𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | [𝐛𝐱𝐛]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 3

      Eros

Hey, I'm Eros. 17 and blind.

Because of that, I've always been the target—the one people pick on, the one who's treated like a burden. It's not just the blindness that sets me apart, though. My eyes... they aren't a sight anyone wants to see. They're unsettling, grotesque, a constant reminder of something broken. The doctors suggested my parents cover them with a cloth or bandages, not just to shield me from the stares of strangers but to shield everyone else from the discomfort of looking at me.

I wasn't born blind, though. I had my sight once—before everything changed. An accident with my uncle is what took it away. My uncle. Even saying the word brings a bitter taste to my mouth. He wasn't a kind man. Cold. Angry. Always distant, like he hated the world and everything in it. Maybe that's why my aunt left him. She couldn't take it anymore. I never blamed her for leaving, but when she did, that left me in his care whenever my parents were too busy with work.

That day... my parents were working late, and they had no other choice. I saw the hesitation in their eyes when they told me I'd be staying with him. They knew, deep down, that it wasn't safe. But their boss was insistent—said the project was urgent, something they couldn't refuse. So they made the decision, against their better judgment, and left me with him.

I was only twelve. Sitting in my uncle's house, I felt this overwhelming sense of dread. He barely spoke to me, but when he did, his words were sharp, cutting through the silence with an edge of hostility. His presence was suffocating, like he could devour me whole if he wanted to. I was small back then, a kid with no strength to defend myself, especially not against someone three times my size.

Unless I had a knife.

That thought crossed my mind more than once. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was something darker. But it was there, lurking, as I sat on his worn-out couch, waiting for time to pass. Waiting for my parents to come and take me home.

But the hours dragged on, and the air in that house grew heavier, thicker. I could feel his eyes on me, even though he barely moved from his chair. Something was wrong. I could sense it.

Then it happened.

It was sudden, violent, like a predator finally deciding to strike after circling its prey for hours. His hands—those cold, rough hands—grabbed me. I fought, but he was too strong. I screamed, but no one could hear me. The walls of that house swallowed my voice. I was just a kid, powerless against the monster towering over me.

And then, in the chaos, in the struggle, something shattered. I don't know if it was a lamp, a bottle, or maybe it was just my world breaking apart—but in that moment, everything went dark.

That was the moment I lost my sight.

And the thing is, I'm not even sure what's worse—the darkness that surrounds me now, or the darkness of that day, the day I learned what it truly meant to be helpless.