Blind Instincts

Chapter Five

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Extreme high pitch sounds ring in my ears, a pain striking the side of my head creating a dense, compressed feeling. Tears slip from the corners of my eyes, down my right cheek. Heavy blankets lie atop my body, my attempts to escape futile, due to the tear jerking pain. I squirm beneath them, finding the edge of the bedding. I yelp as I fall from the bed to the floor, soon realizing it is much higher up than originally thought.

"You're awake." A voice from the opposite side of the room blurbs. I freeze in my place, terrified of the possibilities that could be an outcome of my recent decision. I don't know where I am, what I'm doing here, or who is on the other side of this mattress. Suddenly, the bed that felt so big and so hard to escape now feels endlessly small, not putting nearly enough distance between the stranger and I. Light steps sent vibrations into the cold floor, reaching the palms of my hands, situated flat on the ground. They step closer, my heart racing faster with each moment.

A woman, by the feel of their steps, saunters to my side. Even if she was smaller than me, I couldn't fight her. I can't escape. She takes my hands gently in her own, lifting me onto my feet. A thought pops into my head and my hands run over my body, causing a sigh of relief to exude my lips. I'm still wearing the nightgown I've fallen asleep in. I haven't been prodded with.

"Monet, right? I brought you clothes," her voice is tender, a misuse for the circumstance we are in. I'm not supposed to be here, she should know that. I stand unmoving, glued to my post at the bedside. Chills in my bones send me into a shock, though I decide it is wise not to perceive my vulnerabilities any more than I already have. If the woman beside me, speaking my name and uttering words I refuse to hear, is about to strike me down, I do not want to look like a coward; not like the coward I am when my mother is hurting me.

"Monet, I'm not going to hurt you," the woman speaks again, placing a hand on the wrist of my nightgown. "You look scared." She states my fear as if I don't feel it myself. I am, I'd say to her. I'm terrified and I don't know what you'll do to me. Still, I say nothing. I can imagine her frustration that her pleas aren't working.

My father taught me to speak when spoken to. My mother taught me to keep quiet. It will take more than desperation for me to comply. Until she starts to pose as a threat, I will do nothing in her favour.

"I have a bath drawn for you. I'm on order to help you, but if you don't want it, that's okay." Her words catch me off guard. A bath? Why would she do that for me, I could barely clean at home.

I nod, unsure if she is looking, but I assume she is. My thoughts are confirmed as she says alright and leads me to an entirely new space. I feel the heat radiating from the surface of the steaming bath. My stomach bubbles in anticipation, the rarity of having a bath in my home was immense.

She offers to help me, but I evidently say no. I don't trust this woman and don't know what her intentions are. I try and think myself through the situation, having never bathed on my own. I am entirely dependent on my parents, having never learned or been taught how to do anything in my life. I've been told so many times that blind people can't do anything on their own.

I feel around with my feet, which eventually meets the edge of the tub. The hot water soothes my sore feet as I stand calf-deep. I'm not sure how to get myself from a standing to a lying position, so I lean back while holding onto the shelves. I instantaneously lose my balance on the soapy bottom of the bathtub, falling backwards and hitting my back on the edge. A face shifting ache follows after, as well a knock on the door.

"Are you okay in there?" The woman questions in a benevolent tone. She insists on waiting for me outside, despite my desire for wanting her to leave. I don't know if she is genuinely here to help me or not. I wait a minute, saying nothing all the while.