Worldly Eyes

With a little over a year to live Beckett Moss has decided to write about everything he can, only problem he's blind. Enlisting the help of Arizona Graham a self-employed unemployed freelance writer. Together they'll put the world together.

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"Are you ready to start?" I sighed looking at Beckett. I admit the being blind and one year left to live thing is really throwing me off. Is he really blind? Like he could just be pretending. But what if he is pretending? How would I know? Can you ask a blind person if they're really blind? Where the hell is seeing eye dog? Or is that only for deaf people? No what do deaf people need a seeing eye dog for?

"Do you always talk out loud?" Beckett asks. My cheeks grow red.

"I-I, oh fuck." I say running a hand through my hair.

"It's refreshing really, knowing what you are thinking." He smiled. I made a note to start practicing internal thinking. That would really help later on when I actually had to keep my thoughts a secret.

"Uh, I think we should get to know each other. I think if- I mean it'll be easier. To, like, get to know one another. First that is." I said.

"You aren't very articulate." He said calmly

"Hence why I write." I retorted semi-snarkily.

"Okay, what do you want to know?" he asked leaning back on his couch. The living room was dressed in soft tapestry. It was beautiful and colorful. The couches were all deep browns and decorated with small circular pillows. The open windows brought in an immaculate amount of light. I sighed and looked at Beckett his attention solely on me. I wondered if this was hard for him. Knowing he was going to die. Die not seeing half of the beauties the world had to offer.

"What's your favorite color?" I blurted out almost immediately cursing to myself. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I keep doing that." I said apologetically.

"It's okay, I have one." He said chuckling. I was surprised and yet so very intrigued. "Its green., like the way a crowded forest looks. You know like a scale of light colors to dark colors. Yet they're all the same color. I like that." I was stunned, as an ignorant seeing person I'd never thought about anything so simple as the scale of colors in a forest. A moment passed the two of us just staring at each other. Or rather me staring at him and him staring in my direction. "What's your favorite color?" He asked after a beat. In all honestly now it was green. He'd made it seem so great. Like some experience I had missed out on.

"Red." I muttered. His lips turned up into their normal smile.

"Why?" He asked.

"I don't know. Everything isn't as deep as you'd like it to be." I remarked.

"Of course it is. At least humor me." He pleaded. I rolled my eyes.

"It's a good color. It represents so much."

"Like what?"

"Off the top of my head, I don;t know, death and sex."

"Two of the most amazing feelings in the world."

"I beg to differ."

"Of course you do."

"You make seem like you have me all figured out. We just met."

"Well you're not very hard to figure out." He said. I stared at him scrutinizing him. "What face are you making?" He asked. Part of me wanted to tell him to figure it out if I was so easy to read. He can't even read, hes blind so I doubt he could read people. He sat waiting for my answer and I sat not really knowing.

"Why couldn't your mom write the book." I asked.

"I don't want her to have to write about me."

"I'm just saying it'd be cheaper. Her writing your book."

"It's not about money."

"I'm just saying, if i was you know- I'd want to be justly represented."

"You're planning on unjustly representing me?" He asked a genuine smile peeking through his smirk.

"Who knows?" I joked.

"Well, at least I'll be dead. So I won't be able to read the slander." i snickered at that.

"That was the plan." Another moment of silence. His body relaxed and he crossed is arms.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" He asked.

"Not at the moment."

"A girlfriend?"

"Nope."

"That's surprising." He said sarcastically.

"I'm focusing on my craft."

"In other words you're really emotionally cutoff."

"I am not." I objected

"Why else would a 20 something freelance writer be single?" He asked cocking his head to the side questioningly.

"Because she is focusing on her craft." I repeated

"And what craft would that be?"

"You're a dick." I muttered to myself. He closed his eyes and i finally let out a breathe that i didn't know I was holding."What about you?" I asked. He opened his eyes and blinked a few time.

"No, I'm not emotionally cutoff." He responded.

"That's not what I meant, I meant are you dating anyone?" I asked. Beckett was an attractive guy. He was tall, not super tall but taller than my 5'5 self. He had short hair it was dark brown and wavy and he had big features. He just looked strong and like he took up space. His cheeks were scattered with freckles and the part that really through me off was his glasses that sat on his nose.

"I did, she dumped me.Couldn't handle it." He said shrugging.

"The blind thing or the dying thing."

"Both."

"You weren't always blind." I said more like a statement than anything.

"Bingo." He said softly. I sat there quietly and sighed softly again.

"What was your favorite part of not being blind?" I asked. He chuckled and sighed before smiling.

"Porn." He said. My cheeks grew really red and I held in my imaginary breath again.He busted out into fits of laughter grabbing his stomach and leaning forward. "I'm joking, i swear but that moment would've been so funny if I could have seen it." He says his laughter finally dying down.

"God." I muttered.

"To answer your question the not dying in a year part really made being able to see a lot more enjoyable." He said. I nodded."Also, you never answered my question. What face are you making?"

"I don't know." I said honestly.

"You say that a lot."

"You say a lot of things a lot."

"I'm not attacking you."

"I beg to differ."

"of course you do." he smirked.

"I'm rolling my eyes." I said.

"Now was that so hard."

"So far I don't know anything substantial about you."

"You're asking the questions." He pointed out. I ran through most of our conversation. What was I going to really write this book on? In all reality I have never written a memoir. Or whatever this was.

"Tel me who you are Beckett, who are you and who were you?" Beckett lifted his brows most likely surprised I'd asked a real question.

"Well, I was born in Indian," Beckett went on talking for a good two hours. It was oddly normal. It wasn't weird talking to a blind guy. Not that I thought it would be. I found myself laughing. Sometimes like we were just old friends talking. Part of me got scared that knowing Beckett might make it hard to write this. I mean I was writing it because he was dying. After another hour Beckett ordered us pizza which was oddly more normal.

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I sighed and started typing up notes for the book. I was happy that Carl had the day off so that I wouldn't have to entertain Willow why I tried to write. Carl and I had made it clear that since we both had 'jobs' that we both couldn't be busy. Which I thought was dumb because Willow was a grown ass woman and just because she was needy didn't mean either of us should have to work any differently. My phone rang and i muttered a speak of the devil to myself as I stood up looking for my phone. I finally found it under a pile of laundry that i was supposed to do lets say yesterday. To my surprise it wasn't willow but instead Matthew. His picture fading into black. My finger hovered over the callback button. Matthew was my ex boyfriend and recently, lets say two weeks ago (it'd been more like 8 months ago) I received a beautiful written card in the mail saying that he was getting married. Now as anyone would have done I drank a bottle of wine and then burned the invitation. But then he called and asked and I like the idiot I am said maybe. So now everytime he calls I find myself hovering over the button and remembering how I am an idiot. I put my phone down and moved towards the bathroom where I kept all my liquor under the sink. I sat on the floor as and looked at my arsenal of liquid fire and then chose a bottle of wine and then praised the Lord that wine didn't expire...wait maybe it did.

I walked over to my laptop and typed into the bar. Does alcohol expire? As it loaded I popped off the top and took a sip. God, I hope alcohol doesn't. I watched as the circle showed it loading and then all the lights went out and my computer stopped loading.

"Shit." I muttered. I forgot to pay the electricity. I drank more from the bottle and shut my laptop. I closed the bottle and moved towards my bedroom. I sighed and laid on my bed and stared at the dark ceiling. I need to get money fast.

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