Sensing Serafina Read online

  Sensing Serafina

  Elisa Ellis

  Contents

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Part II

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover artist: Kat Mellon, Photography by Elisa Ellis, Drawing by Isaac Ellis

  Editor: Angie Clarkson

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9861187-1-5 (Elisa R Ellis)

  Created with Vellum

  To my beautiful, crazy, giant family.

  I am truly blessed.

  Two worlds.

  His, hers.

  Poor, rich.

  Freedom, control.

  Until her light breaks through his darkness, bringing them together in a sensory overload. Sera and Cal find love in each other despite their differences until a tragic accident leaves them both in the dark. Will they each be able to overcome personal struggles and adversity to find the light within? And is their love strong enough to withstand the dark?

  Part I

  Cal

  Chapter 1

  Now

  I feel broken

  Cracked.

  Tasting blood on my tongue

  Glass.

  The sight of nothing

  Ground.

  With the smell of pain

  Feelings.

  I hear her

  Memories.

  Covered in a film of sweat. Thrashing. She’s there in my dream, and I don’t want to wake up. I can’t accept the interruption. Of life. Of living.

  Visions in my head. Her hand in mine. She’s smiling, her brown hair blowing gently in the wind, a few light freckles so beautifully kissing her porcelain skin. And her eyes. Blue water so clear. I can see myself in them, and I’m glowing, and I’ve never seen myself like this before. But she keeps fading in and out. Blurry.

  “Cal. Cal, you are having a dream. Can you tell me what you are seeing?”

  Zaps of light are interfering with my mind, my thoughts that keep trying to hold on to her. I’m resisting consciousness. I want to stay here.

  “Cal, you are Ok. Can you talk to me? Tell me what you need?”

  The man’s voice is grating, patronizing, and fucking infuriating me. Damn it. Just leave me the hell alone. Let me be.

  “Cal, you are going to feel a little stick, and then you can relax,” I hear the man say.

  No. No, not yet. Please leave me here. For a little longer.

  But he doesn’t, and I fall back into nothingness, somewhere where I don’t exist, at least out loud, in my reality. Quiet. My mind is quiet again, and I miss the chaos that I can’t reach. It’s far away, and I’m floating in nothingness, supposedly resting.

  I wake up to my mother holding my hand. I know it’s her because I can feel her love, but I also feel her strife. I don’t like it.

  She tries to calm me, to soothe me, but all I can see are a few zaps of light, and frustration, and anger. I don’t want to talk, but I have too many questions. Questions I don’t really want the answers to. She’s still holding my hand rubbing the top of it with her other one, talking, but I don’t understand what she’s saying. Maybe I don’t want to. I hear her, but her words are distorted because I won’t allow them to be real in my mind.

  I’m searching. Trying to sort things out in my mind. I am restless and pulling away from the hold she has on me, pulling my hand up to my face to find the blindfold that is surely imprisoning my sight. But I’m freaking out. I can’t handle the pain, the anguish, the loss. Of my senses. Of my memories. Of my reality.

  And then back to silence.

  Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. For months.

  Before

  I park two blocks away because my bike is loud, and her dad won’t allow it. I know my marked up skin and idiosyncratic nature is not part of his plan for her life, but I can’t stay away.

  I stand on the porch, hands in my pockets, a jean jacket hiding my ink, and wait, bouncing a little on my toes in anticipation of her. Her light. The vast inside of her house is cold with shiny, tile floors leading to sterile rooms, too many rooms. It is all-consuming and unforgiving, so much room, but no place to hide from the ever watchful eye of her father, who probably means well.

  She opens the door, ready for me. She is bright, yellow, beautiful with bright, white shining all around her like she can’t contain her joy. But it is complimentary, not excessive. Just light in every beautiful and perfect way. I am drawn to her like a moth to a flame, like storm to calm.

  She yells back to someone that she will be back later and joins me hand in hand, giddy. I don’t understand her attraction to me, but I can’t allow myself to question it because she is like a drug to me. I am addicted and I can’t resist her pull. We walk side by side, so close, touching each other like we are one, our arms weaved together to eliminate any void as we reach my bike.

  She jumps onto the back holding me tightly around my middle, and I love that she loves to ride. She loves the wind in her hair, the freedom of the road, and I am thrilled to break her out.

  It is only five miles to my house where we plan to study together, only two weeks from graduating and for the plans that we have kept just between us.

  But a moment in time, one single second, causes a depression so deep that I can’t see recovery.

  Chapter 2

  Now

  One month in, I asked a single time. I couldn’t bear to hear it, especially more than once. My mother by my side, I speak low, but surprising her all the same, evident in her jump.

  I can’t even form it into a full question; her name is enough.

  “Sera?”

  Just her name on my lips feels blasphemous.

  My mother’s hesitation affirms my deepest fear. Bandages hide my tears and superficially absorb a shock that sickens me.

  Grief so profound consumes my soul. Nothing matters anymore. I don’t matter anymore.

  I try so hard not to hear her words, but they pierce me, so loud. So, so wrong.

  “Baby... She’s gone.”

  Before

  Flashes of light. Memories of the only good I have ever known. I turn to them, my only refuge, my only hope of survival.

  Before

  Hot liquid pools around me, and I recognize only one thing. Despair.

  My arm is outreached. Even though my body lies awkwardly displaced, gravel embedding my skin, I strive to feel her presence. I think I hear my voice calling out, but I’m not sure it is really sound.

  “Sera?”

  Louder. Louder. Louder.

  But all I can hear is sirens. Worry. Pain. Extreme pain. And loneliness.

  There is shuffling around me. Strangers aiding the impossible but trying anyway.

  I finally hear it, a whisper. “Cal.” A tone that is so beautiful that it
brings hope. Comfort. Praise. Life.

  Momentary. Fleeting. But enough that it maintains my heart and saves me. Physically.

  Chapter 3

  Now

  Three, long months of Jell-O, vital checks that interrupted what little sleep I could muster, and the sardonic sterile smell sustaining life but not giving it became my horrible actuality. Merely existing.

  Muffled voices in the hall opposite my imprisoning walls portray untouched lives that mock my reality.

  I am pushed, forced to get out. I can’t leave my pain, but I can at least leave this hell.

  I feel the nurse’s aid cup the underside of my elbow, leading me as I walk up and down the halls, recovery the goal. Recovery. It is an oxymoron. So insincere and unachievable, always out of grasp. I’m angry, but I press on, determined, and feel my feet shuffle along. In life.

  She says, “Good job. Keep going. You are doing great. You’ve got this.” I grumble. Her words are unconvincing, but I must move forward. To endure somehow in this world.

  When the doctor removed the bandages, I was unprepared despite his attempt to warn me. How can something so important be taken for granted without even realizing it? I could feel them moving, searching, my eyes almost jumping to realize their function, but there was nothing.

  Darkness.

  Sitting in my bed, the pads of my fingers explore my features again, sensing, feeling, my new substitute for sight. I think of how a snake uses his tongue to smell, his senses amiss.

  And my hearing. Sounds are louder, more distinct. I have a new recognition as they reverberate, like a bat uses echolocation.

  It is inconsistent from what I have always known, and my awareness is heightened. Yet, beauty is nowhere to be found. Pitch black blinds me, robs me along with my loss, but I can’t go there in my mind, never again.

  Before

  My eyes follow her around campus, but I haven’t put a voice to my feelings for her yet.

  The first time I saw her was in the cafeteria. It was like a slow motion movie, the images burning into my mind creating a memory that would last. She stood beside a table of friends, laughing, and brushed her hair back over her shoulder. I immediately wanted to run my own fingers through her light brown, straight hair. I wanted to feel the silk like a child in a store who can’t help but touch the beautiful objects on display. She shined among her peers, clearly illuminating her surroundings, and I felt like I couldn’t get too close. She would expose me, who I am.

  But my determined eyes stayed focused only on her in a room full of noise.

  Her hand touched the table, and she shifted to lean on her other leg, again moving her hand to her hair to tuck it behind her ear. And she caught my gaze. She blushed and looked down, but only for a moment before our contact was again established. Across a crowded room.

  Her lips turned up just a bit as she tried to discern my stare, but my expression remained unchanged, captivated with her beauty unadorned. A challenge in her eyes forced mine down, defeated by fear and deficiency.

  Since that day, I try to blend in to the crowd, hiding from myself. And from her sight. But I see her in my mind even when she is not around.

  My mom and I have been on our own since I was born. According to Mom, my angular jaw and deep brown eyes with an olive complexion resemble the dad who left at the news of me. It has been a long road, but she has always worked hard to support us, which left me too much time for trouble. Filling my time with the wrong things, bad decisions. Ink covers my skin, telling my story, but revealing a path that has been rough with lessons learned.

  I am thankful for my mom, and I don’t fault her for my mistakes. It is who we are. But I am discolored, smudged with imperfection. So I can’t get too close.

  I can’t risk blurring the lines, blotting out her glow, which is saturated with goodness. So I watch from afar.

  I watch her live, my curiosity and intrigue confounding. Every part of her is perfect in an imperfect world, and it’s a comfort I’ve never known before. Bringing color to my pain, she has no idea. It is why she shines. And I can’t get enough.

  Chapter 4

  Now

  Waiting for my mom to pull up under the canopy, the cold wheelchair transitions me to freedom. I feel a breeze. It hits my face with calm, taking the sting out of my pain like blowing on a burn. But it’s superficial.

  The smells of exhaust are overwhelming, reminding me of my loss and the mechanism for my fate.

  My feelings, both internal and external, are a tornado, each competing with the other and all trying to overcompensate for a lack of one.

  I am wearing sweat pants that hang too loose, a t-shirt, and sunglasses, trusting my mom and the nurse that I look reasonably presentable, but I have my doubts. Thankfully, the ride to my house isn’t far, and I don’t plan to be out in the open for long. Intimidated by a world I can no longer see.

  Feeling my way to the car, I somehow manage to get buckled as the driver of the wheelchair says “good luck.” It is contrary to reason.

  Mom is excited, though. She tells me she is so happy to get to have me home again, and I can hear the smile in her words, but I can only nod in reply, still conflicted and frustrated. I am happy to reunite with the familiar, though, so I try to embrace this moment in efforts to take one step, one day at a time.

  Once home, mom leads me to the front door, which I know to be faded beige, old and dingy. Inside, the smell of home brings tears, and I can’t help but release my sadness. I never used to cry. Even when I reaped consequences of stupidity, I never let myself cry, was too tough for it. But now it seems to happen daily, another out-of-control issue that drives me insane.

  Mom tries to pretend it isn’t happening, not bringing attention to my grief. I think, like me, she wants to pretend it isn’t real, that we can just keep moving along like nothing ever happened. But it did. And I hate it.

  I remember once when I was around ten, I kept my eyes closed the whole time I took a shower just to see if I could do it. How could I have ever known it would become my reality? I was able to do it that day. I thought at the time that it was kind of fun and relaxing. I never embraced the beauty of the water, the sunlight coming through the window covered with a yellow curtain, the ability to see which bottles contained shampoo and conditioner. Heaven forbid I drop the soap now. I still struggle to find balance. The shower is still a place of refuge for me, though. Standing under the flow of almost too hot water, I try to wash everything away, at least for a while. Kind of reminds me of the line in Macbeth, and I chuckle to myself, sarcastically murmuring, “Out, out damn spot!”

  My bed feels wonderful. Ironically, it’s the only thing that has improved since my hospital stay. It’s a twin bed, the same one I’ve had all my life and definitely nothing special, but it is heaven compared to the discomfort I’ve had to deal with for the last three months. I decide to take a nap since there is nothing to do. My days have become full of therapy and nothing. Boredom and indifference.

  I realize I will have to rebuild, but apathy is a roadblock trapping me in one spot and preventing any hope of freedom. My mind, when not forced into numbness, is unbearable for right now.

  Before

  I’m working at a local gas station changing tires and doing some light mechanic work during the Christmas break. I’ve been working since I was 14, always doing something to make a little extra money since my mom barely kept us afloat. I wear a stained white t-shirt and old jeans, adding new smudges throughout the day. It’s comfortable, normal for me. But it feels extremely obvious when she pulls up in her restored 1966 baby blue Ford Bronco, which, by the way, makes me love her a little more.

  I wait for her to get out while wiping my hands on the red rag I keep in my pocket, anticipating her needs. Full of life, she hops out. She hesitates when she recognizes me but smiles a timid smile as she asks me about fixing her tire. I don’t return her smile. I can’t encourage something that has no chance, but my eyes continue to betray me because they will not back
down. I hope I don’t appear crazy or scary. I honestly can’t help it. Can’t get enough.

  She leaves her tire with me without pushing for conversation, for which I am thankful, but I know she will return to pick it up later, and man, I am burning, consumed with a fire I don’t understand. Fire. Hot but dangerous. And my mind is already claiming her as mine.

  She returns later in the day near closing. The sun is setting, and the colors in the sky paint everything around me with a yellow and pink glow, including her hair, causing a reflection of her beauty that is intriguing and persuasive. Again, she smiles, and I am overcome. I hand her the receipt and let my hand brush hers in passing. A spark, a flicker of hope, changes everything. Her eyes meet mine, and an unspoken bond arouses a new direction for me. For us.

  Chapter 5

  Now

  My voice surprises me, the sound louder than expected. Therefore, my few words are spoken quietly. But my legs are covered in bruises and with each time I stumble into something, my harsh words punish my ears, further provoking my frame of mind. I have lived in this apartment with my mom for two years, so navigating the small space doesn’t seem like it should be difficult. Mom tried to move things to lessen my challenge, but I’m still learning my way. Through everything.