Clarity 2 Read online

  “You need to hear this,” I insist. “He’s the one who...”

  “Helen, I’m three months pregnant.”

  The words get caught in my throat. I find myself rendered speechless.

  “Whatever he’s done?” Carmen whispers. “I can’t know. He’s the father of my baby. I can’t... I can’t back out of this now. I need him. I want my baby to grow up with a good father, like we did.”

  My hands fall to my side, quite limp and robbed of their fire. I lower my head.

  “I need to sit down,” Carmen says as she moves over to a chair in the corner of the library. She takes several deep breaths. “So now you know. I think it’s why I’ve been so hormonal,” she says with a small, miserable laugh. “It’s why I’ve been crying so easily. Oh, and of course, it’s why I was throwing up earlier. Why I had Tylenol instead of Advil, and no champagne while getting ready...”

  “Is it also why you’ve lost your mind?” I ask her quietly.

  “Yes,” she answers. “I know that Grayson will be a good father. I don’t care if he hurts me sometimes. That’s the price I’m willing to pay to have the security of a good man and a strong family. As long as he takes care of my baby, nothing else matters.”

  I close my eyes, trying to un-see the horrible images in my mind. In this moment, I see too much. I vividly remember calling Dr. Howard to get me the morning-after pill when this happened to me. She tried to get me to file a police report and do a rape kit, but I just wanted to put the attack behind me. Now, I wish I had. If only I had known that my rapist wouldn’t stop there, and that he would take things even further and hurt my sister? Or any other woman?

  I was being selfish. I just wanted to run away to save myself, when I should have stayed to fight. This is all my fault. And now, this man has raped my sister into fathering my niece or nephew. He’s trapped her. Emotionally, financially, and probably in dozens of ways I can’t begin to guess, he’s made her his prisoner.

  “What if he hurts your child?” I ask her softly. “What if it’s a girl, and when she’s a teenager...”

  “No. Don’t even say that,” Carmen tells me. “He wouldn’t—”

  Music starts playing from the ballroom where the wedding is being held. It’s the music meant to announce Carmen’s entrance into the room.

  “Oh god,” she says quietly, leaping up from her chair. “Oh god. How’s my makeup? Shit, you can’t even see my makeup. Oh god.”

  “Your makeup is the least of your worries,” I tell her dryly.

  “Look, Helen. I’ve made my choice. Maybe it’s a bad choice, but I can’t change my mind now. It’s too late. I’m in too deep.” She sniffles and wipes her face. “I have to go now. I love him, and I know he’ll be a good father. I just want to present a good image to everyone else. I want to seem strong and happy to all our family and friends. Who cares if I have some private issues that bother me behind closed doors? Everyone has skeletons in their closets. I’m going to head inside now.”

  “Can you think about this for a moment?” I implore her. “Carmen, I just want you to be safe. You’re my big sister. I want you to be happy for real. Not just put on a show for everyone. Years of faking it and silently suffering will destroy you. It will suck the life out of you, and you’ll be dead inside.”

  “I will be fine,” she assures me, putting a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about me. Besides, I can live vicariously through you—at least you have Liam! He seems like a great guy who would never...”

  “Ha! I just met him yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “He’s a stranger,” I admit shamefully. “Sorry, Carm. He’s just my doctor. I asked him to pretend for me.”

  “Oh.” Her voice is empty and disappointed. “Well, then we’re both fucked.”

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  “I guess... I’m going to go get married now,” she says quietly. “Are you going to come stand beside me at the altar?”

  “No.” There is zero hesitation in my voice. “I don’t support your decision. I can’t be part of this celebration.” My face contorts into a nasty frown. “But if Grayson dies, please invite me to his funeral.”

  “Okay,” she says softly. “Thanks for coming to my wedding, Hellie. You’re—you’re the only one who really cares.” Carmen throws her arms around me in one final, tight hug before leaving the library.

  I could feel all her love and fear in the fierceness of her embrace. It brings tears to my eyes. I listen to her hurried footsteps as she turns and rushes across the foyer to do her duty and walk down the aisle. I know that she’s just trying to be strong and do the right thing. Who am I to judge? Maybe it is the right thing to do. Maybe Grayson really is a good person with some sort of mental illness, and maybe the good he does in the world makes up for his sins. Maybe the good he does for my family makes up for what he did to me. Maybe he really will be a good father.

  Somehow, I have trouble believing this.

  The news of my sister’s pregnancy is bittersweet. She seems excited at the prospect, and I will be happy to be an auntie. I wonder if Dad knows? Either way, I’m sure he would be thrilled. I just always imagined this happening under different circumstances. I imagined more laughter and safety. I imagined that it would be slow and carefully planned. I imagined throwing baby showers and parties, and celebrating with friends. I imagined that Mom would be there to help Carmen and guide her with good advice.

  I imagined looking up to my big sister as she succeeded in life and accomplished huge milestones. I imagined patterning myself off her, and using her achievements to give me direction. I imagined her guiding me with her greater years and wisdom, and helping me feel certain on my own path. I imagined so much stupid bullshit that will never happen. Sure, I somewhat expected to use her mistakes to guide me on what not to do, but not to this extent.

  This is not a mistake. This is a tragedy.

  I slowly make my way out of the library, but I only get as far as the doorframe before I have to lean against the wall for support. It’s my fault. If I had been braver, and tried to find my attacker instead of simply running away... I could have prevented this. I knew some information about him—although I’m not sure if it was accurate. I knew that he was an engineer and a football player. Those could have been lies, but I could have provided a general description of his physical build. I knew where he was, and at what time—there could have been security footage on the campus to show who was in the vicinity.

  I was selfish and self-absorbed. I thought it was just about me, and my drama. I thought that if no one else had to hear my story and deal with the event, that they would all be safe. I thought that pretending it never happened could make it go away.

  I thought it only happened to me because of my disability. I thought that by being blind, I was somehow asking for it. I thought that by crying in a stairwell, I had made myself vulnerable and an easy target; I announced myself as a victim, and it was almost entirely my fault. I thought that other women—normal women—would be able to look at a man and instantly see all the evil and cruelty inside him written on his face. Shouldn’t those things be glaringly obvious?

  It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I could have protected her. I believed I was protecting her from the harshness of the truth, but really, I was concealing knowledge from her and exposing her to the harshness of reality. Now, she’s pregnant. He made her pregnant. Probably without her consent or any planning. I failed her. I failed my sister.

  She’s not even thirty years old, but her life is over.

  I hear the music quiet down and the minister begin to commence the ceremony. Each word is more grating to my ears than nails on a chalkboard. I can’t stay in the house and listen to this anymore. I hate myself for what I’ve done. For letting this happen. How could I have been so stupid?

  I hear footsteps on the hardwood floor of the foyer. Footsteps moving toward me.

  “Helen?” says a worried male voice. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in the c
eremony?”

  My mouth opens for me to speak, but I find that my lips are trembling. My eyebrows crease as I fight back tears of failure and self-hatred. “I shouldn’t have come here, Liam.” I take a moment to compose myself, trying to detach myself from the doorframe and stand up properly. My knee quivers slightly under me, threatening to cave. I did not walk around very much during the years that I spent confined to my little cabin, and I suppose I am kind of skinny and weak. My emotional state does not help. In this moment, I wish more than anything that I could be back home in my cabin. This place is not my home any longer.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks me.

  “No. Just...” I shut my eyes tightly to restrain my tears. “Please go away. Do your experiments on someone else. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be able to see.”

  “But Helen, we made a deal...”

  “I don’t even know why you bothered,” I tell him. I am suddenly filled with rage, and I step forward to glare at the spot where I believe his face is. “Why do you even care? What the hell is your problem? Searching me out, and digging me out of my comfort zone. Dragging me back here, and trying to change everything about me? Trying to improve my life? What is your deal? Maybe you should mind your own business, Dr. Larson.”

  “Helen, this study really could change your life. Your vision is important. I don’t know what upset you, but it has nothing to do with...”

  “Fuck you!” I snap at him cruelly. “Vision is nothing. Vision is worthless. I am more than just a pair of broken eyes!”

  “I never felt that way! I just wanted to help. I never meant to imply that...”

  “No. I am not some pitiful disabled patient you can jerk around as you please, to suit your purposes. I liked my life in New Hampshire. I liked my shitty food, and I liked my shitty job, and I liked being alone. I like not being able to see, because I know there’s a whole lot of ugly shit in the world. Isn’t it bad enough that I have to hear it, and feel it? Did you ever think that being able to see it would cause my brain to explode in a sensory overload? You know I was on anti-depressants. Did you ever think it might be too much, and I might end up in a mental institution for the rest of my life because I was forced to see things too clearly? See all these terrible things?”

  “There are wonderful things too,” Liam tells me. “Please, Helen. Just trust me. I wanted to show you so many beautiful things. Of course, it will be a huge adjustment when you first gain your vision, but it will make life so much easier in the long run. Trust me; it will be worth it. For every horrible thing you will see in the world, there will be a thousand amazing sights that far outshine the negative ones.”

  His voice is pleading and kind, and it cuts right down to my soul. I really do want to trust him and believe in the good things. I want to embrace the good that life has to offer, but how can I after this wedding? In the background of our conversation, wedding vows are being spoken as my sister signs away her soul to the devil.

  “I, Carmen, take you, Grayson, to be my lawfully wedded husband from this day forward. In the presence of God, our family and friends...”

  A tear that has been gathering in the corner of my eye finally breaks free. I feel helpless and overwhelmed. I feel even worse for being mean to Liam when I know that he has only been good to me in the short time we’ve been acquainted. I breathe deeply and exhale. “I’m sorry,” I manage to say through a constricted throat. “This is the worst day I’ve had in years. Possibly the worst day of my life. I just... I need to go.”

  “Helen, I...”

  “No. Thank you for everything, Liam. Please excuse me.” I turn and run through the house as quickly as I can. I need to get out of this place.

  I head toward the back of the house. My high-heeled shoes pound the ground as I run across the dining room, carefully stepping around chairs and other decorative pieces of furniture. I skirt around the kitchen counter as I head for the large glass doors that open out onto our patio. There is a small wooded area behind our house. It’s not the perfect time of year to be going outside without a jacket, but I can’t pause to properly prepare. I need to get out now. I am filled with rage, desperation, and guilt. I cannot seem to breathe, and I need fresh air.

  Stepping through the door to the backyard, I slam it shut behind me. The cold air immediately pierces directly through my flimsy bridesmaid dress, and begins to stab at my skin like a blanket of tiny needles. Oddly enough, the first place it strikes me is my chest. I am not wearing bra, and my nipples begin to ache before any other part of my body. It feels like they have been dipped in liquid nitrogen, and scalded so badly that they might fall off at any moment. I ignore this and continue to run across our backyard in my pumps, ignoring that the snow is seeping through the open toes of the shoes, and snapping around my ankles like bear traps made of ice. As I move down the patio steps and into the grass, the snow gets deeper, and begins to freeze my calves. Nevertheless, I move forward. I run through the snow until my skin is searing and blistering from the cold.

  A couple times, I stumble, but I just manage to keep my balance and prevent myself from entirely falling. Finally, my heel catches on a dense snowdrift, and I do fall completely. My hands plunge forward into the snow to steady myself. It feels like icy fists have gripped my wrists as I struggle to pick myself off the ground. I realize that I’m not going to get anywhere in these shoes, and I reach down to rip them off my feet and angrily toss them across the backyard. Fuck this wedding, and fuck those shoes. Fuck this whole fucking day. I trudge through the snow barefoot, and get a kind of sick pleasure from the pain running up my legs, stabbing me like lightning bolts made of ice. I imagine getting serious frostbite and having to cut my feet off. It makes me move even faster.

  Finally, knowing that I am nearing my destination, I begin to stretch my arms outward. I move around frantically, feeling for the impact of a familiar structure. It takes a few minutes, and I begin to panic as I am lost and disoriented and standing knee-deep in bone-chilling snow. What if the structure I’m searching for has been moved or replaced in my absence? I sigh thankfully when my arms connect with the wooden walls of the garden shed. The cold surface feels sticky under my hands due to being coated with a thin layer of ice. Dragging my hands across the exterior of the shed, my fingers glide over the frosty glass windows. I slide my hands lower as I wildly search for the doorknob. It takes me a few seconds to locate the frigid metal knob, and I grasp it and turn violently, yanking the door open.

  Stepping into the old garden shed, I hastily close the door behind me. Only then do I exhale in relief. When I breathe in, my nostrils are filled with the scent of old wood and rusty metal gardening tools. There is also the lingering aroma of potted soil and dead plants. These decaying herbs used to be alive and flourishing when my mother tended the garden, and taken inside annually to be protected from the winter. Now, they are neglected and crumbling into dust. I begin moving through the garden shed to the other end, and my knee knocks over what must be a shovel. It clatters loudly to the ground, startling me. I always get really clumsy when I’m upset. I simply stop caring about the fact that I’m blind, and pretend that I’m invincible and magically know where everything is all around me. I boldly take another two steps, as though defying all inanimate objects and daring them to collide with me. On my third step, my heel jams down on the hard spikes of a rake. I curse and reflexively rip my foot away from the painful metal implement. My bare feet are already very sensitive and sore from the cold, so the agony caused by the impact is amplified at least tenfold. I clutch my sore foot with a wounded expression on my face as I glare down at my attacker.

  There is a burst of fire in my gut as I reach forward and grasp the handle of the offensive rake. My arms move without my permission, swinging the rake madly and smashing it into the wall of the cabin, as though everything is its fault. I let out a scream as I slam the rake into the cabin’s window, and the sound of shattering glass is heard. I let it fall down around me like let
hal rain. It is extremely cathartic. For a moment, I feel strong and powerful. I feel like I could do anything.

  Then it’s gone. I am powerless. I remember everything.

  I can’t bear the crushing weight of these vile memories, and I need to escape them somehow. Running away to the ends of the earth won’t help, and neither will smashing everything in sight. I need to disappear into my own mind.

  Feeling guilty for my violent outburst, I try to carefully step around the stray shards of glass as I move toward the corner of the little shed. I put my back toward the wall and slide down to the ground, and my bottom lands against the floor with a small thud. The cold ground sends icy shockwaves up through my dress, and I seriously regret wearing Carmen’s thong. It is not offering much in the way of protection from the weather. This entire ensemble is worthless, and I might as well be naked. She even forced me to shave my legs! What I wouldn’t give for even that extra protective layer of tiny hairs right now. Rubbing my hands up and down my clammy, cold legs, I try to get warm. I try to no avail. Blowing some hot air over my legs, I slap my toes to make sure I can feel them. They are so cold that it’s excruciating. I press my hands against my chest, trying to soothe my stinging nipples. The coldness is no longer jabbing me with needles, but with dagger-like intensity.

  However, I am glad for the pain. It distracts me from the memories that are playing across the inside of my mind—the memories that I can’t seem to shake away. So many parts of my body are screaming at me for attention that I don’t even know where to begin. I reach forward I wrap my fingers around my frozen toes to try to massage the sensation back into them, but before long, my hands start feeling too cold to assist my toes. I stick my fingers under my armpits to help them defrost, but I am soon distracted by the throbbing ache in my ears. I lift my hands to cup my tender ears for a moment. As I close my eyes, I hear Grayson’s voice echoing in my mind. I am frustrated to find that even though I have left the house, and even though I have my hands clamped over my ears, the man is too deep inside my head for me to find sanctuary. It’s completely futile to fight against both the cold and the past.