HENRY

One day I saw her, and I never imagined how much my life would change after that.

I was just a fourteen-year-old boy who'd been forced to move in with my negligent father, my scheming stepmother, and my spoiled half-brother.

Despite all that, I had a privileged life — a future already mapped out and every foundation for success that money could buy.

But whenever I looked at Camille, I always felt something strange, as if I were missing something I couldn't yet see.

Camille, the maid's daughter. Her mother worked like a slave in our house, pulling overtime and enduring every petty whim of my stepmother and every tantrum from my brother — all to secure a future for her daughter. A future that would never come close to the one waiting for me.

Camille, the girl who hid behind the kitchen cabinets to study. Whenever I caught her, she'd smile at me warmly, even though I'd never once said good morning to her in my life — and even knowing she risked me telling my stepmother, who would surely make her mother beg to let her daughter stay.

Camille, a strange girl. She walked with a limp and wore an orthopedic shoe because one leg was longer than the other. Her spine was crooked, so she had to wear an orthopedic brace too. And as if God didn't think her orthopedic problems were enough, He gave her some dental issue that forced her to wear a ridiculous set of braces, with a tangle of metal jutting out of her mouth.

And as if that weren't enough misfortune, Camille was also nearsighted.

I always wondered why she still smiled despite being cursed with all those problems — problems that could be treated, but the treatments were probably far too expensive for her mother to afford. I looked it up. Yes, that unremarkable girl intrigued me so much that I actually researched whether there was a solution for her condition.

I asked myself why I felt that sense of something missing whenever I looked at her. Shouldn't I have felt grateful when I saw her? Shouldn't I have thought my own family problems were small? That wretched girl had far worse ones.

But... damn it, she smiled. She always smiled.

Camille, that grotesque sight. That skinny redheaded girl who got bullied. That idiot who almost always showed up bruised from falling on her own — or, I suspected, from getting beaten up at school — she was the last thing I saw before I lost my sight.

I was obsessed with her. I wanted to figure out what she had that made her smile. I was always hiding to watch her, and one of those days, when I hid to see her coming home from school, that stupid girl simply tripped and fell in the middle of the road.

I cursed her in my head. I cursed myself for hiding to observe such an unremarkable human being.

"Come on, get up already!" I whispered, impatient.

She tried to get up but kept fumbling and falling again. I don't know if it was because of her orthopedic shoe or her brace — I just know that in that moment she looked as clumsy as a dying animal.

And that's when I saw a truck coming. One of those big ones, you know. Camille was so small and insignificant that I doubted the driver would see her in time to brake.

I hesitated for a moment, but before I knew it, I was running. My mind kept asking me what I was doing, but my body moved against my will.

And that was the day I took the place of that condemned human being. I took Camille's sentence upon myself.

I didn't die, but I became worse off than her. She might have had her mobility issues and needed to wear those things that made her look ugly and awkward, but she wasn't disabled. Me, on the other hand — from that day on, I could no longer see.

I hated you, Camille!

Because of her, my entire future literally vanished from my sight.

Before, I'd thought that when I was older, I'd find a way to take over my father's company — which was mine by right — and go somewhere far away from that hellish family.

But because of Camille, my fate was chained to that place. My negligent father dumped all responsibility for my care onto my stepmother and left it at that. He did nothing to help me. If it weren't for that damn Camille, I might not have even gotten basic care.

Yes, despite having destroyed my life, Camille wouldn't leave me alone. She felt guilty about what happened, and every day she was there in my room.

Even when I drove her away, she was there — begging for forgiveness through tears, bringing me food, trying to help.

Even though we were the same age, I was much bigger than Camille. Still, she pushed herself to help me stand and be my support.

Oh, how I hated that stupid girl. "Why doesn't she just run away from here? Why does she put up with the fits of rage from a boy furious at his own fate? Why?"

I truly hated her at first, but over time she forced me to get used to her. To get used to the sound of her limping footsteps and her quiet voice. She quickly came to know me like no one else did, always sensing what I needed even without us speaking much.

My stepmother didn't care — Camille wasn't on the payroll. The only person smart enough to advise her to leave was her own mother, and many times I overheard the two of them arguing in secret. Her mother begged her to get away from that house and chase her own future, but Camille insisted that without her care, I'd be doomed.

Yes, I would have been doomed without her. I didn't know how to do anything on my own. My world was nothing but darkness — hearing the sound of Camille's voice, the sound of her clumsy footsteps, feeling the touch of her ridiculously delicate, cold hands, and catching her scent when she was close.

She was trapped in my world, and I was trapped in hers.

HENRY

Time passed, and in my own way, I noticed the small changes. I no longer heard Camille's clumsy footsteps. Her scent had changed, and strangely, I found myself craving it more and more.

My father died. My stepmother tried to get rid of me. And Camille and I ended up getting married — to protect me.

Yes, that stupid girl. On top of losing her entire youth caring for a blind, hopeless man, she married him too — just so she'd be legally responsible for him and no one could decide his fate without consulting her.

Our marriage wasn't just that — a protection, an arrangement where only one side had the advantage. Naturally, we became intimate.

At first, I felt guilty. I felt like a scoundrel, taking advantage of someone who probably did everything for me out of nothing more than a debt of guilt that, to me, didn't even make sense anymore. If Camille had ever been to blame for what happened to me, she'd already paid. Our relationship had become unfair to her. Whether it was time or some maturity I'd gained, I knew she wasn't at fault for what happened.

Thinking that way made me feel like the worst man in the world. A user. Camille shouldn't have to carry me through life.

Even so, even feeling like the worst man alive, I was coward enough not to put an end to it.

On those dark nights, I couldn't resist reaching for her. Maybe she wasn't the most beautiful woman in the world. Maybe she wasn't the woman I'd dreamed of. But she had an irresistible scent, her skin was as soft as velvet, and she tasted sweet as honey.

When we were having sex, it was the only time I felt in control. I didn't need to see to find her mouth, her breasts, her core.

I couldn't stop thinking about the taste of her arousal, how she trembled in my hands, the sounds of her breathing and the moans she tried to suppress. I couldn't resist the urge to thrust deep inside her, how wet and hot she got, completely at the mercy of pleasure on our most heated nights.

In the moment, all I wanted was more of her, more pleasure. But after we both peaked, all I wanted was for it to end — for some miracle to free me from this life of depending entirely on another person, even for sex.

I'd never been with other women, and I wondered whether what we had was truly good or whether it would be far better with someone else. Camille probably wasn't much of a beauty, not exactly an attractive woman. Maybe I only felt so much pleasure and desire because I couldn't see her.

I started asking myself these questions, and from then on, the guilt began to fade. I started thinking that maybe giving her those nights was a fair trade for her services, since she received nothing for everything she did for me.

I relaxed in the bathtub and let all the guilt drain away. My hair fell into my eyes, and it bothered me. It was just a remnant of an old habit from when I could see, because in truth, those strands weren't blocking the vision I didn't have.

A short time later, I sensed Camille's presence. Unlike before, she was now extremely quiet — always barefoot, moving with such delicacy that most people would never notice her. It's strange and I can't explain it, but my blindness had awakened a new sense in me: the ability to feel her presence.

She knelt down, and as if she'd read my mind — she probably had — Camille swept the strands of hair back from my face.

Skillfully, she began running a sponge soaked with liquid soap over my body. She worked her way down, and I grew involuntarily hot. Being deprived of sight made my other senses sharpen.

Every movement of her hands sent waves of heat crashing through me. She went lower, between my legs, and I was already ready. My thoughts had slowed to a crawl, and I could only think with one head. She stopped with her hand there, stroking, clearly teasing me.

I couldn't take it. I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward me.

"Henry!" She let out a little yelp that caught me off guard.

"What? Why are you startled? You were just teasing me a second ago. Take off your clothes and get in the tub."

"Oh... was that what it seemed like? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to — I just got distracted. Not tonight, okay? I'm tired today."

It took me a few seconds to process. I'd never heard Camille make an excuse to refuse me.

"Are you really trying to push me away? Am I ugly and disgusting to you, Camille?"

"No, Henry... You're... you're attractive. Very attractive," she said softly, shyness clear in her voice.

The air between us shifted, and before she could pull away, I gripped her arm tighter and drew her to me.

"Then get in the tub. If you don't think I'm disgusting, you should take advantage — since I can't pay you money for your services."

I felt her body tense instantly. Gently, she freed herself from my grip and stepped back.

"Is that really all you see me as? Just your maid, Henry?" she asked, leaving me speechless for a moment. I swear, in all those years, she had never asked me anything like that.

"How do I see you?" How do I see her? "I don't see you, Camille. You know that."

"You know what I mean, Henry. Please. I need to hear it from you — how do you see me? What do you think of the woman I am?"

"Are you serious, Camille?" As they say, silence speaks louder than a thousand words, and that was exactly what she gave me back.

I shifted uncomfortably in the tub, sensing this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. She waited patiently until I finally spoke:

"I think... I think you're strange. I can't understand you. Nobody would devote themselves so completely to another person in exchange for nothing. If the roles were reversed, you know I'd never do the same for you — don't you?"

She tried to hide it, but not well enough. My heightened hearing caught the tremor in her breathing. Oh, come on. She's not going to cry again, is she?

I waited a while before continuing:

"I remember you, Camille. I remember your reddish hair and your strange thinness. I remember your freckles and your odd smile. I know people don't change much as they grow up, and you've probably become a pretty... let's say... an ordinary woman. I know the accident didn't leave any marks on my face besides the blindness, and I know I probably look far better than you."

I took a deep breath. I didn't feel good about what I was about to say, but as much as I felt like a scoundrel, I wouldn't lie.

"What do I think of you? Well... I think you might have some kind of self-esteem issue, or maybe you've developed some emotional dependency on me. It's not normal to give up your dreams for someone who can't love you."

I heard her breathing carefully — probably trying to disguise her crying again.

"These things change, you know? Maybe one day you'll discover that you love me."

"No, Camille. It's impossible to love someone you can't see."

At that, she left the bathroom and left me alone. I waited for her to come back to help me finish my bath until the water turned ice cold. She didn't come back.

I had no choice but to manage on my own. With difficulty, I climbed out of the tub. I knocked things over, slipped a few times before finding my bathrobe.

I made it back to the bedroom, and even without being able to see, I knew I was alone. She wasn't there.

HENRY

I groped the air until I found my bed and lay down. I asked myself what I was going to do. I was like an overgrown baby, dependent on her — I didn't even know where my underwear was to get dressed. And food? What would I do about eating without her?

Some time later, I heard the door open and heard Camille.

"Henry! Why did you get out by yourself? I was going to come back and help you. Sit down, please — you're getting the bed wet."

She asked, and I obeyed, without mentioning that I'd gotten out of the tub because she'd taken so long the water had gone cold. Camille moved back and forth, seeming a little flustered. She was different from usual — I could feel it.

A while later she came with a towel and began drying my hair.

"Henry, I'm sorry. I know I took too long to come back."

"Don't worry about it. Sometimes I need to take some of that responsibility off your shoulders."

"It's fine. Taking care of you isn't that much of a sacrifice for me, it's just... I told you, I've been really tired."

Strangely, those words sounded like she wasn't talking about physical exhaustion.

I sat there for a long time, not knowing what to do, but as soon as she arrived, it wasn't long before I was dry, dressed, and put together. It was bizarre how she had total control over my life.

The hours passed, and deep into the night I still hadn't fallen asleep. I could hear the muffled sounds of Camille crying. It made me feel guilty, and at the same time, I didn't know why. Why do I feel guilty? I didn't say anything out of line — I only told her things she already knew. Things I'd already said before in other conversations.

"Why is Camille acting so different?"

Once again I acted on impulse. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her from behind. She didn't react — she just went quieter, and her body went tense.

What are you doing, Henry? I asked myself, feeling strange about it.

I let out a breath, and trying to play off the fact that I'd just shown something resembling emotion, I pulled her closer. I kissed her neck, breathing in her scent. Camille was meticulous about herself — she smelled of moisturizer and perfume, a subtle fragrance that never bothered me. In fact, the scent of her body drove me wild.

In a second I was ready. Desire burned through me, consuming me completely.

I slid my hand under her shirt, finding her breasts and squeezing with intent. They filled my hands — firm and full. I kneaded them while pulling her against me, making her feel how hard she'd made me.

I was like a volcano on the verge of eruption, desperate to explode inside her. But Camille... Camille was like a frozen iceberg.

Gradually, her coldness cooled me down as I realized she wasn't responding to anything I was doing.

I gave up, frustrated. Just seconds ago I'd been wild with desire, but without reciprocation, it was pointless.

"What's going on, Camille? Are you upset with me?"

Silence was all I got back, until some time later she answered:

"I'm sorry, Henry... it's just, my head really hurts."

"Oh, give me a break! That excuse is ancient. Tell me the truth — what's going on? Are you sick of me?"

Her silence and lack of response was worse than her flimsy excuses. Her silence made me feel her slipping further and further away.

"It's not that, Henry. I'm just... I'm just tired." Her voice faded gradually, as if she really were drifting away.

"You know what? I'm relieved you don't want any more intimacy. I'm relieved I don't have to pretend I enjoy being with you anymore."

There was no response from Camille. Which made me even more uneasy. Of course I'd lied — I just didn't want to be on the losing end, didn't want to feel rejected.

Morning came, and in silence, Camille helped me get up. Just like every morning, she made me breakfast.

Afterward, she took care of my hair, cutting it. Then she helped me sit at my desk and left for work.

While she was gone, I tried to study, listening to the audiobooks Camille had made a point of recording for me. But I couldn't stop asking myself why she'd been rejecting me.

And listening to those recordings only made it worse, since everything I had to listen to was recorded in her voice.

Exhausted, I decided to get out of my room for a while. I walked instinctively to the bedroom door and made my way down the hall, pressing against the walls. With my heightened hearing, I followed the sound of my stepmother arguing with my half-brother.

"Idiot! Idiot! You're an idiot! How could you siphon off that much money all at once? If anyone finds out, you'll be kicked out of the company! You know perfectly well it belongs to that cripple, and you're only running it because I convinced the board!"

"Screw it if they find out, Mom! The ship is sinking! This piece-of-crap company is going under anyway, and by the time they figure it out, you and I will be long gone! I already cleaned out the vault and the money's in a secure account in Switzerland."

"Are you sure we're going to get away with this without anyone finding out?"