A Mystery. A Romance. An Ocular Adventure
by
A mystery. A romance. An ocular adventure.
Tom's a data analyst. It's not a passionate affair. Neither is his relationship with Mario, although Mario thinks it is. That's Tom's way. He makes things work, whether they work for him or not. With anyone else it would be called low expectations. Not Tom. His passion lies elsewhere. He's a secret writer.
The commitment is unusual and he keeps it to himself. Life has already dealt a few blows and he's reluctant to test its limits. Undemanding relationships. Unpublished books. A job that requires little thought. A bad attitude. These are the markers that keep him in place.
But when an accident leads him to discover he's losing his sight, life screeches to a halt. His writing, his career, his very independence are at stake. Time, once the future, is turning into the past.
Then a man appears. Beautiful yet damaged, Hanif brings light to Tom's darkness. The irony isn't lost on him, if it's irony at all. Just when he's about to give up on life, he finds a new reason to live. But things may not be as they seem. Lies can be told. Accidents can be arranged. Identities can be assumed.
Tom's story is a trip down a nebulous road. From an easy life to an erotic adventure, from a modest employee to a man on the run, he must see the truth while he still can. Ophthalmologists. Optometrists. Lovers. Friends. Some wish him well. Some don't.
Played out against a backdrop of political intrigue and haunted by ghosts from the past, is this story of love at first sight no more than a game of blind man's bluff?
Publisher: Independently Published
Genres:
Pairings: M-M
Heat Level: 4
Romantic Content: 5
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 26-35
Protagonist 2 Age: 26-35
Protagonist 3 Age: 36-45
Word Count: 75,000
Setting: City
Languages Available: English
"Really? Here?"
He'd walked all the way down with his heart in his throat, and now that he was here, he couldn't get in. The rotating door turned on its axis like a hapless merry-go-round waiting for kids. Except there were no plastic horses, and there were no kids. Only a crowd of adults trying to get in. So, when he caught a guy with an eyepatch checking him out, he was shocked. Even with only one eye, the interest was clear. That, he found disturbing. Was he supposed to be in the mood?
Then it got worse. He looked back. How could he not? With a shock of black hair, a closely cropped beard, and a beautiful eye, the man was compelling. So was the patch. Not white or covered in gauze, it was black with a band wound tight around his head. Pirates instantly came to mind.
Just then, he was pushed in. Caught up by the surge of the crowd, he held on as the automatic door sucked him in and spewed him out the other side. Still, he looked back.
But the man with the eyepatch had disappeared into the crowd. He felt completely discombobulated. He may not be in the mood, but he wasn't blind.
"Fuck!" he growled, turning a few heads. He couldn't believe he'd actually spoken the word. He'd have to watch his language from now on.
Taking hold of himself, he charged ahead. That's why he didn't notice another man heading straight for him. This man wasn't paying the slightest attention as he made his way with his cane. Inevitably, they collided.
"Sorry," the man said when the cane smacked his ankle.
"My fault," he replied as he stepped aside to let the man pass. Forced to pause, he let out one long, pent-up breath. The cane was terrifying. It was white.
He knew his world had changed from the moment he walked in. Today was the day that drew a line in his life. Now there was a before and an after. That was why the guy with the eyepatch had rocked him. Life wasn't supposed to go on as before. He should be reflecting on ponderous matters, not checking out some guy who'd caught his eye.
"Caught my eye," he groaned in dismay. Even metaphors hurt.
Meanwhile, following the signs, he slid between the wheelchairs and the walkers that separated the crowd like Moses at the Red Sea. To his surprise, he found the department right away. Checking his watch, he slipped into the waiting room, took a number, and sat down. The worry was for how long? He may have to be here, but he didn't want to stay.
Surprisingly, the wait was brief and he leapt up when his number was called. Rushing through door B and scanning the hall for room fifty-one, he must have been moving fast because, as if from nowhere, a hand rose to stop him.
"Mr Pryszlak?" a woman asked. He nodded. "Please take a seat."
Only then did he take in his surroundings. The corridor was lined with chairs, but each one was taken. Unable to comply with her request, he gave the woman an inquiring look when, as if by magic, the man nearest him got up and vanished behind an unmarked door. Like a snake slithering forward, the line bumped up. Now there was a place to sit. At the end. With a gesture, the woman directed him to take his place, which he did with a sigh.
