Chapter 2: First Touch
I Couldn't move. My breath caught in my throat, trapped between anger and longing. I had barely spoken to him in years—barely looked at him, if I'm being honest. And there he was, near enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off of him like a burning coal.
Jacob's hand reached out again, hesitant this time, as if he were afraid I would pull away. Maybe I would. Maybe I should. But my body ignored the voice in my head that was screaming for me to get out. No, it wanted something else. Something better. Something I hadn't let myself feel in years.
He touched me with his fingertips.
The touch was so gentle, so slight, it might have been a whisper against my skin. But to me, it was an explosion. All the nerves in my body sparked to life, my heart pounding as if I were going to run a marathon. A flush of heat radiated from where his fingertips touched mine, like a flame bursting to life from the tiniest spark.
His breath came in short, a small gasp leaving his mouth. He pulled away his hand, but the cold seeped through into my skin. I didn't want to admit to myself how much I wanted him to touch me again, but I did. I wanted the touch we had once had—the touch that, despite everything, had not been completely lost.
"Isidora." His voice was harsh, close to incredulous. "You're.
I swallowed hard, wrestling with the onslaught of feelings coursing through my veins. "I'm what?" I demanded, forcing the words past my lips, even though they seemed too exposed. Too vulnerable.
"You're…" He hesitated, and for a moment, there was silence between us. "You're blind."
I could hear the shock in his voice, the incredulity. It wasn't the first time I'd ever heard someone react this way when they found out I was blind. But hearing it from him, from Jacob, the hurt was worse, somehow more tangible.
"Yeah," I whispered. "I am."
Another silence. I could almost feel the heaviness of his stare on me, as though he were looking at me for the first time—really looking at me.
"I didn't know," he muttered. "I didn't know." His voice dropped, almost regretfully, but I wasn't sure I was ready to forgive just yet.
The words hung in the air, and I could sense vulnerability closing in around me like a cloud. I wanted to shut it out, to shoo it away, but I couldn't. Not when he stood here, standing before me, and everything inside of me was trembling.
There was a moment's silence before he spoke once more, this time his voice gentle, uncertain.
I apologize. I did not know you were—" He hesitated, looking for the right words. "I did not know, Isidora. I did not know you were still—"
"Still what?" I interrupted, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "Still waiting for you? Still holding out hope you'd return?
There it was. The truth. The truth I'd kept locked deep inside myself, believing I'd moved on, that I'd left him behind. But the moment I felt his hand on me again, it all came flooding back. The good, the bad, the memories of us before it all went so horribly wrong.
"I didn't think you wanted me anymore," I said, my voice trembling with emotion. "I thought you had moved on."
He took one step closer, his hand inches from my own. I could feel the uncertainty in him. He was yearning to touch me once more, but something held him back. I was yearning to touch him, to bridge the space between us, but I couldn't. Not yet.
"Isidora," he breathed, his voice laced with regret. "I never lost hope of being with you. I will never forget you. I was merely. lost. I didn't know how to fix what I'd shattered."
His words were solace to my shattered heart, but I didn't know if I could let them mend me. Not yet. Not until I had the truth. Not until I knew he was telling me what he said he meant.
I wished I could trust him. God, I did. But the last time I'd trusted him, I'd gotten hurt. And I didn't know if I could do that again.
I pulled back a little, my chest tightening as I fought to get air.
"I don't know if I can trust you," I said, my voice shattering under the pressure of it all. "I don't know if I ever will be able to trust you again after what you've done."
He said nothing for an incredibly long period, and I could feel the regret washing off of him in waves. "I'm sorry, Isidora. I'm sorry for everything.".
His apology floated in the air, heavy and thick. I had no idea what to say. I wanted to scream, to inform him of just how much he hurt me, just how much his rejection had ruined me. But I didn't. Because if I did, I knew the floodgates would open, and I was not ready for that.
I could feel his presence shift as he took a step forward again, his steps cautious, as if he was afraid that if he took one misstep I'd be gone.
"I don't want to hurt you anymore," he breathed, his voice naked and raw in its truth. "I just want to fix things."
"I don't know that you can," I breathed, my voice barely more than air, barely audible.
But before I could stop myself, my hand had already reached out, nearly of its own volition. I had to touch him again. Had to experience the chemistry that was between us, the connection that had always been present, no matter how hard we tried to fight it.
His hand sought mine, this time more firm, more certain, and I felt his fingers weave through mine with a tenderness that broke my heart. There was no doubt in his touch now, no confusion.
And in that instant, I knew. I knew that we weren't finished. Not yet.
"I'm not leaving," he panted, his mouth against my ear. His voice sent shivers down my spine, and I fought the urge to lean toward him, to let him enfold me in his arms. But I couldn't. Not yet.
Not when I didn't know I could trust him with my heart once more.
"I'll show you," he continued. "I'll do anything if it means you'll believe me."
I was trembling, my heart thumping in my chest as the tension between us grew thicker. The air hung thick with things left unsaid, but we didn't move. Not yet.
And then, just as I thought I'd give in, I heard it. Something. A noise. A rustling noise behind us.
Someone emerged from the alleyway, and I turned to look at it, my heart sinking.
"Jacob," the voice snapped, cold and sharp. "You promised it. You promised you'd leave me alone."
I quivered at the voice, and Jacob's grip on my hand tightened, though not enough to hold me up. The room spun around me, and I was not certain who I was more afraid of—the stranger, or the hand that had revived me.
Who is that?" I whispered, trembling.
Jacob’s silence answered louder than any words could.