Until I Saw You (Until I Saw You #1)

by Dianna Roman

DEDICATION To victims of abuse— You are neither what they say you are nor how they make you feel. You can be what they say you can’t. You can do what they say you can’t. You can’t can.

What the fuck is so wrong with sweatpants and t-shirts when you’ve got nothing to do but lounge around the house all day?

I hate that fucking Prius, and if I ever find that vanilla air freshener she has in there, I’m pitching it out the window on the freeway. The only acceptable vanilla scent comes from cookies. Everyone knows this.

This is getting ridiculous. They’re our friends. If they’re going to judge us for our clothes, then we need new friends.”

I can’t remember the last time I was happy, like truly happy. I used to always be happy.

“Hi, Riley! How are you doing?” Jill says three decibels louder than necessary because, don’t you know, when you lose your sight, you lose your hearing too. “Great! How are you?” I yell back. Judging by the silence that follows, it’s okay for them to yell but not me, and I assume there will be words later from Val.

loll

“What have they got?” “Club sandwiches and appetizers. What do you want to drink?” “What kind of appetizers? Anything good?”

My palm connects with something gooey and cold at the same time Val lets out a loud gasp. Macaroni salad is my best guess. Squishy with perhaps little chunks of bell peppers chopped up in it. Fuck it. I like macaroni. Making like an ice cream scooper, I cradle my fingers, sheer off a handful of the sticky pasta, and slab it onto my plate.

:O

Good old Rob. So good he’s naïve. I have a feeling about where my best friend’s invite was dropped—right in the fucking trash can of my apartment if it was even written out.

“What’s it say?” “It’s black, and there’s a bat symbol. It says, blind as a fucking bat, then a there’s a comma, and then the word, man.” I crack up, holding it up in front of me, even though I can’t see the damn thing. “Blind as a fucking bat, man,” I declare. “Oh my God. I love it! Val’s going to fucking hate it,” I add absently.

lol

My dick works just fine, but there’s something about feeling molested in the dark by the fashion police that makes it not want to stand up and do its job the way it used to.

“If you find me a pizza, there’s another twenty in it for you.” Chuckling, he claps a hand over mine and starts for the door. “I’ll buy you three pizzas, Batman.” “Hey, that’s blind as a fucking bat, man.”

If you can’t tell your friends about your life, it’s not a life you should be living.

Life has taught me that more often than not, things get worse before they get better. I really don’t want to find out what’s worse than this.

You don’t realize what a life you had until you can’t do the things you used to enjoy doing.

Grabbing a box, I hold it up and shake it. When it fails to rattle, I kick my foot out to locate the trash can and shove the box down on the top of it. Judging by how much I have to squish it down, the sound I hear is something that overflowed and hit the floor. Honest mistake. Happens to people who can see too, so I keep my poker face, hoping the eyebrow I raise sends my point home. “There. See? Empty,” I inform her. The guttural noise she makes tells me she’s not impressed with the new uses of my sensory skills.

“Why did you let her in? If you can’t follow the rules, you can’t come over and hang out anymore.” “Riley!” Mom’s swat to my arm hits harder this time. “Ouch! Hey, that’s abuse to the disabled!” “You’re going to give me gray hair, I swear.” “That’s what that dye you use is for.”

lmaoo

“Leigh Ann Davenport, are you lying to a blind man? How could you?” Turning to Rob, I whisper, “She so does. Gray hairs everywhere.”

I’m too young to lose my mind.

“Rita, call Dad.” He finally answers on the third ring. “Yeah?” he asks absently, noise in the background. “Charles, this is your first-born. I have a code red emergency here.”

yo lmao

Get your snicker out of the doodle and focus!

LMAO

“He’s hurt that you’ve been climbing ladders over here but won’t lift a finger at home to help him with the light fixtures.” “Riley!” Dad barks in my ear just as Mom gasps. “That is not true! Who do you think does all the dishes and the laundry?” she defends. “I’m kidding,” I concede. “He said he wanted to take you out for dinner.” “God damn it, Riley!” Dad yells. “This is the first time I’ve taken a shit in peace after work in thirty years and gotten to watch a game by myself.” “What’s that, Dad? Reservations?”

“Put her on the phone,” he demands. “Thank you, kind sir. Hold please.” Covering my phone,

YO

Did call, will call—is there much of a difference?

“Thanks, traitor.” “It was your mom! I couldn’t close the door on your mom.” “Save it. You’re dead to me for ten minutes.”

“I’m good with that, but if I start getting all veiny like a body builder, let’s have this talk again,” I say casually.

Glancing into the living room where Emily is belting out the lyrics to a Frozen song on her karaoke machine,

love her

I don’t know what an Aunt Loretta smells like, but surely, my scent can’t compare to a woman’s. Maybe I’ve got a chance.

“I…think I might have a granola bar in my backpack.” The entrancing green eyes narrow in my direction as though I’ve spoken blasphemy. “Granola?” A word has never been uttered with such contempt. I’m doomed. He takes a step back. A second later, the door slams in my face.

LMAO

And then he asks, curiously, “What kind of granola bar?” I’ve never been so relieved to have a questionable snack in my gym bag. Dropping to a knee, I unzip my backpack, trying to remember which pouch I put it in. “Uh, I think…it’s fruit and nut.” Glancing up to see if my token will meet his approval, I’m met with a curled upper lip. “No chocolate chips?” Shit. Is this really happening? “No, sorry.” My shoulders sag, feeling every ounce of the weight of his sigh. The door slams shut again.

LMAOO

“Can you cook?” “Yeah. Yes, I can cook.” “Well, get your granola in here and let’s talk.”

“Yeah,” I huff tiredly to the empty room. “Pretty sure I regret every decision I make.”

same boo

A man can only humble himself so much in one year.

Guys who wear dress shirts at home and talk like it’s their first day at a new school sure as hell aren’t the antagonizing type.

“Fuck homemade. I have every pizza delivery place’s number within a twenty-mile radius saved in my phone,”

“Sighties?” “Oh,” he chuckles. “Uh, sighted people. That’s what non-sighted people call them sometimes.” Snorting, I nod, processing that I’ll now have my own lingo. I wonder what Rob will think about being called a sightie?

Over my trash panda ass, she is. I’m Leigh Ann Davenport’s son. I know how to clean house.

period

“Fool a trash panda once, shame on you,” he mutters, stuffing a purse into the final garbage bag. “Fool a trash panda twice, shame on your Louis Vuitton.”

“Me and my buddy Rob designed it with vocal recognition software. If you’ve got a good thirty-second clip of someone speaking, you can program the app to speak to you in that voice.” “Wait. You designed the Rita app? Like the Rita app?” “Yeah.” He chuckles, combing his fingers through his hair. “Well, you were right. I’m nowhere near that cool.”

“She was this really sassy convenience store clerk near the college campus where Rob and I studied. We were joking around about whose voices we’d like to use for automation apps and hers got a unanimous vote from the both of us, so we drove back to see her and asked to get a recording.” “That’s hysterical. She didn’t mind knowing she’d be the voice in your daily life?”

It's sad, so damn sad that a man like that loses his vision, a man who seems to appreciate everything. And somewhere across town is a man who doesn’t appreciate anything he sees and leaves the world an uglier place wherever he goes.

Gunning it, or rather a sad excuse for gunning it, I break our previous speed limit back toward my parking space just to hear what other kinds of noises Harper can make.

DANIEL: He can kiss my ass.

“We’ll take him,” he declares. ​“Pardon?” the manager says at the exact moment, I croak, “We will?” ​“Yeah. We can’t let him be put down just because he’s a class drop out. He could be the next dog Einstein.”

“Just because he’s not useful like everyone else doesn’t mean that he has nothing left to offer,” he says, no trace of his effervescence to be found. The rise and fall of his chest, the color in his cheekbones, I know deep inside he’s not talking about Larry. How in hell do I say no to that? “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Yeah. We can’t call him Larry! That’s a terrible name for a dog. This place is awful. They can’t even give a dog a proper name. Why’d you bring me here?”

lmaooo

“Don’t worry, Zeke,” I tell the dog, ruffling his ears. “He’s just jealous.” “Zeke? What happened to Jedidiah?” “Naming an animal shouldn’t be taken lightly. It’s a process. You’ve got to try a few out to see if they fit. He’ll let us know which one he likes.”

loll

I’ve found myself excited to get out of bed in the morning, knowing I get to bullshit with him some more. It’d be nice to know what the face of the person who’s brought this breath of fresh air into my life looks like.

“It was just an observation,” I add. “I’m not having a moment or anything.”

I know I give him shit, but it feels imperative to respect his anxiety and phobias. People should feel safe. It’s a basic human need.