They say love is blind; I sure hope it is since I have no idea what I actually look like. People tell me that I’m pretty; men with faceless voices take me home at night, but what they don’t understand is that even though I can’t see, I could answer a phone call.
However, this one was different. He had been sweet, caring, and offered to make me breakfast instead of rolling over and asking why I was still there. He had saved me the embarrassment of having to tell him that I have no idea where I am or how to get home, asking instead, “Bacon or sausage?” before quickly leaving to run to the store.
I sighed and rolled over in his silky sheets, breathing in his aroma. However, as I rolled over my wrist was caught on cold metal. I twisted back around and tried to free my hand. I felt around the thin, binding metal and realized it was a pair of handcuffs, the other side attached to the wooden bed frame. A flutter of horror flew through my insides as I tried to remember if we had used handcuffs as some kink in our night together, but I hadn’t been drunk enough to forget something like that.
I twisted and flounced, trying desperately to break free and cutting my wrist in the process with the tight metal. I stopped as warm blood ran down my elevated arm, and I listened for the first time, using the strongest sense I have in my pitch black world. I listened and listened, and breathing in a shaky breath I realized I could hear nothing.
Absolutely nothing.