by Daya Daniels
COLOR-BLIND
BY:
DAYA DANIELS
CONTENTS
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Quote
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright@ 2017 by Daya Daniels
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any way, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or any other means without the explicit written permission of the author, except for brief quotations of the book when writing a spectacular review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and even facts are the product of the author’s imagination. Wait a minute...especially facts. Any resemblance to actual people – alive, dead, or someplace in between, is completely by chance and likely in your head.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. Holy hell, this is important. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Let’s not forget! All song titles in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to everyone who has encouraged my writing.
To my wonderful husband, I love you. Your support is priceless.
Thank you to CMB, my mother, JT and Aunt L for reading everything I write. I couldn’t ask for better beta readers.
You’re all fucking awesome!
PLAYLIST
I Like The Drugs (But The Drugs Like Me) – Marilyn Manson
Again And Again – Keane
Enter Sandman – Metallica
Daughter – Pearl Jam
White Blood – Oh Wonder
Winter – Daughter
Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas – Frank Sinatra
To The Hilt - Banks
Angela- The Lumineers
Yellow – Coldplay
Look After You – The Fray
5 AM – Amber Run
‘Do you love me because I am beautiful? Or, am I beautiful because you love me?’
-Cinderella
CHAPTER ONE
Violet
When they told her I was blind, she left me.
Fuckkkkkkk her.
I shook the intrusive thoughts from my head and focused on the viscosity of the cool paint against the pads of my fingertips.
There was a method I used whenever I prepared to work. The blended colors would be on my left. I’d combine them as I saw fit, only imagining what the colors looked like together, since I never really did know. The basic colors were always on my right in the same order, left to right – they had to be. Red, black, brown, pink, yellow, green, blue and white were always on the end.
I was strictly an abstract artist. If they were looking for meticulous detail they wouldn’t find it here.
Enter Sandman by Metallica, blared in the background. The bass line vibrated through the wooden floors beneath my bare feet. Thank God I didn’t have neighbors.
I stood for a moment and gnawed on my bottom lip.
Think angry thoughts…I had no shortage of them.
They helped me to create my best works. Or at least that’s what the story in the Rolling Stone magazine said the last time they interviewed me.
After I was satisfied with the consistency, I touched the edges of the canvas in front of me. I dipped my fingers into the paint and glided them across the soft material.
The heat from the sunlight warmed my skin, as it poured into my studio that was on the top floor of this building. As far as I knew, no one could see into the uncovered windows. I wasn’t sure I cared if they could. I was naked, which was the only way I worked. I loved to be naked.
I had a show to put on in six weeks and decided to mark this collection as, Colere - the French word for anger. I took a deep breath and began to work, singing along to the loud music. I bobbed my head to the beat, wishing I knew what it felt like to be in a real mosh pit but I knew I never would. This studio along with my vivid imagination was the closest I’d get to one.
This song moves at a tempo of one hundred and twenty-three beats per minute. When you’re blind you notice these things – the little things, the things no one gave a shit about.
I continued to run my fingers over the soft material of the massive canvas in front of me – rocking out while I did, my heart beat in sync with the pounding music. I hummed along and allowed the heavy guitar rift when it kicked in to take me to another place.
Violet
“Violet!” The shouting accompanied pounding on my studio door that I barely heard. I snatched my robe up and shrugged it on, lowering the volume of the music. I hated to be interrupted when I worked. If the music was on and the doors to this studio were closed I was to be left the F alone.
“Violet!” Brooke yelled.
I rushed towards the double doors, unlatching them, tempering my annoyance at the interruption.
“Violet.” Brooke said again, breathlessly as though she’d run up the stairs.
“Yes.” I hissed.
“You’re going to be late for this meeting.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s twelve o’clock, which means you have exactly one hour to get dressed.”
“Well I guess, I’ll be late.” I quipped. “They can wait.”
I moved to shut the door back but it wouldn’t close all the way.
“Violet, you can’t be like this. It’s unprofessional.”
“Move, Brooke before I crush your arm in this door.”
“I’m not showing up late, Violet.”
“Well, cancel it then and reschedule next week.” I suggested with a smirk.
“Fine. Fine, Violet. I’ll call them and cancel an hour before we’re supposed to meet them, which is just as unprofessional as showing up late.”
Brooke was my best friend, personal assistant, manager and publicist. She was anything and everything I needed her to be. She lived in the apartment just off the huge loft I’d purchased several years ago, which I was told it overlooked the Willamette River.
We had a meeting today with a realtor, that was helping us to find a larger space for my art gallery in downtown Portland, Oregon. I wasn’t interested in the whole pain in the ass process, so I suggested that Brooke go alone.
“Violet you can’t keep doing this - making people wait for you. It’s arrogant and it’s rude.”
“Okay, Brooke.” I said sarcastically, shutting the door slowly, not really giving a shit about what she had to say.
Brooke sighed. “You’re such a bitch.”
“Merci.” I slammed the door, ripping my robe off again and completely what I started.
Usually, it could take weeks to finish one painting but as of lately I managed to complete them all in less than a day, depending on my mood.
Today, I was pissed off, which normally helped me to finish them faster. I huffed and headed over to the sink, tossing my brushes in water and washing my hands. I wrapped myself back up in my robe and shut off the stereo, heading for the door at the far end of the room. I only had to take a flight of stairs down and I was in my apartment.
I stood completely still in the den for a moment, absorbing how peaceful and quiet it was.
“What are you doing here?” I questioned the thin air and headed straight for the bathroom down the ha
llway.
I stripped down quickly and stepped inside, twisting the fixture. I nearly melted under the hot spray that filled the stall that beat down on my tense muscles.
“How do you do that?” The deep voice questioned, accompanying the body that followed closely behind me.
I wasn’t in the mood for Jared’s shit today.
“I can smell you.” I snapped, spinning around under the showerheads, making sure the water hit every inch of me.
Jared always smelled like CK-One and the remnants of the perfume of whatever woman he was fucking behind my back. If I could see his face, I was certain it was painted with guilt or not.
Grabbing the apricot body wash, I soaped myself up breathing in the fruity scent.
“Can I come in?” He asked, looking at my nakedness from where he stood outside the glass stall.
I didn’t respond. The sound of his belt buckle hitting the tile floor told me that I didn’t need to. In less than a few seconds he was in the shower standing naked behind me. He plucked the loofah from my hands and began to soap me up, running his large hands over my skin.
“I broke up with you.” I pointed out firmly. “Why do you keep coming back here? I want my key back.”
He laughed and skimmed his lips along my collarbone, placing soft kisses on my skin. “You know I can’t leave you, Violet. You’re too precious to me.”
I managed a smirk but there was no humor in it at all. I didn’t do humor ever. I only understood sarcasm, which I dished out twenty-four seven.
His warm chest pressed against my back as he stepped closer allowing me to feel how hard he was. I only moaned uninterested in stopping him. He nudged me forward and I spread my legs, allowing him to sink into me and soon he was beating into me from behind, while desperate groans spilled from his mouth.
“I love you, Violet. You’re so pretty.”
I rolled my eyes, steadying my splayed hands against the tile in front of me. His first sentence was total bullshit. Jared loved my money, so I would take his cock whenever he offered, which was the trade-off.
“Fuck me.” I hissed, enjoying the feeling of him slipping in and out of me.
He pounded into me harder under the hot spray of the shower.
“Why don’t you ever say it back, Violet?”
“Fuck me.” I repeated, desperate to not have this conversation at all.
I gasped when my pussy quivered around his length but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough and I never came.
When it came to sex, I wanted it every day in every sort of way imaginable. Men were always gentle. The fact that I was blind, made me breakable in their eyes like a delicate glass figurine although I was anything but delicate.
If sex was basic, it was a plus. I had to be satisfied with that but I always wanted more. The asshole behind me shifted again and pounded into me harder as though it was going to work some sort of magic.
“Yeah, that’s it. Fuck me.” I hissed out.
“Oh, God!” I panted out, letting out a long cry as my insides tightened, almost throwing me into ecstasy.
“I love you, Violet.” He said pulling out quickly, grunting as he came on my ass with a short burst of labored grunts.
“Did you come?”
I stood straight. “No.” I whispered, attempting to catch my breath. What was new about that?
He sighed. “I’m sorry, fuck.”
After a long silence, he asked again. “Why don’t you ever say it back, Violet?”
I stood in front of him regaining my composure, searching for the body wash which he placed in my hand.
“Violet.”
“I don’t know, Jared. Do you tell all of the women you fuck behind my back that you love them?”
“Violet, I – I don’t.” He paused, when I held my hand up.
“Is that why you smell like strawberries…all the time?”
He took a deep breath without speaking. Busted.
“Violet, I only love you.”
“You say the words but I am yet to actually feel them.”
“Well you know what Violet, if you’d just open up to me and stop being such a fucking bitch all the time, maybe we could have a decent relationship. You don’t even talk to me.” He silenced and took a deep breath. “I’ve made a lot of exceptions for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?
“You know exactly what I mean?”
“Oh, is this the blind girl spiel that you’re about to go off on Jared? If it is then save it.”
“This has nothing to do with that, Violet!”
I shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. He stood nearby and helped to wrap me in a towel like a gentleman – the sound of the plush material whipping through the air, hinted at how angry he was.
I headed for the bedroom, while he followed.
“I love you, Violet. I’ve loved you for three years and you’ve never once said it back. How the fuck am I supposed to feel?”
I wasn’t in the mood for this. This wasn’t couples therapy. I had work to do and a timeline to keep. I rummaged through my drawers, finding a T-shirt and jeans.
“Look I get it, Violet. You’re successful. You’re independent. You’re sexy as hell and you don’t need me. I need you to need me!”
“And the rest of the women that you fuck need you?”
“Yes!” He yelled.
“Well, I don’t. Please get out of my house.”
“I came here to talk to you.” He explained as his voice cracked. “But I see now that was a waste of time.”
“Just get out.” I mumbled, pulling on a pair of socks.
He swore under his breath as he rummaged around. His boots moved along the wooden floor harshly and his footsteps grew more distant, until they couldn’t be heard anymore. Then the door slammed – he was gone. I plopped down on the bed.
I wouldn’t miss him.
Violet
I learned how to read braille when I was five. I’ve never walked with a white cane and I don’t own a fucking dog, which would’ve only made me feel more handicap than I already did half the time.
Likes: vodka tonics, heavy metal music, sarcasm. Dislikes: assholes, hugs (unless they’re from my father), puppies.
I was teased when I was little. Kids can be cruel. They’d ask me if I was infectious - if they could catch my blindness, which used to make me cry, until I learned how to swear.
I feel constant pressure not to stumble or fall. I’m very cautious wherever I walk and I’m always counting in my head. How many steps. How many turns. How many beeps. How many clicks. How many landmarks. How many minutes. Always counting.
I was born blind with retinopathy of prematurity, so I never had to struggle with the emotional aspect of losing my sight later in life. Maybe God had been kind to me that way. Thank you.
Retinopathy of prematurity is abnormal blood vessel development in the retina of the eye. It usually occurs in infants that are born prematurely. I was born at twenty-eight weeks and weighed four pounds. My mother had escaped when I was born. She was gone before I even left the hospital. We haven’t seen her since.
As I got older, the people I surrounded myself with understood my need for independence. Some would overcompensate with their kindness because they felt sorry for me. They classified me as visually impaired instead of just saying fucking blind. I didn’t want anyone’s pity.
I was twenty-nine years old. I’d graduated seven years before with a master’s degree in English Lit from the University of Portland. Oh, the irony! Since I didn’t give two fucks about love and all the romantic bullshit that went along with it.
I was told I was beautiful, hot, sexy and fuckable but I never truly knew myself. My dad told me I had the most beautiful hazel eyes that weren’t hazed over. My eyes could be hot pink and I wouldn’t know the difference. I blinked at the normal rate of anyone else, so people didn’t usually know I was blind until they made conversation with me. It would usually take them a few minutes to
realize that I couldn’t make direct eye contact with them, which sometimes was amusing shit.
I had long dark brown hair that fell to the center of my back and according to Jared, I was medium-height with a curvy body and kissable lips.
Growing up, it had always been just my dad and I. I grew up in Jacksonville, Oregon, which is about a four- hour drive from Portland. My dad remarried five years ago to another woman who isn’t exactly my cup of tea but he loves her, so I try my best to be as respectful and considerate as my mood will allow.
Brooke and I have been friends since first grade. We were still inseparable. I needed her like the air I breathed and often that realization made me feel dizzy. As independent as I considered myself to be, there’s still a long list of things that I cannot do. I can’t drive, which is the one that bites me the most. If I ever want to go anywhere I’d have to ask Brooke to take me or her boyfriend Kyle would drive me or in rare cases, I’d catch a cab.
Tonight, was the opening night for a band called AgesandAges. They were playing at a place called Rontom’s on East Burnside Street.
Portland was the indie-rock mecca and I loved music.
I stood in the center of my bedroom, talking to my iPhone.
“What time do you want to leave?” Brooke asked, interrupting the very animated conversation I was having with Siri about new bands.
“Around nine o’clock.” I said. “I’ll have Kyle pick you up at twelve o’clock.”
I nodded.
“I’ve laid your clothes out.”
“Thank you.” I said right before she left the room.
Everything I wore was color coded and separated in my large closet, so it was easy to find, courtesy of the most wonderful cleaning lady I had who hated my guts.
Who didn’t hate my guts?
Violet
“I’m ready.” I told Brooke in a sing-song voice, making my way out to the den.
She rushed around causing a commotion with her heels across the wooden floors. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”