My Story with Altair:.8

The surgery was not going well.

Light doses of herbal anaesthetic had failed to render Nabila into a painless stupor, defying the surgeons' expectations of her tolerance to the drug's power.

She was still very much awake, flinching away from every touch, hissing like an enraged snake at anyone's attempt to touch the dagger's hilt. The once grey table she lay upon was now horribly bloodied, the gaping gash across her middle spewing blood. Struggling against the hands which held her down, Nabila writhed in torturous agony as yet another surgeon attempted to remove the dagger from her shoulder. He managed to nudge it, and though the touch was light, Nabila let loose a spine-chilling howl of absolute agony, her back arching off the table and veins in her neck bulging. He instantly pulled his hand away, glancing worriedly at his colleagues.

A silence fell, punctuated only by the soft whisper of one doctor's robes ghosting across the floor as he moved towards a cabinet and wrenched it open. He instantly found what he was looking for, and Nabila watched as he moved back towards her, a sachet in his hand. She knew what it contained, and dreaded being forced to take it. The tears which poured freely from her eyes blinded her, the surgeon appearing as nought but a blur as he stood over her. He opened the packet and poured its entire contents into his hand, eyeing the powder warily before turning his gaze to his patient.  

Nabila's eyes widened. She struggled against the hold which three doctors had on her body, desperately attempting to free her legs and wrists from their grip. She whimpered and trembled uncontrollably, mouthing 'No' over and over as she attempted to pull away. It hadn't worked last time; why should it work now. One seized her head in a hold so tight she thought her head might explode. The doctor with the powder all but rammed his hand up her nose and she inhaled too fast, the drug flying up into her nose and mouth. She choked, coughing violently. Her body spasmed, her chest heaving and breathing ragged as she desperately tried to suck in air.

One of the trainees was staring at her, expression wrought with concern. "What if it's too much?"

No-one answered.

It was a few minutes before she stopped coughing. Her struggles became less violent, her body slumping against the table as exhaustion finally overcame her. The tears which still fell pooled at the sides of her face, mingling with the blood on the table, and her breathing came in barely audible, deep inhales, her vision blurring as she struggled to keep her eyes open. She noticed that the burning in her shoulder and the horrid tightness in her chest had faded slightly, and she turned her gaze up to the doctor who had given her the drug, and who still stood over her. He inclined his head, whether it was in acknowledgment or in apology, she did not know, and neither did she care. The immense fatigue she now felt was like a beckoning, dragging her further into drug-induced stupor, and Nabila gave into it willingly, closing her eyes and surrendering to the painless darkness which awaited her.

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I open my eyes after I don't know how long. Sight comes back slowly, blurry colours blending into one another like the bleeding edges of a watercolour painting. Altair's slumped form swims into view, bathed in the light of the dying sun which filters in through the mild green and transparent leaves of the tree visible in the window behind him. He is to my left, lying lopsidedly in one of the chairs, head lolling onto his shoulder, eyes closed and lips parted slightly as he sucks in air, his chest rising and falling evenly.

I try to reach out to touch his knee, but it is like my limbs have been strapped to my torso, and I am unable to move. Forgetting all about my injury, I try again and manage to move my left arm a millimetre. I am proud with myself, a small smile pulling at my lips for e mere second before all hell breaks loose.

An intense burning akin to the searing heat of a thousand suns roasts my flesh. My eyes widen and lips part in a silent howl. Every long-unused muscle twitches violently as that searing heat pounds through my body, emanating from my shoulder. All logical thought deserts me bar one; what has happened to my voice? Why can't I scream? Another wave of agony pulses through my weakened body, throwing my head back as I arch involuntarily. A pulling, a tightness in my midriff, is suddenly added to my already unbearable and silent torment, and I hear slight clicking, like that made when thread is broken. I hear myself gasp as if from far away, icy fear seizing my throat before instantly the tightness lessens, to be replaced by viscous warmth. It soaks the sheets, making them cling to the bandages wrapped around my middle.

Releasing the breath I had been holding, I collapse heavily, exhaustion and pain taking their toll. Scrunching my eyes tightly, I seek refuge in the darkness offered behind closed eyelids as I try to will away what has happened. I feel tears sting at my eyes, but whether they are the product of self-pity or wrought by the pain is irrelevant, and I force them back angrily. Stars play across my vision and I swallow thickly, parting my lips to suck in short, desperate gasps of air, the simple act of breathing becoming horribly difficult.

Staring up at the ceiling, I perceive the slight cracks in the cement with difficulty. Their cobweb patterns blur and focus, and I blink rapidly to try and clear my vision. My attempts fail, and all linearity in the room dissolves, lines losing their rigidity to instead bend and sway like tendrils. Shadows grow to sizes unfathomable, and I mentally whimper, wanting to huddle into the sheets but unable to.

Then there was the commanding voice of something cold, something which was so easy to give in to but which my body desperately tried to fight. It icy beckoning continues and I slip calmly into what was surely its easing, alleviating embrace.  

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Altair opened his eyes some hours later, flexing his back to ease out the stiffness in his muscles and yawning loudly. He sat up straighter in his chair and looked over his lover, tensing instantly. Everything seemed ordinary as her form swam blearily into view albeit the red smudge at her middle which, in his still drunken state of awakening, he initially thought nothing of. It was only when his vision sharpened that he saw the crimson stain for what it was.

He sprung out of his seat as if electrocuted, cupping Nabila's face in one hand as he ran the other over to her midriff. The blood drenching the sheets was still warm, still seeping from the wound that had undoubtedly re-opened.

His hands trembled as he looked into her ashen face, fingers quivering as he traced the contours of her face lightly, as if afraid his touch could cause further harm. He stopped breathing, leaning his face down closer to hers, listening intently. The world stopped spinning in that instant, and everything other than her was rendered unimportant. The silence was deafening. Blood pounded in Altair's ears, his entire form tense. The silence continued.

He could not hear her breathing.

Everything suddenly snapped back into motion and Altair fled the room in a flurry of white robes, expression etched into one of horror as he went desperately in search of someone, anyone, who could bring Nabila back.