The Summer's Bride (MISHBIR)

•One•

WARNING: THIS STORY MAY DEPICT OR MENTION SCENES SOME MAY FIND TRIGGERING SUCH AS; RAPE, ABUSE AND GORE. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION.

SYMPTOMS OF GENERAL ANASTHESIA;

feeling sick and vomiting

shivering and feeling cold

confusion and memory loss 

bladder problems

dizziness

•Childlike behaviour

•Paralysis

•Deep sleep

XXX

Maara placed her ever-still hands atop the scorching metal of the balcony lining, her bare feet blistered and bruised as they sunk into the sand she knew would burn as she wanted it to.

The warm breeze hit hard, yanking the beige straps down her shoulders so it hung around her wrists like the shackles she knew should be there but wouldn't be there till the day she could prove herself worthy of the love her husband had died for.

Though slightly indifferent to the heat, she still panted for breath beneath its boiling grasp, but missing the sight of the outside world was not something she could condemn herself with, for too long she'd had the taste of freedom in the name of Abir, she couldn't live a life locked up without the only remainder of him now.

As if sensing he'd left paw prints through her mind, Oatie dragged the shawl from the bed, teeth softening around the material when he leant up on his hind legs so he could drop it across her wrists. Waiting for her to turn her head toward him, he yapped loudly.

"It isn't cold here, Oatie" she murmured quietly, knowing even before the words left her mouth that they were lies, everything was now. The truth was far too bitter a pill to swallow, a medication too easy to overdose on. Regardless of the climate around, within their lives had been drenched in ice ever since their saviour had passed, but like a faithful companion his dog still did his bit to ensure she was kept safe from the frostbite they both knew too well without him.

Nuzzling his snout into her open palm, he fell into a heap above her feet in the only safety he could offer from the sand imprinting her skin.

Throwing her head back, a lone tear found its way down her throat as she muffled a sob. Flinching at the sensation of a scratchy tongue on her feet, she gasped, eyes wide and breath hitched as she mouthed the first ever sentence said to her with care; 'Jesus, Mishti, you could lose your toes!'

"Oh, Oatie" she cooed as she pulled him to her. "You remember too, don't you? Huh?" Smiling through the tears, she giggled when he shook his body in annoyance at her constant petting. "I promise that tomorrow it all changes, we won't be in hiding anymore and we can take walks on the beach, paddle in the sea and make enough money to go back home, where we belong" she vowed, knowing somewhere he understood the words she often spoke to herself.

XXX

If there was one important fact to remember about Abir, it was that he hated cologne.

So much so that he'd rather be burnt alive then feel the spray of scented liquid on his skin. So much so that he'd scratch his own skin off every time the splash washed over him.

Perhaps that was why he was doused in a bottle every morning?

As the seconds ticked into hours and the hours into days he'd be caught in his own personal brand of hell where he'd be stationary in movement and yet drowned by his senses; touch, taste, smell, sound and the view he could never unsee.

The view clouded with Nadeem's slick smile as he touched him in places he'd only ever given Mishti the right to. Aftershave would plug his nose and his nails would grip his skin till metal corroded his tastebuds and drip down his ever slack chin.
"From boy to man and man to boy, I have made you who you are" he'd hiss into his ear like a broken record that just wouldn't break.

Every day. Every time. Every chance he got.

There were exactly twenty-four hours in a day, two of which he'd spend shaking in a corner, shackled to the wall with Mishti's name as a prayer on his lips till the gas in a mask ripped her away and returned him to the ultimate innocence his uncle loved to rid Abir of in every single way.

See, Abir Rajvansh wasn't a child, neither was he paralysed, the only truth here was that he was a man under general anaesthetic at night suffering the effects throughout the day.
A man with a mind and a voice imprisoned in a body that was no longer his yet still he called for her, yearned for her and loved her.

Still he believed. Believed in her.

She would come, that he knew. Because for him she always did.

XXX

Meenakshi cleared her throat, long nails clipping the table in anticipation of handing over the care of her son to a stranger she hoped wouldn't be swayed by her husband's false charm. Looking up, she clicked her tongue "You're late".

Maara flinched at the tone, foot an inch from the floor like she couldn't step down till the woman before her had given permission. "Forgive me, ma'am" her foot hit the floor as her hand held the chain around her neck dangling a ring with words she hadn't said in a very, very long time.

"Sit" she gestured to the chair.

"I think I'd prefer to stand" she hadn't disobeyed a figure of authority in a long time, but she and only she controlled her actions and falling before another was not something she could ever do, not when she knew it could be better, not when the love of her life made her an equal, raised her off the ground and reminded her to stand. For herself. For him.

Ignoring her, she pursed her lips. "My son is bed ridden for the most part, he has movement in both arms, no co-ordination and cannot move from his hips downwards, your job is to care for him throughout the day, feed him, bathe him, become his friend, help him improve and re-learn and then put him to bed, inject his legs with fluid so they don't seize up and always ensure to put his mask on" she looked up from the paperwork, "He has sleep apnea" she eyed her pointedly. "Medication is labelled and in that cupboard to the left, his room is on the bottom floor, you have free access to the entire house except for the top floor".

At that, her eyes narrowed "What's on the top floor?"

"Right now? Nothing, but my husband will soon return from work and he stays there and does not like to be disturbed, if you have any issues or need help speak with me and not him, most information can be found in his care plan, oh" she held her hand up, "Whatever you do, do not take my son outside of the gates, his wheelchair is programmed not to cross the line" with that she stood up and stretched out her hand.

Taking it cautiously, she glanced around "Ma'am? What is your son's name?"

Turning away, she halted "Abi-" biting her tongue, she coughed, "His name is Abi".

"Abi" Maara repeated, a smile on her lips.

Contract Commitment has also been updated.