grab the larger chunks, but swiftly withdrew it with a hiss of pain as something sharp sliced my skin.

Alarmed at how much blood was pouring out of my palm, I looked around frantically for a clean towel. I spotted one next to the stove and rushed for it, leaving a trail of dark drops of blood on the floor. I quickly wound it around my hand and finally let the tears come, sinking down against the counter-top.

I truly cried. The sobs burst out of me, held back for far too long. I was finally letting myself cry, because honestly, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

I didn't realize Brendon was there until his arms snaked around me and pulled me close. I cried into his shoulder, soaking his shirt and clutching my hand, until I had no tears left. He just let me cry, murmuring comforts and stroking my hair. It was what I needed.

Eventually the tears had to run out, but he still held me close as I took deep hiccuping breaths and tried to bring myself to the point where I could speak coherently. Because I knew he wouldn't ask and that he was waiting for my explanation.

"Brendon?" I finally managed despairingly looking up to his concerned and sympathetic eyes.

"Yeah?" he answered huskily.

I hesitated, but continued, "Can you listen?"

"Yes."

I had his complete attention but I started to tremble. I had never told anyone before.
However, his arms only wrapped tighter around me, and the trembling slowly faded away as I realized I was safe. I trusted him.

Still pressed to his chest I started, "Last year, I was riding home from a party with my brother. I had had some drinks and I thought he had had some, but he insisted that they were already out of his system, and it seemed like they were. If I hadn’t let him… We were five minutes from my apartment coming down the exit ramp when we were hit head on by a car going the wrong way. That driver had been drinking."

He stroked my hair which made it harder not to cry but I managed to hold it back, “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his lips brushing the tops of my head as he spoke.

"They said that if Liam's system hadn't been slightly impaired he would've been more alert and able to swerve out of the way. But I don't remember any of it. This is all just what they've told me. And… and now I can’t see color."

“What?” he exclaimed, leaning back from me and grasping both sides of my head looking into my eyes, “I knew you had an issue with… but there’s nothing wrong with your eyes.”

"I know. I have Cerebral Achromatopsia," I tried to spit the deformity out, "It's really rare, but sometimes with head trauma it can happen. Basically, my brain doesn't recognize color signals anymore.”

“You can’t see color, at all?” he asked.

"Yeah," I said miserably, "And the worst part about it was that it slowly faded away. My world is a black and white movie now. Sometimes I can remember what it looked like, and…"

"And what?" Brendon prompted quietly when I didn't continue, his fingers tracing comforting circles on my back.

"Sometimes," I continued, "Sometimes I remember things, and it's not like I'm just remembering, it's like I'm reliving them. And they're in color."

A look of comprehension dawned on his face, "Is that when you get that far-away look and never hear me?"

I nodded, “Right after the crash I also had a lot of trouble with recognizing people's faces," I shuddered, "It was like I couldn’t tell who they were until they told me or spoke. That’s what scared me the most. But when I remembered, I always remember who I know… or knew.”

“How much time did you lose?” he asked.

“Like 8 years.”

His mouth dropped a little, “How much have you remembered?”

"A lot, but just like random stuff, not everything. I don’t know… Hearing your band for the first time, memories with my friends, with Liam…"

"What happened to him?" Brendon asked softly, his shoulders tensed. I'm sure he was thinking of his friend.

I burst into tears.

It was awhile before I was calmed enough to speak, and when I did, I was still sobbing, "He went into a coma. And he still is and it’s been almost two years now, but my parents told me today that they wanted to take him off life support. They had been arguing about all night... They want to k-k-kill him!"

"Oh Parker," he murmured, kissing my forehead.

"And – And they said they won't do it without me agreeing. But – but they said they've lost hope and they can't – can't see him ever waking up and that they don’t want to live with him like that. But he needs to wake up. I need him to wake up. He's my twin."

And from there I slid into incoherence, still crying with Brendon rocking back and forth until I regained control again. My face was sore from crying and I felt terrible.

"So there it is…" I sniffled.

He was silent, though, holding me still tight to him like he could protect me from this savage world and I wanted him there to try.

He didn't move until I started to cough, my throat parched from those choking sobs and from the fact that I probably cried out half the water in my body. He stood after reluctantly letting me out of his grip, and then reached down with a hand to help me up.

"Thanks," I mumbled as he hoisted me up.

The corner of his mouth turned up at one side and he squeezed my uninjured hand reassuringly before he let go to find me a glass of water. I watched his back, scared to realize how much I didn't like him walking away from me.

But he came back, as I knew he would, with a small first aid kit from next to the stove and a glass of water. He handed me the water and then motioned to stick out my other hand.

Gingerly he unwrapped the towel, and when I saw how much blood was on it, I looked away. He was gentle and I could barely feel his fingers roaming around my skin.

When he got to the cut, though, I yelped as he tried to dab it with a towel, "I'm sorry," he apologized, "but I have to clean it."

"No," I whimpered, as he poured on the hydrogen peroxide, "It can just fall off."

He chuckled very softly, and I turned my head to glare at him.

His mouth turned up slightly in the corners, "Take it easy, Parks.”

I furrowed my eyebrows at him but was surprised when he let go of my newly bandaged hand, "All done.”

I sighed, and a wave of exhaustion swept over me. I must have swayed because Brendon caught hold of me by the elbows and steered me to the barstool I had previously occupied before pulling another next to it.

I stared across the bar and past the tables and booth, out the window, trying to keep my mind off Liam and off my hand which was starting to throb. It was a Sunday evening and there weren't many cars out and just a few people went walking past enjoying the cooler temperature before the sun went down.

My eyes refocused and I saw my reflection on the window. I was a mess. My face was blotchy and my hair wild from being touched and squashed against Brendon's chest. My blond roots were showing and the pigment was washing out of the rest of my hair but I didn't think I would be dying it again. I saw how tired I was, shadowy circles loomed under my eyes, testament to how well I sleep at night, and how I didn't sleep at all last night.

As he shuffled beside me and my stomach dropped, I noticed Brendon's reflection next to mine. And he was perfect, just the way he was. His hand was almost touching mine and he was staring at something… he was staring at me. He was biting his lip and his dark eyes were concentrated, like he was memorizing my face.

And then he was looking at my reflection, at me watching him. He didn't look away, but rather clasped my hand in his, very carefully, as it was the injured one.

We sat there, staring at each other's reflections, looking at each other until my hand gave a particularly nasty throb. I looked down to our hands and broke the spell.

"What am I going to do?" I asked softly, keeping my eyes trained on our intertwined fingers.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "What do you believe?" he said simply.

I looked at him, confused, "What?"

Soft eyes gazed back at me, and his grip on my hand tightened, "Do you believe he'll wake up?"

"I – " I fell silent and feeling helpless I shrugged.

I didn't know.

But he didn't say anything, and I knew he probably wouldn't until I gave him answer.

And so I thought. The doctors were certain he wouldn't wake up. They said that his brain would've healed enough by now to wake from the coma, and since that hadn't happened… but there was a part of me that was positive that he would wake up, or was that just my hopes talking?

How could they ask me to be the one to choose? They knew I thought he would wake up.

But… maybe keeping up this false hope is something that they just can't do anymore. I know what it's like to lose a twin, but how is it to lose a child? Maybe that bit of hope they cling onto is too bitter.

Maybe I was being selfish.

But what if I do agree? I would torment over the remote chance that he would've woken up.

I knew I was making excuses. To avoid saying out loud what I've known all along.

"No," I whispered, a tear coming out of nowhere and sliding down my cheek, "No I don't. But –"

"Look," he said a little bluntly, "I don't know what it's like for you. I only know what it's like for me. But like you said it isn’t good to torment yourself over them, for something that wasn’t your fault. For one, they wouldn't want it. And secondly, it hurts the people around you. And I also think that the reason people can't stop grieving is that they can't let go. And that's the hardest thing to learn, I think."

I sighed and propped my head up with my other arm, "You're right. And I don't even see him as him… I think his soul is already gone. He lies there pale and lifeless looking everyday… But –"

I stopped.

"But what?" he prompted.

I shook my head, but asked, "Will you come with me?"

He was confused. "Come with you..?"

"Say goodbye." My voice wavered; I hadn't been back since I left the hospital for good after my recovery treatments.

As he nodded, I resigned myself to the fact that I just agreed to let Lee die. No more tears came, but I felt that unbearable tiredness.

That's when Brendon pulled me into an embrace, crushing all the air from my lungs, but it wasn't enough, and I hugged him closer and forgot everything, "I'll go anywhere you want me to go," he whispered into my neck.

My skin felt electric and I could feel the blood flowing through my veins, pushing out my exhaustion. My stomach swooped again and my head was spinning, probably from the lack of oxygen entering my lungs.

But when we finally relinquished our death grips, I could only stare at his mouth; not hearing what he said and only watching his lips form quiet words.

He stopped speaking. And I kissed him. And he kissed back.

Our lips pressed together urgently as if to make up for lost time and I held the back of his head, making sure he wasn't going anywhere. I loved this and I knew I loved him. The feeling was pure, and unabashed, and it swept all other thoughts away leaving me with a certainty that I had someone to stand by me.

Our kisses were more tender now, our lips pressing together gently, until we weren't kissing at all; just sitting with our foreheads touching, listening to our breathing. His fingers slowly danced up my neck, drawing shivers from me, and tingles where our skin met.

As his fingers stroked my check, I opened my eyes to see him smiling slightly at me with dark, warm eyes. I blushed but didn't look away. God, that smile. I kissed him again quickly and tasted salty tears.

When I pulled back he was there in all his perfect flawed self and I knew he was someone I was very lucky to have in my life.

He held out his hand, "Ready?"

I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath and let it out, stifling some of my burning emotions before sliding my hand into his and nodding, "Ready."

Never letting go, he led me over to the threshold of the diner and out, and I heard the muffled clinking of the bells behind the door as we walked away from the diner and down the sidewalk and away from this part of my life.

I was ready to start something new.

Even if it meant letting go.