Chapter 30: The Cost of Sight
The world didn't just spin for Jepoy; it shattered. One moment, the vibrant warmth of Erica’s hand was in his, her voice a melody promising a shared future. The next, a monstrous blare tore through the air, followed by a gut-wrenching screech of tires that clawed at his very soul. Time itself seemed to warp, stretching into an agonizing eternity. He didn’t think; he reacted. A primal instinct, born of a love so profound it eclipsed all else, surged through him. He lunged, a desperate, protective shove that propelled Erica out of the direct path of the oncoming terror. And then, an impact that felt less like a collision and more like an explosion, ripping through him, bone and flesh and spirit. A blinding, searing white light erupted behind his eyes, a final, agonizing flash that swallowed every vibrant color, every cherished memory, every hopeful future. He heard Erica’s scream, a raw, guttural sound of pure agony and terror that was instantly swallowed by the abyss of unconsciousness.
When he finally clawed his way back to awareness, it wasn't to the soft, familiar feel of Erica’s skin or the comforting scent of her hair. It was to the stark, biting smell of disinfectant and a relentless, throbbing ache that consumed his entire being. He tried to open his eyes, to orient himself, to find the source of the dull, persistent pain, but a heavy, oppressive darkness pressed against them. A thick bandage, alien and suffocating, obscured his vision. Panic, cold and sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, began to prickle at the edges of his consciousness, then intensified into a full-blown assault.
"Erica?" he rasped, his voice a raw, sandpaper whisper, foreign even to his own ears. The sound was weak, laced with a fear he hadn’t known he possessed.
A nurse’s voice, calm and detached, floated into the darkness. "Mr. Dela Cruz, please try to stay still. You’re in the hospital. You've had a serious accident."
He thrashed against the unseen restraints, a frantic, desperate animalistic need to see, to understand, to find her. "Erica! Where is she? Is she okay? Tell me, for God’s sake!"
A moment later, a feather-light touch, achingly familiar, settled on his arm. Then, Erica’s voice, fragile but undeniably present, broke through the sterile silence, a lifeline in the churning void. "Jepoy… I’m here. I’m okay. You… you saved me." Her voice cracked on the last word, the sheer terror she had experienced still raw in its edges.
A wave of profound relief, so powerful it almost buckled his resolve, washed over him. He slumped back, the tension easing slightly from his rigid body. But the pervasive, absolute darkness remained. "What happened?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, the fear creeping back, insidious and chilling. "Why can’t I see?"
The air in the room grew heavy, thick with unspoken sorrow. He could feel it, sense the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on him, even in the absence of light. Then, the doctor’s voice cut through the silence, grave and laced with a profound sympathy that only deepened Jepoy’s dread. "Mr. Dela Cruz," the doctor began, his tone slow and deliberate, "you were hit by a truck. You sustained very severe head trauma, particularly to the occipital lobe, and… unfortunately, your optic nerves were damaged beyond any hope of repair. You’re… Mr. Dela Cruz, you’re permanently blind."
The words landed not like a revelation, but like a hammer blow, each syllable a cruel, ironic twist of fate. Permanently blind. The irony was a bitter taste in his mouth, a searing acid that burned his throat. Erica, who had been on the precipice of seeing light, of witnessing the world anew, now stood by the bedside of the man who had lost his own vision, irrevocably, utterly, completely. He had promised to always see her, to be her eyes in a world she couldn't yet perceive. Now, the only "vision" he possessed was the phantom memory of that blinding white flash, the agonizing instant that had stolen his sight and plunged his world into an unending, impenetrable night. The vibrant brown of her eyes, the lopsided grin, the dimple on her right cheek – all the things he had held so dearly, that he had looked forward to her finally seeing – were now forever etched only in the fragile landscape of his memory, untouchable, unseeable, forever lost to the darkness. His world had ended the moment hers was about to begin.
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