"This towel is incredibly soft and smells like peaches," I utter in awe, tilting my head to the side to rub my cheek against the featherlike material. "I would've thought you used fabric softener if I didn't know it was impossible to find it these days."

   "Believe it or not, you're right," Deon chuckles. "I'm pretty sparing with it and only use it on a very special occasion. This is actually the second time in five years. The first one was when I found the house. There is a closet in the basement, stocked with all sorts of amazing goods. Didn't you know about it?"

   "Oh, that must be mom's stash." I wince at the sharp pain, making my heart sink at the memory. I have to take few deep breaths to stop the tears before continuing. "Dad always joked that she was hoarding like a squirrel, gathering food for the winter. He said he'd open a department store one day and become filthy rich from all the stuff she had piled up. The truth was she loved shopping and had a hard time controlling herself. He didn't really mind. She was everything to him."

   "I'm sorry," Deon squeezes my hand.

   "I know," I whisper. 

   There is no need for more words. We breathe in silence, holding hands. No one escaped loss and grief. People don't discuss it, never ask questions. We are just there for each other on the rare occasions when we are able to feel closeness to another human being.

   "I'm taking you to bed now," Deon finally announces, wrapping me tightly in the towel and picks me up again. "I need you to lie on your stomach for a while. I'll apply ointment on your back and bandage you. Is that ok?"

   "Yes, thank you!" I mumble and curl up in his arms. It is strange how this man makes me feel vulnerable and safe at the same time. No one is as calm as he is in these terrible times when food and water are luxuries and horrifying beasts roam the land. He seems to fear nothing and my wellbeing is his only concern. It feels almost normal, as if the world will not be in ruins when I regain my sight. I hesitate a little before asking, "What about you? Why didn't you stay in one of the protected areas?"

   "I've never been there," he answers with a tone, clearly indicating that further questions on the subject are not welcome. I get the hint and change the topic. "Are you a medical doctor? It looks like you know what you're doing."

   "Yeah, sort of," he shrugs his shoulders. "You're in good hands with me. Don't worry. Careful now. Don't lay on your back."

   I am cautiously lowered to sit on the bed. The towel wrinkles around my waist, but I am quick to pull it to my chest, so that I can lay on it. I don't want to lose contact with the heavenly softness. 

   "It might hurt a little, but I'll try to be as gentle as possible." Deon's fingers spread the ointment causing almost no discomfort. My skin must be very damaged, but he acts like a professional, even tries to distract me from the pain during the procedure. "So, how old are you?"

   "I'll turn thirty one in few months," I answer. "What about you?"

   "Mmm... I... Let's say I'm a bit older than you," he hesitantly murmurs under his breath. "Forty?"

   "Are you asking me?" I giggle. "Did you forget your age? Where are you from?"

   "Sorry," he laughs nervously. "Of course not. I was too focused on what I was doing. Didn't want to hurt you. I'm forty. I've been to too many places. Never stayed long enough to call any of them home. Maybe, this one is the closest to home I've ever had... Alright, this is the last bandage. We're done. Turn around. I'll put drops in your eyes and we'll go eat."

   "I didn't want to be nosy," I mutter remorsefully. The man is clearly not eager to talk about himself. "You must have been through a lot."

   "Haven't we all?" he sighs. "It's fine. Not your fault. I guess, I've forgotten how to have a normal conversation. Give me some time and I'll get better at communicating."

   "What else did you find in mom's closet?" I ask curiously, changing the subject again. This seems more casual and safe to talk about. Obviously, there are things he'd rather not discuss. I am not willing to push it either. "Anything else I've not seen in ages?"

   "Oh, you'll be pleasantly surprised," he confirms animatedly. "Herbs and spices. There are tons of them. I don't usually season food that much, but today I gave my best shot at cooking."

   "I used to be really good at cooking as a kid," I chitter enthusiastically, rolling on my back. "I'll show you what I'm capable of next time... I mean, when I regain my sight... if you don't mind."

   "Sounds great... Open your eyes as wide as you can and look up. This is going to sting. Try not to move." Deon grips my chin to keep my head steady. I don't even tremble when the burning liquid fills my eyes. "Good job, Chris! You are a true fighter, aren't you? I'm putting gauze pads and a blindfold and that will be all for today."

   "What time is it?" I ask while he is helping me dress up. "Are these your clothes?"

   "More like yours," he says, "or rather your father's. It's two a.m. You look exhausted and in need of lots of sleep. Just a quick dinner... or breakfast... whatever it is... and I'll let you have some rest."

   "Can I have some coffee?" I grin. "You have coffee, right? I smelled it."

   "Sure," Deon agrees. "I doubt it will disturb your sleep. You're too tired anyway. Let's go."

   I take his hand and let him guide me around the house. He warns me of every turn and doorstep, but I unmistakably recognize the rooms. We were in the master bedroom on the second floor. Now we are going down the stairs. I know precisely how many steps there are, then a turn to the right, a short walk across the living room and we are in the kitchen. I feel my way towards the dining table and settle on a chair. The kitchen island must be to my right and the big French doors, leading to the front lawn to my left. I wonder if the big painting, reproduction of Vincent van Gogh's sunflowers, is still on the wall in front of me. I intend to ask, but the mouthwatering flavor of freshly cooked food makes me forget about everything else. 

   "Oh, my God!" I scream. "Is this black pepper and bay leaf? I think, I'm going to faint."

   "Not before you try my famous stewed rabbit with baked potatoes," Deon laughs out. "Here, meat on nine o'clock, potatoes on twelve and cabbage salad on three. Enjoy your meal!" 

   "Where the hell did you get potatoes and cabbage from?" I exclaim incredulously, digging my fingers in the food. My mouth is stuffed to the brim in seconds. I am surely not a pretty sight, but who cares. Manners can wait for some other time when I am not starved to death. I swallow and take a breath, "This is delicious!"

   "Thanks! Glad you like it. I grow them myself," Deon proudly states. "I've built a greenhouse in the backyard."

   "Isn't the soil contaminated?" I garble, shoving more food in my mouth. 

   "Not everywhere," he says, placing something close to my hand. "Your coffee. Don't hurry. It's hot."

   I sip from the steaming cup and wrinkle my nose. It is bitter and sweet at the same time. I like it. 

   "This is unbelievable." I smile from ear to ear. "I've never thought I would be having dinner with a friend, in a house, in MY house. This must be heaven."

   "Sometimes, heaven and hell are not that different," Deon utters quietly. "It's hard to tell them apart."

Photo 121372815 © Volodymyr Tverdokhlib | Dreamstime.com

Photo 176913358 / Blindfold © Marcos Calvo Mesa | Dreamstime.com

A/N

Hello at the end of chapter 4!

Thank you for reading and supporting! ❤❤❤

What do you think Deon meant?

Did Chris find himself in heaven or hell?

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Love: Anny