Page 4 of Enemy of Ours #1

I pat my thigh and feel Sofia brush against me as we walk down the hallway with one hand between her shoulder blades and my other trailing along the blank walls.

I know when we enter the open living room because I can feel the sunlight warming my skin from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Living on the penthouse floor has some perks, I guess.

I always know it’s going to be a sunny day with warm weather.

I turn away from the windows as I hear Inga putting on her shoes and her scarf, which she wears every day, no matter how warm it is outside.

I swear she covers up from neck to ankles.

Gasp if anyone sees some skin. Although I don’t blame her, it is uncertain whether she has her own scars to cover up or if she believes that a lady should dress in the style of the eighteen hundreds.

She has attempted to ensnare me in long-sleeved dresses on the hottest days in New York.

“Let’s go,” I mutter as I slip on my strappy sandals, hoping she won't try to convince me to change my mind about wearing my white summer dress, which has rows of buttons up the front and is made of the softest material brushing against my legs.

Sofia and I are out the door just as I hear Inga smack her lips together with a click of her tongue.

That's her way of showing she's given up before even starting an argument with me. I’m as stubborn as they come. Sofia pushes the elevator button with her nose before I can, making me chuckle at how eager she is to go out exploring in the park. Dinging, the doors slide open, and we pile in as I skim my fingers over the buttons until I find the level one button. I do remember a lot of heart, touch, sound, and smell, but thank God that someone thought to put braille on common things that help the visually impaired. It comes in handy when the shadows are too dark for me to make out anything or if I’m wearing my blindfold.

The elevator stops one floor below, and a person steps into the enclosed space before moving to the right side behind me.

Sofia lets out a small whine on my left; I pull her leash closer so she is almost plastered to my leg.

She only makes that noise when she is curious about something or wants attention.

“No, girl. We’ll be outside in a few minutes,” I whisper down to her, petting the triangle on the top of her head to keep her calm and still.

She sniffs the air around us a couple of times.

I can’t help but mimic her, curious about what she’s smelling that holds her interest so much.

I take a subtle inhale; the first thing I smell is Inga’s perfume, which has a strong scent of fresh-cut grass.

However, underneath that, I detect something stronger and more masculine.

Leather and spicy undertones that make me think of a smooth liquor, like a fine aged bottle of scotch, with a hint of something sweet, like cinnamon.

It’s so delicious and addicting that I can’t help taking another deep inhale like some sort of weirdo.

I swear I’ve smelled it before, or at least subtle hints of it from somewhere, but I can’t concentrate on the where part because my mouth is literally watering.

I turn my head slightly to the right, embarrassed when I hear a light cough to cover a laugh because I’m pretty sure my nostrils were flaring.

As the elevator dings and Sofia tugs on her leash to signal our stop, I quickly turn my head back around.

Thank God. I was moments from crowding the man in the corner of the elevator and sniffing him like a hound dog or a druggie looking for their next hit.

My face is probably as red as my hair. Luckily, my furbaby is tugging on her leash to get outside, and Inga’s heels are clicking at a rapid pace towards the lobby doors; she’s basically jogging, which I find strange.

Why is she in a hurry? She often claims that a woman should not run but instead should calmly walk to her next destination, as that is what a proper lady supposedly does.

I’m running after them before I even know what I’m doing, but I don’t hear the stranger step off the elevator and find that even weirder. Maybe he forgot something in his penthouse?

“Madama O’Connor,” the doorman, Jack, says quietly as always while he holds the door open for us to step outside onto the sidewalk of downtown Manhattan.

“Thank you,” I say in a rush as I pass by, jogging to keep up with Sofia, who’s pulling me by her leash.

“What is with you today, girl?” My question goes unanswered, of course, because she’s a dog, but Inga must have been listening because her voice suddenly next to me makes me jump in my heeled sandals.

“She must have wanted out of the building for some fresh air, which will do us worlds of good. Let’s go take a walk, shall we, Lass?” she hurriedly says, grabbing my elbow and heading west towards Central Park at a clipped pace that has me stumbling in my heels.

I bump into a person not even a minute later, their rude New York accent falling on deaf ears because I’m used to it by now.

“Hey! Watch where you're going!” Some nameless New Yorker shouts. Being the person I am and not wanting to explain to a complete stranger that I’m fucking blind, I just hiss like an angry cat at him at the same time Sofia growls.

“Fucking freak.” I hear him mumble as he trips over his feet to get away from us, probably thinking we have rabies, but if it helps keep the rude people away, it’s okay in my book.

Even if I appear more insane than I really am, it's all worth it. A girl’s got to do what she has to do to live in the Big Apple, or it will eat you alive, no matter who you are.

I hear a loud, pained grunt behind me, and being the curious person that I am, I start to turn to see if it’s the rude man.

Maybe he fell? He could be hurt. I’m not completely emotionless; I do care even when someone doesn’t deserve that piece of me.

Even if I won’t get that type of kindness paid in return.

“Now, now, Lass. Let’s get going. Busy day ahead of us.” Inga’s voice comes out in a high-pitched tone as she tugs at my arm to guide me through the hustle and bustle of the packed sidewalk.

I shrug and place my two fingers between Sofia’s shoulder blades as she sticks to my right thigh.

Feeling her fur moving under my fingertips helps ground me and makes it somewhat easier to ignore all the loud sounds and voices surrounding us.

It helps keep people away, a little distance from us on the tight sidewalks.

Everyone only sees my leadership dog being all protective and menacing, but no one knows she’s a real sweetie inside under all the bark and growls.

It’s amusing how your other senses will come alive when you can’t use your eyes.

For instance, my hearing can get overwhelming because it’s working overtime.

I pick up too many voices chatting at once, so it does become difficult to focus on one thing.

Everything feels more sensitive to touch, too, always making my fingers tingle if I accidentally knock into someone and feel the fabric they are wearing.

I will admit, silk is my favorite. It doesn’t feel scalding, as if my fingertips are all being set on fire.

I think smelling is the worst. Except for the man in the elevator, I could smell him all day long without a problem.

However, scents can sometimes be overpowering.

Like right now. The hundreds of taxis driving by with their exhaust are already giving me a headache, and so is the stench of greasy pizza every few blocks.

I prefer the aroma of freshly baked bread emanating from the cafes on every corner.

But the thing is, each of those senses can come in handy when I need them.

Like right now, I’ve heard the same rapid click of heeled boots each time we pick up speed or slow down for the last two blocks.

I’m being followed, but then again, I always feel like I’m being watched.

Like a shadow is always hovering over me, but I can’t see to know if it’s real or not.