she gives me a squeeze.
I’m unable to take in any of the medical jargon as Dr. Davis works on my eyes.
Even though he said I won’t see anything right away, I keep hoping to see a flash of light, a shadow… God, anything but this total black pit of hell.
Dr. Davis said the surgery went well. I manage to get some sleep during the night, and when I wake up, it takes me a moment to remember the day before.
“Morning,” I hear Miss Sebastian say happily. “It’s about time you woke up. You almost missed breakfast.” I hear cutlery, and then she asks, “Do you want some coffee, and then we can fight about how much you’ll eat?”
Even though my eyes are painful, I let out a chuckle. “Coffee will be great.”
Miss Sebastian waits for me to sit up, and then she adjusts the bed. Leaning back, I wait for her to hand me the coffee, and after taking a sip, I say, “Thanks for staying, Mamma G.”
“My bedazzled ass wouldn’t let my god-baby go through the surgery all by his lonesome.”
“Mamma G,” Noah grumbles from the couch where he slept, “did you know you snore?”
“I don’t snore!” Miss Sebastian gasps. “I purr.”
Noah lets out a chuckle. “Is there any coffee left?”
“Come get some.”
“Aww… but you made Kao a cup,” Noah complains. “I always knew he was your favorite.”
“Don’t make me get up and wack you into a different blood group,” Miss Sebastian warns. “I love all my god-babies equally.”
I hear her prepare a cup, and then Noah says, “Now I feel loved again.”
“Little bedazzled shit,” Miss Sebastian mumbles, then she turns her attention to me, and her voice is all sweet again as she says, “Time to eat.”
Not having much of an appetite, I ask, “What’s for breakfast?”
“Just toast. But lunch will be a whole different scenario,” she warns.
“Are you staying the whole day?”
“I’m working the night shift for a co-worker that’s on maternity leave. I took off yesterday for you, so my bedazzled ass needs to be back at work tonight.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. “God, could I love you anymore?”
I hear the door, and then Dad says, “Morning. Wow, Miss Sebastian, it looks like something exploded in your hair.”
“Don’t start with me so early, Marcus. The ICU is only a couple of floors down.”
I begin to laugh, loving it when she and Dad get into it with each other.
They keep bantering with each other until Dr. Davis walks into the room. The air instantly shifts from playful to tense.
I hear movement around the room, as Dr. Davis asks, “How do you feel today, Kao?”
Nervous as fuck.
“Besides the pain, I feel okay.”
“Like I said yesterday, the surgery went well. You’ll feel pain and irritation for some time. I’m going to remove the bandages today. During the first couple of days, the lights have to be dimmed, and the curtains closed to protect the cornea.”
“How long will I have to do that?” I ask.
“A week at most. Wear sunglasses when you’re outside. You might be sensitive to light. It differs from person to person.”
Dr. Davis’s fingers brush around my head as he begins to remove the bandage, and it sends my heart rate shooting through the ceiling. I feel Miss Sebastian’s fingers grip mine, and I hold onto her for dear life.
“Remember, you might not see much, only shades of black and gray.”
“Okay,” I breathe the word out through my anxiety. Anything would be better than just the constant black.
Suddenly, apprehension fills my chest until it feels like the life is being squeezed out of me, and I almost call out for him to wait.
But then Miss Sebastian grips my hand tighter in both of hers, and I feel Dad’s hand on my shin.
God. Please.
When the bandages are off, I keep my eyes closed.
I feel Dr. Davis’ fingers on my right eyelid, and then he carefully pulls it up. A flash of gray slams the breath from my lungs. It was only for a moment. The flash is dimmer on my left side.
“Open your eyes,” Dr. Davis instructs.
I begin to tremble from my emotions being all over the place, and when I slowly lift my lashes, there’s nothing.
I begin to blink, and then I see dark shadows.
“Kao?” I hear the worry in Dad’s voice.
“It’s like I’m looking through a murky cloud of dark shadows,” I try to explain as best I can.
“Every day it will get better,” Dr. Davis assures me.
I glance in his direction, and when I manage