Love at Second Sight

This is a slow burn and a little bittersweet story. If you are looking for quick fun, this is not the story for you.

Thank you to kenjisato for his help as editor.

Any feedback or ratings would be much appreciated.

Enjoy!

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Hello. My name is Hazel.

You don't know me, but please understand that I know you.

You cannot see me, but I can see you. And I care deeply for you. Yet there is a chasm between us.

You see, I have been blind since I was twelve when I suffered bacterial meningitis. Don't worry, I do not miss my normal sight. It is true that I can no longer see the sun in the sky, the trees in the garden, the gentleness of a smile a mother gives as she looks down upon her child; or the tears shed in grief at the loss of a loved one. I have my other senses though, and they are heightened.

I have my hearing. I enjoy listening to the rustling of the wind in the autumn leaves, the trickling of the water down my bedroom window as it is also pattered by the gentle evening rains. I love the sound of your voice as you hum gently to yourself in the shower, your breathing as you slowly drift off to sleep, the rustle of the cotton sheet against your bare skin.

I have my sense of taste. I love the tanginess of biting into an orange, the flavour of rich chocolate. My favourite flavour is the salty taste of your skin when my tongue glides down your neck and gives you a little nibble on your collarbone.

I can smell so acutely. True there are some unfortunate odours out there: bin day and old socks. Yet I cannot explain to you the joy I have of smelling my first coffee of the morning. It tickles my nose, relaxes my mind and awakens my body. And oh, the joy when rain finally drops upon the dry earth of the back garden, mixing with both soil and grass. Petrichor.

My favourite awareness was touch. My fingers used to dance upon leaves of a bush, causing tingles up my arms. The crackling dryness of sand at the beach then changing to a cooler firmer texture. Soon the sand waterlogged enough and my toes could dig in. With a moment of anticipation, I waited for that first wavelet to reach me, swirl around my ankles, then ebb away. Anticipation, cool water, currents about me, then fade away. But I have lost this. I can no longer feel with corporeal hands, walk with my feet. But I still feel you.

I have touched you, you know. I have rested my fingers on your cheek as you watched TV. I slid my hands down your back as you showered last night. You may have felt it, but you would not have known it was me. Like I said: you don't know me, but I know you. On occasion, I like to tease you by flicking lightly at your mane of black hair and your locks tickle your neck. It's funny to watch you look around, wondering where the breeze is coming from.

Yes, I know I should not play with you like this, but I cannot help myself. You get so flustered when I do these to you. That little intake of breath, the movement of your hair as you turn around quickly, and the wild eyes that try to seek me out yet cannot. I am in front of you, but not. Your blue eyes are such a contrast to black hair.

How can I see your eyes and your hair? Good question. I am not using my eyes. They perished many years ago. What I have instead is so much better. What should I call it? Alternative sense? Out-of-body experience? I prefer the term second sight. I see you, and because I see you, I am attracted to you. Then the rest of me comes to you.

I have been playing with this new sense for ten years now. I am very good at it. I was not able to do more than just watch others' lives pass before me at the start. Then I learned to focus myself. Soon I could not only see, but I could hear. Snatches of conversation here and there until the sound melded properly to the images. I kept improving after that. I could smell when a woman would spray her perfume on, or when a blueberry pie was baking in an oven. Such wonderful scents that I had never smelled before.

The last two came as a surprise to me. Until that point, all that I had experienced was passive. Consider it window shopping. One day I was watching an elderly man lovingly tend to his bourbon roses. The petals were so delicate, I could not help but reach out to them. And there it was! A brush against my finger! It was a delight to realise I could feel again! You have no idea how I missed it.

Taste was a strange one to master. Have you ever tried to press your lips to something you may fall through? Or lick a drink or food which is not yours? Weird, but I finally achieved it. I am not eating anything, just getting to taste. I went to a high-end restaurant once, and got my first taste of caviar. I'm guessing it's an acquired taste. I was not impressed.

During all my second sight meanderings, I had enjoyed the novelty of new experiences. But six months ago, I found you. Since then, I have only visited you.

When I first saw you, I was just skimming through the city. You dazzled me so much that I lost my focus. I had disappeared back to my body and the dullness of my life. It took me a moment to work out what happened, then I searched for you again with my second sight. I found you once more and swore I would not lose you again.

Since then, I have spent hours with you as you relax in your home. I have sat next to you as you sip your first coffee of the morning, your eyes half closed, your lips near the edge of the cup as you blow on the steam. I once leaned forward to feel the warmth from your coffee wash over me. I have watched you when you have come home exhausted and stripped your work clothes off. When you made your way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. When you slipped under the water and you took that sigh of relief. You knew your workday was done and the evening was all yours.

That is when I see the real you come out. The mask you wear within your skin that gets you through your workday has finally dropped away. Now you are alone. Or so you think. You cannot see me, but how I enjoy seeing you.

I felt perverted when I first watched you remove your clothes. I should have looked away but... You are so handsome. You all but dragged your tie off. The buttons of your shirt were listlessly pulled at. You cared for your cufflinks however, as you removed and placed them on your kitchen counter. A shrug, and the shirt was off your shoulders. You are strong. I was mesmerised by the rippling of your muscles and the spread of your chest hair. I longed to run my hands over your body, feel the roughness of your skin. Your work shoes have already been kicked off. Now your hands are ripping at your belt and unzipping your trousers. They end in a pile at your feet.

I should have left you alone then. I was invading your privacy. I could not though. I wanted to see more of you, see all of you, and I wanted to stay with you.

You walked to the bathroom, and like a puppy I followed you. If my body were with me, I would have felt my heart skip a beat as you leant forward and removed your socks then boxers. You were naked and laid your hands on the edge of the sink, letting your head fall toward your chest. I was so close to you I could smell the last touches of your aftershave. I cannot help but lift my hand to your dark hair that is shielding your face from me. I wanted to feel the tousled curls, and I did. Then you shocked me by swatting away at the side of your face as if you felt something. Did you feel me? Did you possibly feel me touching your hair? Oh, if only that were possible! I was too hesitant to try again, so I just kept watching.

The water was flowing in the shower and you have stepped in. I cannot pull my eyes away as you get wet all over, lather your hair and body. You have no idea how sexy you are as the bubbles are created then popped within the hairs on your chest and back. My view drops down following the track of the suds. You are not aroused but that does not matter. You are amazing all over. My insubstantial fingers want to touch you all over, and want to make your blood pulse faster.

I slip back to my own body. As I arrive, I realise my carer is panicking as I have been unresponsive for a long time again. She worries even though I tell her I am fine. There is no point me trying to explain to her that I was having an out-of-body experience, or that I am the one controlling it. The doctor has checked me over many times and subjected me to brain scans and sleep studies. I am always in my body during those times, so nothing has been revealed. I am a mystery to them. It's like I am in a waking coma.

I wish they would leave me alone, let me drift away without the fear of my unknown trances. But they can't. They fear for my life. They shouldn't. My bodily existence is not a life for so many reasons. I want to live my life outside, and live it with you.

Having learnt that you can feel my touch, tonight I want more for you, more from you. I don't know how you will feel about it. I do not want to scare you. I want to give you my love, my desire. To make you feel good.

I glide to your home, my immaterial form pushing through the wall to your bedroom. You are sitting back reading a book, only in your boxers. One hand is holding the book, the other is resting on the pillow beside you. I take the time to enjoy the view. Your hair is a little damp, evidence of a recent shower. I sit by you, my insubstantial legs curled beneath me. I have no weight so there is not proof of my nearness. I have to focus to make myself able to touch you. I'm not sure how to start this. Finally, I make up my mind.

I lay my hand upon your resting one. A full touch may be more reassuring than a featherlike one. You look down in shock and pull your hand away. Your eyes travel wildly around the room, but of course you cannot see me. I see you, and it hurts me that I have scared you. It is not my goal, but you do not know that yet.

With a slight look of trepidation, you put your hand back down on the pillow. Do you want me to do it again? Are you trying to work out if what you felt was real or in your head? I rest my hand on yours once again. You take a sharp intake of breath and though you jumped at the strange feeling, you stay put. I rub my thumb over your skin, hoping this will be comforting. It looks to work. Your look of dread is melting away to bewilderment.

"Is -- Is someone there?" you ask hesitantly. I have no way to respond to you, no voice, not even a whisper. Believe me, I have tried so many times.

"I don't know if you can hear me or if you can communicate."

Your brow is furrowed in thought.

"Can you squeeze my hand?"

I focus again and squeeze your hand lightly.

"Wow!"

The amazement in your voice makes me so happy. You are not scared of me! I wish I could throw my hands around you. You lay your book down and try to feel for my hand but I am immaterial, and your touch slips right through me.

"Can I touch you? One for yes, two for no?"

Two squeezes.

"Are you a ghost?"

I don't know. What am I in this form? Is it not a requirement to be dead to be a ghost? Or to be a poltergeist? I am alive. At least I exist in a body.

"You don't know what you are?" you ask as I have not responded.

One squeeze.

"Do -- do you mean to harm me?"

Two squeezes! I could not press hard enough to convey how much I did not want to hurt you. You breathe out in a small laugh.

"This is crazy," you whisper to yourself.

One squeeze. You laugh openly at this. I love to hear it. The tension between us is dissipating. I take the opportunity to touch your face with my free hand, laying it against your cheek. You start slightly, but do not pull away. Emboldened, I run my fingers across your jaw, then touch your lips, rubbing my thumb lightly over your lower one.

"Your touch is cold."

I break our touch and pull away in horror. I am cold to you! There is no way you would enjoy the feel of such a thing against your skin. I disgust you.

"No, don't go away! I didn't mean it as something bad!"

You put your hands out as if to catch me, but you don't know where I am, and even if you did, you could not feel me. I'm scared to touch you again. If you were repulsed by me, I could not bear it.

"Please! Come back to me. It is a cool feeling, refreshing. Please."

You jump off your bed and spread your arms out, still trying to find something even though you know you cannot feel it. I so want you to find me.

"Come back, little cloud," you whisper.

That's what you think of me? I find the name touching, makes feel special. I have never been given a name other than Hazel, not since I was 12. I cannot help but return to you.

Your hands are still held out in front you, fingers splayed. I open mine and rest them against yours, our palms moulding together. Your hands are so much bigger than mine. You breathe a sigh of relief.

"I'm so glad you are still here. I feel crazy though, talking to myself. I mean talking without hearing a response. I need to sit down. Please come sit with me by the bed and hold my hand so we communicate again. Don't leave."

We are now seated and I touch you again. I am drained though. I have never spent so much time focused on making myself known. I don't know how much longer I can hold on.

"Are you attached to this building?"

Two squeezes.

"Ok, so you can move around the place. Do you live somewhere or do you just travel around aimlessly?"

I have no way of responding to you.

"Sorry, that was not a yes/no question. Do you live somewhere?"

One squeeze.

"Are you somehow alive?"

One squeeze.

"Can I come to you?"

Two squeezes. If I thought you would be disgusted by my insubstantial form, I know you would hate my real one. I do not need eyes to know that I am not a sight that no one would want to see unless paid to care for me.

"Are you... a woman?"

One squeeze. Of course, you would want to know that of the spectre that has their touch upon you. I put my hand against your cheek once again. You close your eyes and smile slightly.

"Yes, a fresh touch."

I let go of your hand and reach up to your face again. I frame it between my palms lightly. I've never focused my lips before, but I try now, leaning forward to rest them on your mouth. You are so warm! My first kiss! If only you knew how much this means to me. But exhaustion hits me and I am dragged back to my own body. I am back in the dark with only the memory of you on my lips. Tears would stream down my face if I had the ability to cry. I lay motionless, just waiting for sleep to take me away.

It takes me many days to recover from the strain it took for me to connect with you so physically. I will not stop however. Being with you is all that I want.

I finally make my way back to you in the late evening. Once more you are in bed reading. I do not hesitate this time and reach out to your hand. You gasp in surprise but recover quickly.

"Little cloud?"

I squeeze your hand. If only you knew how nice it feels to hear you call me that.

"You left me, little cloud. I don't know why. Did I do something?"

Two squeezes.

"I can feel you pressing me, I wonder, could you do that with a pen or pencil?"

I have no idea. If so, we would finally be able to talk!

"I assume that is a don't know. Would you like to try?"

One squeeze.

You pull away and drag the top drawer of your bedside table open. Out comes a pencil and paper. You lay it on the bed and wait. The difference between applying pressure and lifting an object is huge. Though I can feel the pencil beneath my immaterial fingers, I cannot pick it up. I don't want to use up all my energy trying this. I want to spend my time with you.

I go back to your hand and squeeze it twice. You rest your hand in the air slightly above mine and smile in my general direction. I can feel your warmth surround me!

"It's okay, little cloud. I am just glad you came back."

I do not wait this time. I lean forward and press my lips to yours, making them as substantial as I can. Such a delight to feel you. I open my mouth and let my tongue touch your lips. I can taste you! That slight saltiness is amazing for me. I lean back again.

"Don't stop my little cloud," you whisper.

I am so ecstatic that you want more of me. My hands frame your face and I kiss you again. This time you open your mouth too, and our tongues touch. Oh the feeling is wondrous to me. I focus more and achieve the strength to slide my hands back and into your hair. You sigh in satisfaction. What would make you feel good? I can only assume. This is such unknown territory for me. But I want you to enjoy my touch as much as I do touching you.

I leave your lips and travel lightly down your jawline then to your throat. Your sigh becomes a soft groan. My fingers trail down from your hair to your shoulders.

"Oh little cloud," you whisper hoarsely.

I hesitate a moment. Is that good, or should I stop? I then rest a hand against your chest, against your heart. I can feel it pumping under my hand, getting faster. My mouth replaces my fingers, I feel your skin and the roughness of your hairs. There is no softness to your groan now.

"Oh fuck, I so wish I could touch you, little cloud. I can't believe this is even real."

One squeeze on your shoulder.

"Lie with me, my invisible fay."

You lay down, your book all but forgotten as it falls to the floor. I join you, trying to give my body enough substance that I can rest myself against you. It's hard, it's so draining, but I achieve it. And you feel me, all of me, touching you. I have never lain against a man like this, and I am sure you have never lain with an incorporeal form. Your warmth pervades me even as I feel the last of my energy leech from me. It happens again. When I am so happy with you, I fade away.

The room is cold, colder than normal. I roll to the side but cannot find the buzzer to summon my carer. Something is wrong. I am shivering so badly and so exhausted. Then I feel the feverish sweat drip off my forehead. No, not again! I can't bear to go through this again. I hate my body, how it is giving up on me once more. And the longer it takes for my carer to get here, the worse it will be. I cannot see to locate the buzzer, I cannot feel for it. I am helpless, and I am too exhausted to leave my body again. I don't want to be here. I want to be with you, but I have no way of doing so.

For a week, I have been in hospital. I'm so doped up on pain drugs and antibiotics I can hardly function. Not that I have been able to function properly for some time, but these meds are not letting me fly. All my energy has dwindled in keeping this shell of my body alive as the meningitis rips through it. I want to be back with you so badly, even if for a moment.

The doctor is here. I can hear him, but only just. The word amputation is mentioned once again. Not this time. I call out my protest.

"No more amputations! There is so little of me left. Let me go."

I hear my mother's cries, but she does not understand what it is like. I live in my spiritual travels, not in this physical cadaver. Right now, they are stopping me from living. I want either to be with you or death. The arguments and protestations go back and forth.

"I am twenty-two. I am of sound mind. Doctor, I refuse any further treatment. Stop the medication."

With great relief, my pleas are heard and accepted. The antibiotics are stopped, the painkillers are increased for palliative purposes. If only I could have an adrenaline boost to let me go to you and say goodbye.

It took days to die. Pneumonia set in, sepsis coursed through me. The pain was intense but the morphine kept it at bay, and the ketamine gave a sense of disassociation. I was still here though, trapped. Finally my rattling breath stopped, my toxic blood slowed in my veins, and my heart gave its last pump. It is over now.