2

The nurse peeled herself off Ricky like she was trying to detach from Velcro, still wearing that smug smirk. She gave me a look like I was the family dog that just peed on the carpet—disdainful and a little too pleased with herself. I held the box out to Ricky, playing the part of the useless blind girl they thought I was. He took it without a thank-you, just a brush of his fingers over mine, casual as swatting a fly.

Ricky gave the box a lazy stare, cracked it open, and flicked out a condom with his thumb. The nurse purred, winding herself around him like a cat that thought it had caught the biggest rat in the alley. I didn’t look at them. Couldn’t look at them. Watching them slobber all over each other was too much reality for me.

I sat on the metal chair, acting like a statue—helpless, harmless, and perfectly blind. The trick to my survival was making sure they never suspected otherwise. My sight was still recovering—sometimes the world flickered in and out like a bad TV signal. But when the light hit just right, I could see enough to make me wish I hadn’t.

They didn’t notice me. I was as visible as a dust mote in a sunbeam—just something that drifted in and out of their lives without leaving a mark. They went back to their grotesque business, Ricky pulling her into his lap while she pretended to resist with a silly giggle. I bit down on the bile crawling up my throat and stared at the wide-open medication shelf. Anything to distract me from the slow-motion car crash happening five feet away.

Leaving the cabinet door open was super careless of Ricky. There was a tightly packed row of bottles there with bright orange labels. I didn’t need to read them to know it wasn’t aspirin. Hell, it wasn’t anything they’d be passing out in a legit hospital. That shelf was stocked with a new designer drug—heroin in a lab coat. The stuff that melted addicts from the inside out and left them looking like overcooked steak. It was illegal as a deadly sin, and twice as profitable.

The thought settled like a brick in my brain. This wasn’t just a hospital for patching up rich fools and keeping their dirty secrets out of the newspapers. It was a front—a clean façade draped over a festering pit of illegal trade and mob connections. Ricky’s family didn’t just own the hospital—they owned the racket.

And what about me? I was a decoration. A tragic figure they could point to and say, ‘Look how charitable we are. We’re taking care of that poor blind girl.’

I had to lock my knees to keep my body from collapsing. I’d been sitting here for two years, thinking I was a burden, when in reality I was an alibi in a hospital gown.

The night I lost my sight came rushing back like a flood, and I forced myself to hold my memory steady. The white villa. Ricky dragging me into his business trip. The drive to nowhere, his jittery mood, and that uneasy feeling scraping the back of my neck. Then the gunshots, the sound of metal chewing through bone. I couldn’t remember much else—just the dark. Endless, impenetrable dark.

Had I been part of something dirtier, something more dangerous than I could see at the time? My fingers tightened on the metal chair, and I felt my pulse pounding in my palms. I couldn’t afford thinking about that night. Not yet. Not when I had to play my part for Mom’s sake.

That shouldn’t be too hard, I thought. Ricky was too wrapped up in his nurse to notice something had changed in me. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t feed me to the wolves the second he caught a whiff of rebellion. His family didn’t deal in second chances. One slip-up, and I’d be on the front page of tomorrow’s obituaries, listed as “tragic overdose victim”.

The nurse pulled back, wiping lipstick off her teeth with the back of her hand. She looked at me, suspicion tightening her face.

“You’re quiet today,” she said, like I was supposed to break into song.

I gave her a tired smile, the kind you give to a small, annoying child. “I am tired.”

She cocked her head, as if figuring out if I was playing her. A cruel idea must have wormed its way into her skull, because her face lit up like a Christmas tree on fire. She walked over, her heels clicking too loud in the quiet room.

“Well,” she said, voice dripping with fake concern, “Ricky told me you needed new clothes. Want me to pick something for you? Something that may actually look good on your meager frame.”

She said it like she was offering me help, like I was some homeless mutt she was considering taking in. I shrugged, keeping my eyes unfocused. “Sure,” I mumbled.

She wasn’t buying it, but Ricky cut her off with a kiss, probably to shut her up before she started making sense. I didn’t bother replying. I had bigger problems than dealing with her jealous streak. Like staying alive.

I could hear Ricky muttering to her, telling her to stop worrying about me. Apparently, he never saw anything more in me than a sweet sister. “She’s just tired. God, you’re paranoid. She is blind as a bat and just as useless.”

Nice to know I was still a priority. I filed it away, letting his insults slide over me like oil on water. I couldn’t afford to care.

Later that night everything went straight to hell. A sudden power outage plunged the damn place into pitch-black chaos. Nurses shouted, alarms shrieked, and I could hear people stumbling through the corridors like panicked cattle. My vision was never great, but now it was a disaster—a swirl of shadows and flickering lights.

I heard Ricky’s voice somewhere down the hall. He was barking orders like he thought he was running the joint. Maybe he was. I slipped out the door, keeping to the wall, letting the confusion cloak me. I didn’t have a plan—just an overwhelming need to get to my mother before things got worse.

It took too long to reach her room, feeling my way along the dark smooth wall like a drunk finding his keys. I pushed her door open, nearly collapsing with relief. I moved toward the bed, reaching for her hand. I froze.

My fingers brushed something solid. Warm. Breathing. A man’s chest—broad and hairy. I sucked in a breath, but before I could scream, a hand clamped over my mouth.

“Easy,” he whispered, his voice low and convincing. “Don’t make me kill you. I’m not in the mood for cleaning up tonight.”

My heart somersaulted in my stomach, and I forced myself to stay still. The grip loosened, but he didn’t move back. I could feel his breath against my cheek, hot and steady.

He leaned in closer, voice dripping with dark amusement. “You’re a busy little rabbit, aren’t you? Sneaking through the dark like a burglar. Makes me wonder.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His grip tightened just enough to remind me he wasn’t joking. Then he gave a low chuckle, making my spine prickle.

“Never mind,” he said. “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss things.”