soft | murdock

8

I wake up, my hair an unkempt mess. My alarm went off, but I lay in bed, staring at my pasty ceiling for a few minutes. I'm exhausted, but for no apparent reason. 

I reflected on last night's events; Matt had dropped me off at my apartment and walked home on his own. Hopefully he didn't stay up beating criminals in dark alleyways. I think it's cool that he's a defense lawyer during the day and a vigilante at night; it's honestly kind of ironic. He defends potential criminals and then dishes out justice to other criminals. 

I'm mainly just surprised that he even can beat people up, being blind and all. There's no way his hearing is that good; there's something slightly off about him. He just seems a little too agile and moves a little too swiftly for a blind person. I contemplate about Matt's swiftness for a second too long, because the next thing I know, I'm smashing my hip against the corner of the counter. Maybe Matt could teach me how to not be such a klutz. 

After spending a few moments to recover from my injury caused by my absentmindedness, I walk to the kitchen and turn the stove on, cracking an egg into a pan once it's heated. There's more than an hour before I have to get to the clinic and start massaging people's muscles, so I take my time in actually making myself a healthy breakfast. Normally, I'd be rushing out the door with my shirt half-tucked in my jeans with a piece of burnt toast in my mouth. 

I stand stupidly by the stove and daze off again, before the smell of smoke and burnt egg wafting through my apartment brings me back to reality. I look down at my pan to see an unrecognizable blob of mush that used to be two expensive grade-A chicken periods. Rushing to turn off the stove and prop open the windows, I silently curse myself for being so inattentive. 

Having finished wrestling with my burning pan, I sigh and sit myself down at my small dinner table, sipping a glass of water. 

I find myself listening to the police sirens in the distance and the soft pattering of the rain on the pavement below. It had only been a couple days earlier when Matt was sitting in this chair, very shirtless, staring at the wall. 

In thinking about Matt and my feelings toward him, I realize that my feelings have only grown since the first time I met him, when I spilled coffee all over him. 

He's charming, coy, and wittily intelligent. To top it off, he didn't seem ashamed or held back by the fact that he was blind. He carries himself with a certain confidence, but doesn't overstep the line that crosses him into arrogant. Simply put, he seems to know exactly what to say at the exact moment. 

I haven't felt admiration, much less love, for anyone (besides Eddie) since my last boyfriend. He wasn't exactly a nice guy, but I tend not to think about him anymore as it was in the past, and it serves to be a warning to myself to take extra precaution in who I decide to get close to and hang out with. With that last thought, I stand up from my chair and stretch for a few moments before padding along to my bedroom to find an outfit. 

Rustling through my small wooden wardrobe, I choose a casual sky-blue adidas shirt, a peach-colored cardigan, and distressed blue jeans. I then wash my face and brush my teeth, before grabbing my purse and heading out the door.

- 

"What happened to your face?" I ask Matt as I pass him in the hallway. It's bruised up in more places than one today, with some pretty ugly bruises and visible cuts. He's even limping slightly, although trying, with much difficulty, to keep it hidden.

He just gives me a "you know what" look. I sigh quietly to myself.

"You worried about me?" he says to me after hearing my sigh.

"What if I were?" I say, playing along.

"I would tell you I'm a big boy, and not to be," he says seriously.

"Ha. Right."