Page 23 of They Call Me Wicked

News flash…I don’t.

7

The heat of the sun shining through one of my windows pulls me from my sleep. If I were a damn Disney princess, I’d smile and leap gracefully from the bed before breaking out in song. One that comments on the wonder of the world and how beautiful life is. Blue birds would fly around me, chirping to the tune I sing as I get dressed and ready for the day.

But I’m fucking not.

So, instead, I grumble about a billion curse words under my breath as I struggle to unwrap myself from the sheets. I do contemplate just staying in, but thoughts of my murderous stalker and newest house guests give me just the right amount of motivation to stand up.

Making my way over to the walk-in closet, I graze my hand across the wooden hangers, each one containing a braille description of the item hung on them to help me not accidentally wear a camo t-shirt with, like, clown-orange pants or something.

Not that I own clown-orange pants.

Thank God for my cleaning lady, Mrs. Dixon. She was recommended on her ability to work for people with disabilities, so cleaning is not all she does. Each piece of furniture is exactly where it belongs when she’s done. My newest purchases are labeled and placed where they need to be. My food is organized. And so much more.

She’s definitely worth every penny of her extremely high prices.

Not that I need to worry about money. Did I forget to say that I’m, like, super rich? Oops.

When my dad died, I got his life insurance, and every single thing he owned was left to me. My mom didn’t get squat. And on top of that, there was a huge payout by the drunk driver who ran us off the road. He was apparently the son of a crazy successful corporate tech mogul. We didn’t go to court on the matter, but I walked away with quite the hefty sum. No fucking dad or eyesight, but at least I’m a damn millionaire, slash almost billionaire.

Hoo-fucking-ray.

Can I just have my dad back?

After a moment of deliberation, I decide to go with a pair of black leggings and a white shirt that says ‘I don’t need sight, I use the force’ in the Star Wars font with two blue light-sabers criss-crossing underneath. I’m not planning on going anywhere today, so fuck it.

A delicious smell reaches my nose just as I finish dressing and I breathe deeply. Bacon? Syrup? So, maybe pancakes. Something chocolatey. Is someone cooking breakfast?

And no, my sense of smell is notheightenedbecause I’m blind. It doesn’t work like that and anyone who says otherwise is ignorant. Blind people just pay more attention to their other senses because they fucking have to. If you closed your eyes and focused, you’d notice the same damn things I can.

Grabbing a pair of sunglasses from my very organized display on top of my dresser–again, thank you, Mrs. Dixon–I settle them on my face and grab my cane before cracking open my door. The smells get stronger when I do and the muted sound of voices reaches my ears along with the clanging of pans and utensils.

I hear no sign of Gizmo and Snitch and a moment of guilt pushes through my grumpiness when I realize I completely ditched them last night.

I just had to go have a littlehand-to-gland combat, if you know what I mean.

I know they’re fine. They are more than capable of taking care of themselves–hell, they usually take care of me–but still. I’ve never gone to bed without giving them a midnight snack and tucking them in. They’re my babies. Judge me all you want, but I treat them like my own when it comes to spoiling them and caring for them.

They are going to be so pissed at me.

Hell, Snitch might even shit in my shoe again. Which is what happened last time I forgot his midnight snack and snuggles. Snitch is far more food driven than Gizmo and he’s about five pounds heavier too. You don’t want to fuck with his food.

I inch my way down the hall, following the scents and chatter, my cane out in front of me as I check for rogue bags and items. I know we discussed the rules already, and two-thirds of them agreed vocally, but you never know. Men are…messy.

I’ve barely made it two feet when I’m proven right and it makes contact with something and I start cursing all primates on two feet with a dick. I snap my cane closed and slip the lanyard over my wrist before feeling for whatever I hit. My hands touch the barely rough paper-esque feel of what I know is cardboard and I pick it up. It’s not heavy and I can tell that something is in it, but shaking it does nothing to help me figure out what it is.

Still grumbling, I place it under my arm and continue towards the sounds and smells. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be any more surprises for me to trip over and I enter the kitchen just in time to hear the tail end of a conversation.

“-and then she fucking screams so loudly I thought my eardrums were going to burst. But that only made it worse! The slime ended up falling from her face into her mouth and she started choking and struggling to breathe. And I was fucking dying, man! Oh my God!” Kai ends his story with maniacal laughter and a slap to the marble countertop.

Focusing on their auras, I feel Ezra over by the stove and Nic in the connecting dining room. Kai is at the island sitting on one of the barstools as he talks Ezra’s ear off. Gizmo and Snitch are both lounging on the counter in front of him, the squeaks they’re emitting being the ones they make when they’re excitedly digging into some grub. They don’t even race to tell me good morning with their little nose kisses and hugs like they normally do.

I don’t think I’ve felt this out of place in a long damn time. In my own house, no less!

And with that, my anger is back in full force and I walk directly to the island and slam the box down as well as my cane. “Are you guys trying to kill me? I could have sworn you’re here to protect me, not make me break my neck! Who left this in the hall outside my door?!”

“Wasn’t me!” I hear Kai bounding towards me long before he smacks a kiss to my cheek with an exaggerated noise and breaks out into Shaggy’s hit ‘It Wasn’t Me’. I try not to be amused, like so hard, but really, the man is just downright adorable and I feel my lips pulling up without my consent. I sense him moving about the kitchen as he goes, flashes of his hips grinding into the cabinets, counters, and eventually Ezra, filling my head. He’s an open fucking book most of the time. Unless he wants to sneak up on me, that is.