Once Upon a Story [ VERY SLOW UPDATES]

𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖉 (2)

Beep...

Beep...

Beep...

The room carried the smell of alcohol and death. It was a scent Damien was familiar with, but one he never got used to. Especially not when it came from her. Florence lay in her bed, chest rising slowly. At her bedside, waiting for the doctor's report, Damien gazed at his wife, restless inside. He found her at death's door and her heart had stopped once on the way to the hospital. He was glued to her side ever since, refusing to be apart from her for even a moment.

Since her arrival, Florence had regained some colour but still looked sickly. He could see the dips in the blanket where she had lost a few toes. Her hand connected to the IV only had two and a half fingers while the other had three. Images of her blue lips and white skin tinged with black filled his guts with dread. Seated there, he didn't dare touch her, fearing her body would break altogether.

"Sir Damien Rousseaux?"

He stood up so fast, that the world spun, but he held himself together. "Yes. My wife. How is she?" He had been worried out of his wits and hadn't felt his body rest even though he sat for long hours.

"Your wife is stable, for now. But we are unsure it will remain that way," he explained. "Her exposure to the cold is hindering her body from healing. Sir Rousseaux, were you aware that your wife had underlying injuries when she first presented?"

"What? No, I had no clue! She didn't look injured when I saw her."

He thought back. Blue lips, pale skin, blackening fingers and toes...

"Bruising on her wrist and her back was a little tender when I felt it. I assume it's bruising as well," he said.

"I'm afraid there's more, Sir Rousseaux. Florence had internal injuries as well."

Damien took a deep breath, holding back his guilt. He hadn't realized she was so hurt and rushed to wrap her in his coat.

What if I caused more damage? he thought. He asked the doctor, who listed off her sprained ankle, bruised ribs, some with hairline fractures, and a possible concussion as well. Damien was nearly floored. When he had found her, she breathed so slowly he thought she had died. Even the first responders had trouble finding her pulse as it slowed to a crawl. He thought her hypothermia had been the worst of her state. In fact, it was, is what the doctor explained. But it had appeared on top of pre-existing issues and her body was fighting a war after having exhausted itself in smaller battles.

"Then what of her hypothermia?" Damien asked. "Have you been able to reverse the effects?"

"Not fully, unfortunately. There's no easy way to say this, but Florence is in a coma, and she may not wake up from it." It was a painful pill for Damien to swallow. "We've suspected there may have been long-lasting damage to her brain due to her prolonged hypothermic state. If she does regain consciousness, there's a strong possibility she may suffer from difficulty concentrating, confusion and memory loss."

Every question brought a series of answers Damien didn't want to hear. Your wife may die, is what the doctor had so nicely put out. He felt enraged, happy and yet so desolated and disgusted. What should he rejoice for? That she may wake up and forget him or die remembering he never came to her rescue?

Damien swallowed the knot tightening in his throat. He felt sick enough to be admitted himself with how worried he was. Touching her hand, cool despite the warm saline running through her veins, he caressed the bandaged nubs.

If I lose you, I will lose myself.

"Thank you, doctor. May I have a moment?"
With a solemn nod, the doctor gave the couple privacy. Damien had kept it together until then, but the solitude was breaking his composure.

𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘯?

𝘖𝘶𝘪?

𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦?

𝘋𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘦𝘶𝘳. 𝘌𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘪?

𝘚𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺. 𝘑𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘪.

𝘏𝘮? 𝘔𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴-𝘵𝘶 𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘦?

𝘔'𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘶?

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

"Florence, je suis tellement désolée... S'il te plaît... ne me quitte pas."

Je t'en supplie.