‘How are you feeling?’
‘A little disoriented.’ I sit up on the bed carefully. It definitely feels weird, like I’m in a black dream. I can’t open my eyelids; they are dead weights on my face. I keep turning my head, searching for light, but of course, there isn’t any.
‘Now, was that really so difficult?’ Jeremy teases.
‘It wasn’t easy, I can assure you. And I can’t recall you volunteering in my place.’
‘This weekend is about you, sweetheart, not me.’ I don’t want to go there again.
‘What was it? That you put on my eyes?’
‘Rest assured, nothing that hasn’t been approved by the strictest pharmaceutical standards. I wouldn’t put you in any danger. I’m a doctor, remember, I take my oath very seriously.’
Great, moral standing and access to any drugs he so desires.
‘That’s very reassuring, Doctor Quinn, given my current situation.’
He laughs. ‘Honestly, are you alright? Can I help you?’
‘I’m sure I’ll need a lot of help with everything now that you have made me one hundred per cent blind! Are you sure this isn’t permanent?’
‘The drops last twenty-four hours give or take. I’ll redo them tomorrow. Let me know when their impact is fading.’
‘No problem. I’ll be sure to let you know the second any light comes in.’ My voice is laced with sarcasm. I raise my hand wanting to feel my eyes first-hand. They feel so heavy, so bizarre.
‘Oh, no you don’t.’ My hand is guided away. ‘No touching whatsoever. That is why you will also be wearing this blindfold, as a reminder to leave your eyes alone.’
‘No way! That won’t be necessary. I can’t see a thing.’
‘It is and you will.’ He places it over my head. It fits snugly against my eyes and feels silky soft.
‘Well, well, another perfect fit. Did you have it made especially?’ I say jokingly.
No answer. ‘Jeremy?’ There is a long pause.
‘Yes Alex, as a matter of fact, I did.’
***
‘Come with me.’ Jeremy holds both my hands and assists me carefully up from the bed. I forget I have high heels on and stumble a little before I regain my balance.
‘Wow, this is really, really weird.’ He places his arm around my waist and leads me out of the second bedroom rather precariously. I feel like an invalid. I am stunned this has happened, that I am now blind and fully dependent on Jeremy for the weekend. It makes me feel nervous and tense, but also excited somehow, not knowing what to expect. My dreamlike state has evaporated so I can only hope I’m not entering into a dark nightmare.
‘Here, let’s sit on the lounge.’ He guides me down into the soft velvet cushions. I feel either side of me for armrests but there aren’t any. I wonder how blind people do this every day of their lives? Not knowing how or when things are happening. The positive voice inside me is quietly grateful I had spent some time in the hotel suite earlier. At least I have some familiarity with my surroundings.
A knock on the door startles me.
‘Stay here, I’ll be right back.’ His hands leave mine before I can respond. Jeremy briefly greets whoever is at the door as I sit on the lounge silently like a complete idiot with a blindfold on. I am deeply embarrassed.
I hear noises of plates being efficiently set up and arranged and a bottle crushing into ice, perhaps refreshing the champagne? There is a vague aroma of food in the room. There is no discussion between Jeremy and the ‘door people’ as they go about their business and they remove themselves as quickly as they arrive. I hear Jeremy thanking them and securely closing the door behind them.
He sits beside me on the lounge and places a glass of champagne in my hand.
‘Thank you, Alexa, this means everything to me.’
It is so strange not being able to see that I find myself utterly lost for words, so I don’t say anything. I hear our glasses clink together and feel a desperate need to gulp the bubbles down fast. I swallow as much champagne as physically possible, so urgent is the need for me to drink it. I suddenly feel completely out of control, reality hitting me like a brick on the head. I find myself wishing for another shot of absinthe to numb me from it all. What have I done? Anything could happen … I have literally handed myself to him on a platter. Oh well, what possible difference could another glass of champagne make? At least if I pass out I won’t be conscious of how freaked out I am. The rational voice in my head quickly questions the sanity of this particular logic. I keep tipping the glass up but it must already be empty given nothing is coming out.
‘Whoa, Alex! You never drink that fast!’
‘No. I don’t, Jeremy.’ I finally find my voice. ‘But extreme situations can result in extreme behaviour.’ I place my glass out into the space in front of me.
‘Would you mind filling up my glass again, please? This champagne is delicious.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asks tentatively.
‘Oh, yes, I am very sure I would love another glass of champagne. I would be very happy to pour it myself if you would be kind enough to direct me to the bottle, although I would hate to spill any on the lush, five-star carpet,’ I say pointedly.
‘You’re mad at me?’
Such an emotional rocket scientist, I think to myself sarcastically; maybe his EQ isn’t quite what I thought it was after all. Or maybe it is? I’m not so much mad at him as angry at myself for allowing this ridiculous situation to occur in the first place. The reality of being blind has caught me completely off-guard. It’s one thing to be enticed by the concept, the sensuality of the idea, quite another to know I’ll be living like this for the next forty-eight hours. My emotions are threatening to overwhelm me as the significance of what I have just done settles in to my bones.
As I can’t see him, nor read his emotions, I just keep holding out my empty glass, waiting for him to provide the refill, needing the alcohol to fill the void.
‘Alexandra, are you really angry with me? Honestly?’
Another Alexandra moment. I wait with my glass extended toward his voice. He takes it, refills it and places it back in my hand. Thank goodness. I’m relieved as I raise the bubbly liquid to my lips. I decide to ignore his question, believing it at least gives me some control.
‘Lovely champagne, Jeremy. What is it? I’m not sure I’ve had it before.’
I sense he is bemused at my avoiding his question. Unfortunately, he knows me well enough to recognise the more polite I am being, the greater the emotion I am hiding. Basically, he knows me almost as well as I know myself, if not better. Which is no doubt why I am sitting here in a ball gown, with a blindfold on, in the penthouse suite, trapped for the weekend. It is just all the more frustrating.
‘It’s
