Blindness (44 page)

They both just look at each other and start
snickering. “Youuuuu like him,” Jessie teases. They’re not helping,
and they clearly have no idea where he is, so I just pat my
intoxicated friend on the shoulder, and resolve to find him
myself.

“Happy New Year, Charlie!” Gabe calls out as
I walk away.

After two loops through the house, I make my
way back to my stuff tucked next to the sofa. I pull my coat on and
slip my keys from my pocket. The chill outside has crept down to
freezing, and the cold makes my skin burn, but I walk the full
length of their street anyhow, looking for Cody’s truck. It isn’t
here, but there’s one open spot, and I’m sure in my gut it’s the
one he left behind.

It takes me five minutes to walk back to
where I’ve parked, and I let my car heat up for a few more minutes
while I stare at my phone, at Cody’s name next to his two missed
phone calls. I try to talk myself into hitting
return
. I
have pretend conversations with Cody, and everything I come up with
saying sounds trivial. I can’t apologize, even though I’m so
goddamned sorry—sorry for everything Cody’s been through. And I
can’t beg. I won’t. But I want to, I want to curl up under his
quilt tonight, bury my face in the nook of his neck, and feel his
arm warm around my back.

Instead, I drive home—this time far slower
than the trip to the party. I have nowhere to be, nobody waiting
for me, no sense of urgency. I don’t know where Cody’s friends
live, and even if I did, I don’t think I’m brave enough to go.

My apartment is dark, and cold, and
empty—still. I have a few new lamps, and I click them all on. I
never sleep in the dark—something I’ve carried over from life with
Mac. I kick my clothes off, and reach under my pillow for Cody’s
shirt. I pull it over my head, hugging myself with it. I try not to
wear it often, because every time I do, it takes away the smell.
But tonight I need it. I find a pair of thermal pants, pull them on
underneath, and curl up under my blanket, my phone still clutched
in my hands. I stare at his name, knowing I’m too much of a coward
to call him back, but I fantasize.

My eyes won’t close, half because of the nap
I took earlier today, and half because my heart won’t stop burning
a hole through the center of my chest. As the hours tick by, the
celebrating in the streets dies down. There are a lot of students
in my building, and most of them have left for their homes
elsewhere over the holidays, so my complex feels like a ghost
town.

The wind has picked up, and there’s a slight
flurry of snow blowing by the window. If I lay just right, I can
watch the white float against the black sky—like Mac’s stars—and
it’s perhaps the only thing left on this earth that can make me
smile, and I do briefly, but then I think of home. I haven’t called
Caroline since the day I left, not even for the holidays, and I
hate myself for it. She hasn’t called either, but I know she’s been
occupied with her own rituals and delusions, so I can’t blame
her.

I could call her now—she’d be up. She always
is. I worry when I don’t sleep, worry that I’m like her. And at
that thought, I shut my eyes tightly, and whisper to myself to go
to sleep, wishing for it to come.

The tapping on my door is light, but I know
it’s not just the wind or nature. My windows all face the wrong
direction, and my throat burns from the instant spike to my nerves.
The apartment is completely quiet, only the odd crackling of the
building settling, and outside is much the same. I flip the
bathroom light on, the only one not already on in my home, and
tip-toe closer to the door, stopping to grab a golf club from my
small coat closet.

“Who’s there?!” I yell, my voice for once in
my life strong and not shaking. The room remains quiet, and I’m
starting to wonder if I imagined the knock in the first place. I
hold my breath and wait…nothing comes…for the longest time.

“It’s me,” he says, and I drop the club from
my hands the second the warmth of his words wraps around my
heart.

When I open the door, he’s filling the frame,
leaning against one side, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and
his head slung low, trying to hide the redness of his eyes. But I
see it…I see the heartbreak he’s wearing, because I’m wearing it,
too.

“Cody,” I say, just because I want him to
hear his name on my lips.

On instinct, I reach for him, but he steps
away—only slightly—but enough, and it cuts me deep. My eyes are
pained when I look back at him, but he still can’t seem to look at
me. “I know it’s late. Gabe showed me where you live a while ago. I
just hoped…I guess…I hoped you’d be up?” He starts, and I fight
against myself to reach for him again.

“I was up,” I whisper, leaning against the
spot he just abandoned and folding my arms in front of me to stay
warm.

The outside smells of burning wood, and the
snow has started to pick up, dusting the black of his sweatshirt
and hat. Cody reaches up to pull his hat from his head, and twists
it in his hands, finally tilting his face up to look me in the
eyes. His smile is labored, and crooked, tugging at the top of the
corner of his mouth.

“I, uh…I brought you something. I wanted to
give it to you for Christmas, but…I…” he looks back down, running
his hand through his hair and around the scruff of his bearded
face. “I don’t know. I just didn’t, I guess.”

My brow is bunched, and I comb my eyes over
his body, searching for my present. His hands are deep in his
pocket again, and I’m terrified he’s going to pull out some fancy
piece of jewelry—or worse, a
ring
! Something Trevor would
have bought me to make everything better. I’m readying myself,
prepping myself to be polite about it, when Cody looks back up to
my eyes and lets his shoulders slump.

“I need your help. It’s in my truck,” he
says, turning to walk back down the walkway to the parking lot.
Curious, I fold my hands deeper into my armpits and stuff my feet
in my sneakers to follow him.

“Should I just leave my door open?” I ask,
dangling my keys from my finger, not sure what he’s up to, and part
of me thinking—maybe even hoping—that he’ll get me in his truck and
drive away, kidnapping me.

“Yeah, we’ll be right back,” he hollers over
his shoulder. Damn, I’m disappointed.

Cody struggles with his walk, and everything
Gabe’s been telling me, I witness happening before me. His limp is
heavy, probably made worse by the cold, but if his life depended on
running right now, I don’t think he could. He looks over his
shoulder, and I know he can tell I’m staring at it, because he
tries to walk straighter—be stronger. But it’s too hard, and his
gait slips back into its painful, slow pattern again.

We get to his truck, parked along the
sidewalk, and he flips the hitch down. All I can see is a pile of
quilts and plastic, but the closer I get, the more nervous Cody
becomes, and for some reason, my pulse speeds up in reaction.

“Gabe helped me load it in,” he says, pulling
back the tie and pushing down the blankets that are covering my
desk. My hands fly to my mouth as a reflex, and I weep out loud.
It’s as if my soul has found its way home, as if I can hear the
sound of my dad’s keys sliding on the table, hear the roar of his
truck in the driveway, and feel the scruff of his chin against my
head as he hugs me—all from this one, beaten up piece of
furniture.

It’s exact, nothing on it missing or damaged
beyond how it was the last time it was in my possession. I scramble
into the back of the truck just to touch it, just to run my hand
over the dents and carvings, and my body convulses with my
cries.

“Cody, oh my god…I can’t believe it…how?” I
say, actually sitting in it and lowering my cheek flat against its
surface.

“I went searching,” he says, his eyes peering
down at me, almost happy. “I’ve been looking since Trevor donated
it, and I found it, but not until the day after…” he swallows hard
and never finishes, instead turning away.

He found it the day after our fight. And he’s
been living with it, keeping it, struggling and waiting—not wanting
it to be the reason, not wanting it to be some sort of magic bullet
to fix what went wrong with us.

“We should get it in, the snow’s picking up,”
he says, stepping down and reaching out his hand for me. I grab it
hesitantly at first, mostly because I’m afraid I’ll never be able
to let it go, and he squeezes me hard when he helps me lower myself
back to the ground. I start to stretch my fingers free, but Cody
fights against my movement. He holds my hand tighter in his,
looking at the pairing, memorizing it. And I savor every second,
knowing any moment it will all go away.

Finally, he climbs back into the truck and
slides my desk to the edge for me to grab one end. When we have it
lowered to the ground, he reaches up and takes one of the quilts to
wipe the wet snow from the top and to cover it while we carry it
inside my apartment.

We stop in the middle of the room, and I tell
him to leave it here. I can tell he’s glad to be done lifting,
because he doesn’t argue. Instead, he walks backward, leaning
against my kitchen counter to catch his breath.

My mind is racing, trying to find something
else—a reason, any reason, for him to stay…just a little longer.
But Cody seems to be searching for the exact opposite.

“Right, well…I should head home. You probably
have things you need to do tomorrow, and it’s late, so…” he
lingers, and I can actually see his mouth twitching while he looks
at me. He wants to stay—I know it in my heart. But he can’t bring
himself to ask—to say the words. That invisible barrier is too
thick, and it’s stopping him. “Yeah, so…Happy New Year,
Charlie.”

Cody awkwardly leans forward, presses his
lips on my forehead with his cold hands on either side of my face,
and turns away quickly, opening and shutting the door behind him in
one motion. It’s almost morning, and he’s racing away. I wished for
him all night, and here he is—real and in front of me—but he’s
running away.

I can’t let him go, and I don’t care if I
have to take the blame for everything—if I have to be his
out-clause for why his father’s shop was demolished. And it’s not
because he found my desk, or because he knocked on my door in the
middle of the night, or because I can tell he cried the entire trip
here. It’s because I love him, and I don’t want to love anybody
else. And as long as I can feel his arms around me again, I’ll do
it—I’ll wear that burden every day, forever.

“Cody! Cody, wait!” I say, running after him
and catching him as his hand is on the door to his truck. He
freezes at my plea, and his body tenses. At first, I think it’s
from the cold, but when he faces me, he doesn’t hide it, letting me
see the tears streaming down his face and the shaking of his lips.
He’s raw man—tough, quiet and strong—but this rift between us has
stripped him to his core.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his body shaking
more, and his arms frozen at his sides, his hands balled into
fists. “God, Charlie. I’m so sorry—” he stammers, wiping his eyes
along the back of his sleeve.

I can’t let him suffer, and I forgive him
instantly, running to him and throwing my arms around his body,
bringing him to me tightly. I won’t let him back away this
time—this time I will make him feel me, make him get past it all.
He grips me just as forcefully, his lips vibrating with sobs and
short breaths as he bites at his bottom lip trying to force himself
to stop, to breathe.

“Come inside. Stay,” I say softly, forcing my
forehead to his and waiting for him to open his eyes. He never
does, but only nods
yes,
and reaches around me, lifting me
to him. He presses his lips to mine, sucking in my bottom lip, and
pushing his way inside with his tongue.

He’s carrying me, and I know he can’t do it
long, but I won’t stop him. He walks us quickly back to my
apartment, and as soon as I feel we’re inside, I slide from his
arms against the warmth of his chest and kick the door shut behind
him. I want to kiss him again, but he has his hands on either side
of my face, his thumbs stroking against my cheeks tenderly.

“I choose you,” he says, his body shaking
once with emotion. He sniffles and shakes his head from side to
side, pushing his lips together tightly. “I was wrong, and I didn’t
mean what I said, Charlie. I was so fucking hurt—it was like
watching my dad die all over again. But I don’t give a shit about
the shop, Charlie. Everything I care about—the stuff that really
matters, the shit that goddamned fucking matters—walked out the
door when I turned my back on her.”

He holds my gaze for the longest time, taking
tiny steps closer until our noses touch, and our lips tickle
against one another. Our breathing is in sync, and I want to taste
his lips so badly that my own tingle from withdrawals. But he
doesn’t kiss me yet. He looks from eye to eye, like he’s reading me
from the inside out, searching for my doubt, so he can destroy
it.

“I choose you, Charlie. I’ll always choose
you. And I don’t think I can sleep alone again, not knowing how
your lips feel, or knowing how your heartbeat sounds. I can’t do
it, so please…let me choose you,” he says, his hands sweeping my
hair from my face, and cradling my head.

I grip his wrists and look right back into
his eyes, and they look lost—almost terrified. I want to bring the
blue back, and I can’t fathom not seeing them every day.

“Stay. Stay here, with me. Keep me safe,
sleep with me every night, talk to me until we dream, make love to
me before sunrise—just don’t leave, Cody. I’ve only fallen in
love—in
real love
—once, and I’m never going to get over it.
I don’t want to get over it. I need it. I need
you
—to
breathe,” I say, watching his eyes, waiting for them, waiting for
his smile. It comes just as his lips touch mine again, and I hear a
whisper of laughter mixed in, the low rumbling kind that lets me
know he’s truly happy, and I can’t help but smile in response.