Kill Switch (Devil's Night, #3)

by Penelope Douglas

I turned back to Will. “I have plans for her. Don’t worry.” His eyes lit up. “I love your imagination. Do I get to come?” I tilted my lips in a smile, not missing his double-meaning. “I have plans for you, too.”

“Arion, can you help me find the snow village in the basement?” Snow village? That voice. I closed my eyes, the little hairs on my neck rising. Winter. She was home, after all. “What? Now?” Arion whined. “Have Mom help you when she gets back.” Get the fuck out of the pool and get her what she wants. “I don’t know why you want it.” Arion took my beer again. “It’s not even Halloween yet, and you can’t see the damn thing anyway. What’s the point?” Bitch. But even as my aggravation with Arion Ashby rose, the skin on my back warmed, knowing Winter was right there behind me. And even if I tried, I couldn’t think of anything else right now. What was I about to do to her sister just to get that same, exact feeling? How did she get out here anyway, and how did she find her sister? I wanted to turn around, but I just stayed planted, listening. “It has music,” Winter said, her tone growing defensive. “I like it, so what do you care?” But Arion didn’t answer, and after a moment, her gaze dropped back down to me. Winter must’ve walked off. Now that I knew she was home, any lukewarm interest I was able to muster for Arion had all but disappeared. It has music. I like it. I didn’t know if I felt responsible for the fact that she now only had four senses by which to experience the world, but it was a strange feeling to want to protect someone from others when I knew I’d be worse for her health than anyone.

He rose up out of his chair, the hint of disdain on his face as he picked up the hoodie. “Not every woman in this world will be for your personal amusement,” he bit out, staring down at me. “Someday one of them will be your kid, and you’re gonna damn well worry when she’s drawing the wrong kind of attention.” “You teach your daughter to hide in everyone else’s world,” I shot back, “and I’ll teach mine everyone else exists in hers. Go fuck yourself, and leave the kid alone.”

Rika and her friends had definitely filled me in on what an enigma Damon Torrance had become since we were kids. Popular with a really bad reputation. And not bad in a way people envied, either. It made people want to avoid him, but not want to be caught avoiding him.

rumor had it, girls were enamored. They thought he was a challenge, and they thought they could tame him. So I was warned—don’t be stupid enough to put yourself in his path. He has no heart. Well, no one had to worry about that. He’d already done irreparable damage. The couple of hours I knew him as a kid wasn’t worth any more harm he could do. I’d steer clear.

“Are you…are you going to hurt me?” I asked. “I don’t know.” He doesn’t know? “Do you want to?” I pressed. “Kind of.” His masked voice was like a breeze through the trees. “Why?” “Because I’m sick,” he answered. What? No one was that self-aware. Especially psychopaths. He took my upper arms, and I stiffened as he pulled me up, both of us standing again. He moved in, his shirt brushing my arms. “Because I can’t feel guilt, sadness, anger, or shame as strongly as I can feel fear anymore, and there’s no stronger fear than when I scare myself.” He brushed a tear off my face, and I jerked away. “I never know quite what I’ll do,” he finished. Everything he said sounded like a threat, only worse. As if he had zero control over himself, and he was just as much a victim in this as me. Fuck you.

Why would he just hang out and watch? “Because it was pretty,” he finally said. Pretty? “You asked me why you?” he said, holding me to him, my back pressed into his chest. “That’s why. You’re pure.” Pure? What…? Did he want to make me impure now or…? “Your parents are bad,” he explained. “Your sister lacks any depth to be interesting, and I hate my house. It’s so dark there.” He paused, then continued. “It all fucking disappeared when you were dancing, though. It made the world prettier. I liked it.” “So, what?” I argued. “You wanna lock me in your basement to dance for you on command? Is that it?” But instead of the creepy, monotone, and calm response I’d been getting, his chest shook with a quiet laugh. “Can I hide there with you?” he asked. I knitted my brow, taken off guard by the tone. Almost sincere.

She cried out, and I heard another slap, and then grunts and groans, and I shook my head, starting to cry. But before I could think of what to do, the hands left my mouth and waist, and instead came up and covered my ears as he pulled me close. “Shhhh,” he soothed, his mouth next to my temple.

So I stayed in here, the boy’s heartbeat drumming in my ear, and after a few moments, everything had calmed. My tears stopped, my breathing got slower and more steady, and I couldn’t hear my parents anymore. Just his heart, pumping heavy and fast and in a constant, perfect pace like a metronome, unchanging. At some point I dropped my hand from my mouth, my arms hanging limply at my sides, but he never let me go. And the beating in his chest lulled me until my eyes grew too heavy to keep open anymore. Exhaustion took over, and before I knew it, I was lost in it. In his warmth. In his arms. In the thunder of his heartbeat.

No. The boy didn’t hurt me. Not yet, anyway. In fact, he was kind of an angel at the end. An angel with really black batwings. Psycho.

My sister turned her head, locking eyes on me over her shoulder. Slowly, she dropped her pen and twisted in her seat, a cautious but faint smile on her lips at seeing me. The ‘I love him, but should I be worried he’s here?’ variety.

And then she broke into a full smile, and my heart skipped a beat. It was the same smile she gave me when we would do all the childish shit my friends were too cool to do with me in high school. Sneaking into movies without paying. Playing tag in the rain in the maze. Midnight drives way over the speed limit on a school night, because we just needed to get out of the house. She smiled less the older we got, but just now, it came so easily. I could tell already. She was different.

“You were the only loner I knew who hated being alone,” she mused,

Banks turned around, but she still wouldn’t look at me. We were only a few feet from each other, but all of a sudden, it felt like miles. I’d nearly killed my friend. I’d destroyed Kai’s business. I’d threatened her, had her guarded, and kept her practically caged. I was sorry for some things, not for others. I swallowed. “The way…the way I was with you…” I started, “I—” “You raised me,” she said, raising her eyes. “And who knows what would’ve happened to me if I’d stayed with my mother.” I waited for her to continue, not sure if she was just trying to make me feel better or if she really thought her life with me was worth it all. “I like who I am,” she told me. “I don’t hate you for anything.” And despite my slow, steady breaths and unwavering gaze on her, a little relief started to seep through my bones.

“What the fuck?” I growled low. He had her in a headlock, her hair in her face, and a huge fucking smile on his. She struggled and fought, trying to reach him behind her, and while I was trying to decide if I was angrier that he was touching my shit or if he was really hurting her or just playing with her, he let her go, pushed her forward, and splashed her, both of them laughing and answering my question.

I liked that Will was here. I wanted him here. I wanted him with me. But he was not her fucking lifeline. Period.

In that moment, I wanted to grab him and her and Banks and put us all on an island, because they would never not belong to me.

“You think you can stop me?” I stared at him over the fire. Is that why he was here? Doing Rika’s bidding and trying to arm Winter against me? But his eyes danced with mischief even though he still wasn’t looking at me. “You didn’t think that beating I gave you was the end of it, did you?” My smile froze, remembering the beating I let him give me last year, because I knew I deserved it. I’d knelt there, letting him hit me again and again, because I wanted to feel worse on the outside than I did on the inside, and for so many moments, I just wanted him to kill me. Just kill me, because I can’t take it back, and I can’t move on. I’d almost killed him. And I wanted him to hate me so hard he would fucking murder me, and then maybe, after his anger was spent, he’d love me again. Whether I lived or died, he needed to forgive me for standing by and letting Michael’s brother do what he did on that yacht that night. But I wasn’t the only one to blame for all that shit that went down two years ago after we got out of prison, either. I took my punishment for my part, but I wasn’t taking it lying down again. And if at least a small part of him wasn’t willing to forgive me, he wouldn’t be here now. He wanted to be here. He hadn’t let it go, which meant he hadn’t let me go. Not completely.

“Winter likes you,” I said, taking another slow step. “She seems to trust you. Why?” “I have a way…with women,” he teased. “I remember.” I licked my lips. “You were fun to watch.” His breathing turned shallow, and I knew he was remembering all the shit we got up to back in the day. We had some fun. Even without girls.

“Oh, I remember this,” I taunted in his ear, every inch of my chest pressed against his back and both us very aware of my groin on his ass. “This is what you really missed, isn’t it?” He jerked his head back, trying to head butt me. “Don’t fucking talk about that,” he growled. “I was drunk.” “All three times?” I teased, smiling. “Michael and Kai don’t know how close we got, do they?” I lowered my mouth to his ear, ready to revive his memory of how there were moments when I was the only one who would give him what he needed. When no one else was there for him, and we had everything money could buy but all we really wanted were things that didn’t have a price. When we were young and already drained and rotting from the inside out, and for a few nights here and there we just wanted to touch someone who got it. Who understood. I could make him remember. I could push forward and not think and make him not think and just go and take and feel and…

“You know,” he started, a condescending little smirk on his face. “I was never turned on by Winter growing up. Too pale. Too pure.” He bent over, swiping my cigarettes off the ground and pulled one out. He tossed the pack back to me, and I caught it, glaring at him as he bent down to the fire, lighting the end. “She was pretty, but I like my meat hot.” He blew out a stream of smoke, his gaze locked on the flames as he drifted off in thought for a moment. “Sexy with chocolate-colored hair and olive skin. Fat lips and dark eyes taunting me behind some seductive, librarian glasses.”

He trailed off, lost in the images in his mind, and I knew exactly who he was thinking of. But after a moment, he shook his head, coming back. “I never really knew why you were drawn to Winter. Michael and Kai thought she was just a one-night stand to you, but I knew better.” He raised his eyes, meeting mine. “They didn’t see the way you would look at her at school, during lunch and in passing in the hallways. And how no one—no one,” he re-emphasized the words, “fucked with her behind her back after what you did to any guy who disrespected her, like making an obscene gesture right next to her that she couldn’t see.”

“I almost killed you once,” I gritted through my teeth and getting in his face. “I could do it again.” “Then do it,” he fired back. “Do it, because I got nothin’ to lose, D. Nothing.” He gasped out the last, desperation suddenly rippling off of him, and it was familiar, because I felt it, too. I stared at him, his eyes searching mine. “I can’t stop going down this road I’m on,” he nearly whispered, his eyes watering. “My family is done with me. Michael has Rika. Kai has Banks. You were a lie.” He faltered, dropping his gaze. “She was a lie.” She. She was next. After I was done with Winter, I’d do it for him.

“So do it then,” he urged, finally shoving his palms into my chest and pushing me back. “Kill me before I can fuck her, because I won’t stop.” He pushed me again, and I stumbled back, my fingers tightening into fists. No. Stop, just stop. “Because I have a passion for self-destruction, and you always knew it, and you always knew we would end badly.” His voice cracked. “This won’t end any other way.” Was he right? Did I think our friendship would survive our future? Be with me. Just be with me. Not against me. But he shoved at me again. “I’ll take her from you.” “Don’t,” I choked out. The walls were closing in. I couldn’t breathe. But he pushed me again, and I winced, my chest now aching. “And she’ll take me away from you, and then you’ll be all alone. Like you always should’ve been.” My stomach churned, and I seethed, and then he hit me, fire spreading across my cheek and sending my head jerking to one side. “You’re gonna deal with me!” he yelled and then hit me again, sending me stumbling. “Kill me. Fucking finish the job and kill me, because I’m fucked, and I hate you, and if you don’t take me out, I’ll take you out, because it’s fucking over!” He shoved me again and again, and I was losing it. I shot out my hands to stop him, “Don’t. Stop.” A tear streamed down his face, but he wiped it away, growling. “Do it,” he bit out. “Snap my neck, rip out my throat, or strangle me, you sick fuck! Just do it!” He punched me across the jaw, pain shot through my head, and I clenched...

I moved my hands to his face, just holding him, and ready to say so much, because I never had to hide anything from him. He never saw weakness when he looked at me. I wanted to tell him things. I wanted to tell him that I never would’ve hurt him. That I didn’t know what Trevor was doing, and it wasn’t supposed to go down like that, because out of all three of my friends, Will was the one I would always save first. That my pride and anger wouldn’t let me retreat, and that if he had been pulled to the ocean’s bottom, out of my reach, I would’ve followed him. I would’ve fucking followed him and rotted down there, close to wherever he was, because nothing I would’ve acquired after that—my inheritance or my vengeance on Winter—would’ve been worthwhile without him.

He had to realize he needed me. No one was going to hold him up like I would. No one.

I dove in, catching his bottom lip between my teeth and pushing us both through the pool house door. He stumbled back, snarling and ready to fight me, but I rushed in, sinking my mouth into his and pushing him down onto the couch. I covered his lips with mine, gripping his throat with one hand and holding myself up with the other. “Fuck you,” he sneered, pulling his mouth away. I grinned and flicked his lip with my tongue. “Only if you want to.”

“That’s all you can do, isn’t it?” he said, cleaning and zipping up. “You can only fuck people or fuck with them. That’s the only way you can connect.”

“Our army is bigger. You have no one.” “All I need is me. One person willing to do what none of you will.” I paused and added, “You don’t have the stomach for this, Will. Don’t doubt that I will do whatever I have to to keep what’s mine. That little girl belongs to me.” He hesitated, looking me up and down and then meeting my eyes with resolution. “She doesn’t want to belong to you, Damon.”

I grabbed the soap from the dish and lathered it up, washing my chest and stomach again before soaping up my cock and getting it clean. Cleaner. That was the first fucking time my mother ever touched me like that. The first episode of what turned into years of her on me. My throat swelled with the vomit rising, and my shoulders slumped as I tried to turn inward, making myself as small as possible. It was an old feeling, but one I knew well. It made me hide in the fountain. In the maze. In showers and in closets, because if no one saw me, they wouldn’t see the shame.

What did Winter feel when she thought about me? Was the anger so thick that was all there was? He asked her to dance for him. He asked her to dance like I’d asked Winter to dance for me. He watched my mother as I watched Winter. Was that it then? Did I do to Winter in high school what my father did to my mother? Did I groom her? I looked up, meeting my own black eyes in the mirror. The secret of life that everyone knew and everyone forgot was that we weren’t alone. We thought we were unique. We thought we were the first. No one has been through what I’ve been through. No one else is feeling this. No one knows what it’s like to be me. This is the first time anyone has endured what I’ve endured, right? They’re lies we tell ourselves, because we think we’re special. Because it would lessen the entitlement to suffer to know what we’re going through is not uncommon. It was a secret I never forgot and was able to use to keep things in perspective, so I could get through the shit in my head, but now... Now I wished I could forget it. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to know that I was like him or he was like me or that life followed patterns and history repeated itself. I wasn’t him, and Winter wasn’t my mother, and no one has been where we were. This is special. It’s different. It’s unique and all mine. She and I…we’re alone in the universe. No one was us.

“I think that’s part of the reason you had to leave school after that video,” she pointed out. “They hated you.” “Who?” “All the girls he wouldn’t sleep with,” she replied. “Rumor has it, Damon’s appetite is not always fun to satisfy.” All the girls he wouldn’t sleep with. So he didn’t sleep around? Sure. And then I remembered what my sister just said a moment ago, and how I met him when I was a teenager, and I paused. “He likes to watch,” I said, finally understanding. “No,” Isa corrected me. “He likes to fuck with heads and then watch.” Seemed about right.

My pulse thundered in my ears, and sweat cooled my neck as my breath blew a strand of hair hanging in my face that I was too afraid to budge an inch to move. I could hear him breathing. I knew he was there. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, but instead of uttering the safe word, I drew in a breath, feeling his eyes on me. Every inch of my skin became sensitive and aware of my clothes suddenly chafing my skin. My lacy bra and sweater irritated the points of my breasts, and the skin of my thighs stuck to the leather pants, my belly quaking and heat settling between my legs, making me throb. My heart filled my throat, and I was so scared, but I…I wanted to yank my sweater down and be rid of it. It was hot, and it was like every hair on my body vibrated. What the hell?

Why wasn’t I screaming? The prop knife left my neck and dug into my side, retracting on impact. I sucked in a breath, the blood there throbbing instantly, but I was safe. I knew I was safe. And somewhere, deep inside my head where I felt the burn of shame, but no one else could see or read me, I’d missed this. I’d missed my mind racing, my heart trying to jump out of my chest, and someone not handling me like I was a glass ball. Where, in the inch of space between him and me, I reveled in the dirt on my skin and the terror of his words. Why wasn’t I using the safe word?

I breathed hard, the heat pooling between us, and I tipped my head back, taking his wrist and putting the knife on my neck again. “Keep it there,” I told him. God, I didn’t care. I liked the illusion. I liked that feeling again, and I didn’t fucking care—here and in the dark where this dude would never see me again, because I would never come back here—that I needed this. He did this to me. I hated it and hated him, but I wanted to see. Needed to see. See if I liked it or to prove to myself that he, and what he did to me, didn’t mean anything and that I didn’t want it.

“Whew,” Isa giggled. “We have to come back. That was fun.” I chewed my lip, not wanting to think about it. I wasn’t about to tell them what just happened, even though I knew they’d eat it up. I didn’t hate that I enjoyed it. I hated that it reminded me of him, and that was why I enjoyed it. I still wanted to come. He’d changed my palette. I didn’t want to understand Damon, but sometimes, I couldn’t help thinking of all the times he watched me but never touched me—confusing me and intriguing me. And how he hadn’t really changed so much.

Thirteen years ago he was hiding from his mother in a fountain, and after what happened in his room tonight and what Isa had told me, he was still hiding. Trying to feel everything through everyone else as he stood back and watched. But bottom lines never changed. He still took what I never would’ve given him. They all thought he was different with me, not realizing that I was just a different kind of kink to him. Something to get him off. He fucked with my head just like he did everyone’s, and coerce is still a way to force. He was as guilty as sin. No one knew the real tragedy, though. It wasn’t a matter of why he was different with me, but rather, now… I was different because of him.

What if he was watching me right now? He could be in my room, feet away, at this very moment. But, no. It had been a week, and I hadn’t heard anything from him. He was probably at my sister’s party, and it was probably just a prank. A one-time thing and some kind of joke he regularly pulled. I wanted to ask someone about him—tell them what happened—but I had no idea how to start that conversation, and other than the smell of the pool on him, I didn’t have much to go by. He’d whispered and hadn’t said anything personal. Like where he lived, his family, his friends, his age… He was tall, though, and his whisper was deep. He was undoubtedly older than me, if even just a couple years. I hadn’t told my parents, either, and I knew how irresponsible it was not to, but… I knew the consequences if my family thought I was in danger. And he hadn’t hurt me, so… That didn’t mean he wouldn’t, but I didn’t know. If I told, he wouldn’t be able to come back. And I wasn’t sure I didn’t want him to.

Stupid girl. The guy terrorized me over the course of a half hour, and instead of running for cover, I was drinking the Kool-Aid. I was always stupid. I still thought I was going to be a dancer, I ignored the pain my father caused, because this house was my anchor, and I kept my intruder a little secret, because it excited me. Because I never had a secret, and it made me feel like… I didn’t know. A teenager, maybe?

“Why aren’t you screaming?” he inquired, changing the subject. “Or calling for help?” I fell quiet, wishing I could answer his question. For my own sake. I might be in danger. At the very least a strange man was in my home uninvited, and he’d been here before, threatening me. Run. Scream. “I don’t know,” I answered instead. I still could scream. I wasn’t ready just yet. “Why did you come back?” I asked. “I wanted to see if you’d dance again.” “How did you know I’d be alone?” “I don’t give a fuck if you’re alone,” he said. “Just as long as I have you to myself.” My heart skipped a beat, and I breathed faster and shallower. I wanted to be like him. Bold.

Dance for him… I could. As long as I didn’t blast it, the music wouldn’t wake my mother. What would happen after I danced, though? What was wrong with me that I liked that he was here? He liked my dancing. He came to see if I would dance. It made the world prettier. I quickly hid the smile that tried to peek out.

“What happened that day?” he asked. When I lost my sight? “I fell,” replied. “From a treehouse. I hit my head twice on the way down. Optic nerve damage. Irreparable.” “Were you pushed?” I closed my right fist, still remembering the terrible feeling of the boy’s hand slowly slipping out of it and knowing that was all that was standing between me and the ground far below. I wasn’t pushed. Not exactly. “I shouldn’t have been up there.” My voice had lowered to a mumble. “I wish I’d never met him. I wish I’d never gone up there with him. I…” How very different my life would be if I could change that one day and never step foot in that fountain. “I miss seeing things. Movies and the sea.” I paused before continuing. “Your face.”

His hand was a bit bigger than mine, and his fingers were long and sculpted but so chilled. So cold. He took both of my hands and led me to him. To his face. “What do you see?” he asked, placing my hands on him and releasing me. My fingers splayed across both sides of his face, and I stood still for a moment, afraid to move my fingers, because he would feel how much I was shaking. Every inch of my skin that touched his buzzed underneath the surface, and I almost pulled away because it tickled so bad. “You’re tall,” I said, clearing my throat. “When you’re standing, I mean. Aren’t you?” I remembered the feel of his body pressed into mine last time, and even sitting now, the top of his head reached just above my breasts. Moving my hands over his face, I took in the smooth skin, gently brushing his forehead, temples, cheekbones and brow with my fingertips. “Young,” I continued, painting a picture in my head. “Oval face but a hard jaw. Sharp nose.” I lightly pinched where the bone met the cartilage, smoothing my fingers down the length. “How did you break it?” It was just a faint curve the naked eye probably wouldn’t catch, but I could feel how it bent just slightly in that centimeter. “I fell,” he answered. I cocked my head, reading between the lines. I’d gotten pretty good at figuring out what people didn’t say. “Yeah, my mom falls a lot, too,” I told him. He was clearly punched and didn’t want to elaborate. Which meant he was either still pissed about it or…embarrassed and ...

Moving on, I ran my fingers over his straight eyebrows, the cold, smooth ridge of his ears and lobes, and his thick hair that fell over his forehead and in his eyes a little. He was probably dark-haired, since fair people like me often had thinner hair. I trailed my hands down to his chin, my heart pounding as my fingers danced around his mouth, but then I brought them up and traced the lines of his lips. His hot breath fell across my fingers, and my whole body warmed. Was he looking at my face, too? Into my eyes? What was he thinking? “I wish I could see you for real,” I told him. “I want to know what you look like when you look at me.” He remained silent, and embarrassment burned across my skin. I shook it off, moving on.

“No piercings,” I added. “On your head anyway.” His upper lip tilted up, and I half-smiled. “And he smirks,” I teased. Of course, I didn’t need to feel his mischievous smile to know he was a bad boy...

“Your neck…” I grazed my fingertips down his smooth skin and throat. “What about it?” I leaned in, surprising myself as I pressed my cheek into the skin there. He didn’t move a muscle. “It’s warm,” I remarked. “Smooth.” And the house was cold. I inhaled, smelling his soap and shampoo, far too fragrant to be hours old. “You just showered,” I guessed. Pulling up, I too...

“Tall, dark, young,” I commented on what I knew about so far. “Good personal hygiene, likes to fight, long eyelashes, kind of a pretty boy, I’m thinking…” He snorted, and I smiled, too, but then my fingers grazed something on his scalp but before I could figure out what it was, I felt another one. My face fell, contemplating the raised pieces of skin. As I examined the rest of his scalp, I found several others. All about a quarter inch long. Scars. “I fell,” he said again, not waiting for me to ask the question. I clenched my teeth for a moment. “That’s a lot of falls,” I said. “Do you have t...

“What’s one thing you’ll never be able to do but really want to?” he asked. I nearly laughed. One thing? “Are you kidding?” I shot back. “I have a whole list.” “Just tell me one.” I pondered it for a moment, thinking about how I missed all the things I would never see again. Films, plays, mountains, trees, waterfalls, dresses, shoes, the faces of my family and friends… I didn’t know what it was like to leave the house alone or do simple things like go hiking or for a stroll in the woods by myself. I would never be able to escape, run away, or experience the freedom of a spontaneous getaway all by myself without anyone knowing or being there to help me. “Drive,” I finally answered him. “My dad used to have this old stock car in the barn at our ski lodge in Vermont, and I would sit in it and shift the gears, pretending I was racing. I’d love to be able to drive.” He was quiet for a moment, and then finally, he rose, and I could feel him right in front of me. “Would you really?” he asked. There was a sneaky smile in his voice that made my heart skip a beat. “Let’s get out of here then.” And he grabbed my hand and pulled me along.

“I can take you if I want,” he said, pulling me into the foyer toward the front door. “Or you can scream now and the fun has to end.” “Who says I’m having any fun?” “You’re about to.” He stopped but kept hold of my fingers. “Or, if you want, I can put you to bed and go have fun with someone else.” I rolled my eyes. Please. Like I’d be jealous or something? “You’re the one I want to play with, though,” he whispered, leaning in. Yeah, I’m sure. A psycho with a penchant for blind girls who can’t pick him out of a line-up. Was I out of my mind?

“Why don’t you use a stick?” he asked, leading me down the driveway. “Or a guide dog or something?” Believe me, I’d love to. It would allow me a little more freedom. “If I need to go anywhere, someone helps me,” I told him. “My parents don’t like me to draw attention to myself.” They thought people would stare at me. I wasn’t the only visually impaired person in town, but I was pretty sure I was the only full-on blind one, and I knew their fears without even asking. And they were right. It made people uncomfortable. I’d been through enough awkward conversations to know when someone just wanted to be away from me, because they didn’t know how to act around me. The part they were wrong about was that they thought the world was still the same for me, and I should learn how to navigate it the same way I did before. I couldn’t. People might be uncomfortable, but they would get used to it. They would change. It was a source of resentment that my parents thought that no one should be inconvenienced, and it was my responsibility not to be a burden to others. It was my world, too.