Through Your Eyes

Saying Emma was a typical 17 year old girl would be more than an understatement. It would just be a lie. Emma WAS normal, she was typical. Until she got sick. The illness left her blind. She hadn't seen in almost 4 years. When fate leads her to Niall Horan, will she be able to love him? Or will fear of the unknown, the unseen, keep her from falling in love?


1. Hated


"You know you can't just not speak. Just because you're blind doesn't mean you get special treatment, princess." I could feel more tears welling up in my eyes. If only my mother were still here. If she hadn't left me alone on this earth. Now that she's gone, I have no one. I feel nothing but sadness. Since her early death, my father has taken everything out on me. Why? I'll never know. "Emma! Answer me, bitch!" My father screamed. I squinted my eyes shut to stop the tears from running down my face. No. I can't cry. It will only make him angry. I want to run. Run away from my father and from the pain of being motherless. Go somewhere safe. But I can't. The darkness all around me imprisons me. It grabs me and confuses me. The longer I go without sight, the dimmer memories become. Everyday, I remember a little less about the world. Forget what it looks like to watch a sunset or wind blow through the trees. The small things I took for granted. The small things I will never see again. Yet, some nights, I'm blessed with a dream. A dream of something simple, like flying a kite or riding a bike. Only to wake up in the morning to blackness. To nothingness.

I curl up in the corner of my room and tune out the constant yells of my dad. I lie there, motionless, and think of the world. The things I never got to enjoy and never will.
Getting a drivers license. Before my illness, I was too damn lazy to get it and now I never will.
Playing sports.
Doing things independently.
The latter hurt more than anything. Friends always insist on helping me, nice gestures, of course. But they have no idea how helpless this makes me feel. How weak.
I feel the tears falling softly on my cheeks and don't bother wiping them away. Why had all this happened? Why me? -No. No self pity.- My mother always told me to hold my head up. She said, "The world can take things from you. It can knock you down, but it can't KEEP you down. You choose to stay down and be weak. Or you choose to fight. To fight against the odds. To fight for a battle that seems impossible to win." She told me that a week before her death. How she knew I wouldn't have her much longer, I'm not sure. She had a way of knowing things. Feeling them before they happened. Although I hadn't seen her in 4 years, I still felt like I knew exactly how she looked. Daily, I felt her face, gently brushing my fingers over her delicate features. Her smooth skin, full lips, and high cheekbones. Sometimes, it feels like she's still with me. That's something I can truthfully say I am grateful to my handicap for. I really have no way of knowing if someone is truly gone. If they are out of reach of my hands, of my touch, they could be anywhere. I like to believe that my mother isn't really dead. That she's just out of my reach. That she's somewhere safe, just somewhere where I can't reach her.

My father's rough hand on my shoulder wake me from my thoughts. I freeze in fear as he grabs me and lifts me into the air. I can feel him shaking me, yelling at me. The only thing I hear is, "Get out". Everything is a blur until he pushes me into a wall. I sink down, defeated. Losing a battle I never wanted to start. I feel tears threatening to spill from my eyes. All I can manage to croak out is, "Why?" I receive no answer. Ever. The last memory of my father is him shaking me, screaming at me, hating me.
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