Awake

The darkness lifted, but she still felt heavy. A bright light was overhead, and a dull throb on her right side. There was an irritating beeping sound somewhere in the background. She tried to move to see where the annoying sound was coming from. A poignant fire erupted on her side. She instantly regretted trying. She pulled in sharp, shallow breaths, unable to breathe comfortably. The beeping increased in tempo.
Then she heard the squeal of tyres on the tar, the scream of the engine and the roars of laughter as blood dyed her hands black under the yellow street light. The dull red lights faded in the distance as the scooter and car vanished in the darkness. She couldn't breathe, there was blood, there was pain, there was him…
The room started spinning, making her stomach heave. She scrunched her eyes tight, sucked in short, sharp breaths and felt that she could breathe. She couldn't breathe. Then everything went black.
She moved only her head to look at her body and found bandages around her waist. She was in a hospital room, with white, plain walls and a generic painting she couldn't care about on one wall. There were flowers everywhere, with little cards attached to them. She didn't even like flowers.
The room started to spin, making her stomach heave. She gently moved her left arm to call the nurse. There was a name bracelet there, but she didn't pay much attention to the name. As she lifted her torso to retrieve the hospital remote, hot pain tore at her right side. After she called the nurse, she slumped back down into the pillows in anguish, the stabbing pain in poignant relief, sucking in shallow mouthfuls of air. She had no idea how much time she had lost and hated it.
A burly woman with grey hair walked in then, her face devoid of any expression. Her mind had stopped working. There was nothing but the pain.
'How are you doing today, dear?' she said in the same flat tone, fiddling with the I.V.
'In pain,' Cairo moaned.
'Yes, you should be feeling all sore,' the nurse replied bluntly. You'd think they were supposed to be comforting.
'What happened to me?' Cairo enquired, feeling dizzy. 'How long have I been here?'
'About four days. You were stabbed in the abdomen early Saturday morning. Some gang initiation thing. You're lucky your cousin saw fit to bring you here. You had lost a lot of blood, and your liver got nicked. I'm glad you're awake,' she said in the same deadpan voice.
Could have fooled me.
'Your cousin would be pleased to know that too.'
Cairo had to concentrate really hard to hear what the woman was saying after that. There was a terrible ringing in her ears, and her eyes drifted closed. She knew that she had been sleeping for four days, but at that moment, there was nothing she wanted more. She was too somnolent to voice her puzzlement.
Had that dry nurse really said her cousin would be happy to hear she was awake? Did they let her mother know? Was Randal checking in?
The nurse removed the syringe from Cairo's IV, and for the second time, the lights went out.
It was dark when her eyes opened. The room had the horrible, sterile smell of a hospital that she hated. She was nauseated by all the medication floating around in her bloodstream. Her throat was parched. She hoped that some water would ease the queasiness. She reached for the jug on the cabinet on her right and instantly regretted it. It was excruciating. The ache intensified by the rapid beat of her heart, sending blood to her body, throbbing with each pulse.
'Urgh...' she groaned, reaching again for the glass. Gritting her teeth, she sat up very carefully, tensing to minimise the pain. As soon a she was upright, she slowly rotated to the right and poured some water into the glass using her left hand, annoyed that breathing had become so difficult. Even more annoyed with herself for waking up. She swallowed a mouthful and suppressed the urge to cough. She heard voices outside in the corridor. Her door was left ajar. She hadn't been paying much attention to what they were saying.
Taking another sip, she settled back into the bed, releasing the tense hold she held on her body. She took a deep breath and winced, her attention drawn to the conversation outside the room.
'...I don't know. I really don't see the resemblance.' said the first female voice.
'Does it matter?' said a second, more compassionate, voice.
'He paid a lot to keep this whole thing quiet, didn't he?' wheedled the first voice, clearly intent on unravelling the mystery. She sounded a bit old, '... It's obvious something is going on,' she said petulantly.
'You never know when to butt out, do you? You seem to forget that they're human too. It's none of your business, Darlene, so just leave the famous people to their own devices. Really.' the second voice said, irritated.
Their conversation was interrupted by the phone ringing. The sudden silence that followed was punctuated by the sound of footsteps walking towards the ringing phone.
'Ward J' said the second voice. 'Yes, doctor.' A pause, 'I will, doctor. Alright then. Goodbye.' The dragging footsteps made their way back to the door. 'That was Doctor Madison,' said the second voice. 'He said that we need to pack Ms Vargar's things. She is being discharged. Someone is coming to pick her up at five, which is in the next hour. Her release forms were filled out last night.' she finished.
'I'll get her ready,' said Darlene.
'Do you mind going to pick up her meds from the dispensary, while I complete her chart?'
'Not at all, sister,'
The silence was punctuated by two sets of footfalls and the click of a light switch.

An hour later, she was done. All the needles were removed and the tests completed. She was wrapped up in a thick blanket in the back seat of a black SUV, with no idea where she was heading, too zoned out to keep her eyes open.
She woke dazed, not quite sure when she had drifted off to sleep, the excruciating throb on her side pulsing painfully. A set of gentle, strong arms pulled her out of the back seat, and fear tightened her throat. She didn't know where she was or what was going to happen to her. A tall, dark man carried her to a wheelchair a short distance away. The sun was hidden behind thick grey clouds, but it was bright nonetheless. The brightness seemed to be coming from before her instead of above. She raised her head and saw a beautiful white house that seemed to belong in the 1600s. It stood ominously
and impressively behind the small black wheelchair.
The man lowered her into the chair with a gentleness that belied his tough exterior. She held her breath, clenching her muscles in an attempt to minimise the pain.
It didn't help much.
She tried to look at the man, but the beautiful house stole her attention again. The neighbourhood was a posh one. All the houses in the two-comma district had manicured lawns and lavish gardens that must sprout beautiful flowers during the summer months. Cairo could only see three other houses, all of them seemingly miles apart.
She knew that this must be one of the houses Amar Vargar called home. The driver pushed her toward the ornate front doors, which swung open to admit them. Beyond the door, a beautiful double staircase dominated her vision. It was like she had been rolled into a miniature eastern palace. Everything was opulent and regal without looking tasteless. The walls were pale, with pale wooden floors covered with rich oriental carpets.
They proceeded down a corridor with three doors; the one at the end stood ajar.
The walls were a deep, dark brown, and the huge bed was covered in deep browns and turquoises. There were splashes of greens and other blues breaking the deep walls. The east wall had floor-to-ceiling windows spanning the entire wall. Heavy, opulent drapes were pulled aside, creating a frame for the beautiful garden beyond, with a fountain as its centrepiece.
The room was restful and beautiful. The driver left without saying a word and had been replaced by what Cairo assumed to be a nurse.
'Hello, dear. You look tired,' she said, smiling warmly.
'I am.' Cairo grimaced.
'My name is Harriet, and I'll be looking after you for a while.' She had a hint of grey at the temples of her curly brown hair. She wore pale casual sweats that fitted snugly. Her body was in good shape. Her face was attractive, irrespective of the stern expression she wore.
'Now, let's get you into bed,' she said, lowering Cairo onto the huge bed. She didn't have time to wonder at the strength of the woman, as the pain blocked out everything but the pain.
Cairo bit down on the inside of her cheeks to keep quiet.
'There's a buzzer on the table beside you if you need anything.' Harriet said, tucking Cairo into bed before heading out of the room. She returned with an I.V. and poked Cairo's left arm before she left.
Cairo took the time alone to really look around the space. She was surprised to see some personal artefacts scattered around the room. The flowers from the hospital were also there.
Harriet returned with a tray adorned with cereal, toast, tea, milk, apple juice and blue berries.
'Nothing too heavy, but you need to eat to ease the nausea,' said Harriet.
'Thank you.' Cairo smiled weakly before Harriet left.
She had a dilemma on her hands. The entire right side of her body throbbed dully, and any movement would convert it to a sharp, poignant ache.
Very slowly, she picked up the milk and poured it into the cereal bowl. Then she picked up the spoon with her left hand and lifted it to her mouth. The process was both painful and painfully slow, but she got through most of her cereal, the toast and the berries.
With a sigh, she settled into the bed, and after five minutes, she was out, cold.
Harry woke her around lunchtime for another light meal and left. Cairo was left alone with her mind wandering. She thought about the conversation she had overheard earlier. By what sick twist of fate had she ended up being the cousin of a Bollywood movie star? Why was he even concerned about her? If he was suffering from a guilty conscience, surely covering her medical bill would suffice. Wasn't he rich enough to pay for her rehabilitation far away from his own home?
Cairo knew the British weren't too comfortable admitting foreigners into their private facilities. What story had Mr Vargar given The Grand Masters that paid her salary? She knew that all the employees and the employers knew what had really happened.
Worry sprang to the foreground of her mind. There was no chance that she was going to be able to send any money home for the month, at least. She hoped her injuries weren't as extensive as they felt. She needed to make a speedy recovery, and get back to work all the sooner. The very thought of the money she already owed her generous host made her wish he'd left her on the doorstep. She felt like a broke guest staying at The Grand. The longer she stayed, the larger the bill.
Panic and stress were the last things she needed to make a speedy recovery. How long was it going to take for her to be back on her feet and productive? She didn't know. No one had discussed the extent of her injuries with her.
Oblivion and helplessness made her all the more miserable. Any sign of need and vulnerability did not bode well with her.
Again, Cairo drifted into an unpleasant, dreamless sleep in the alien beauty of a rich superstar's mansion.


'How's the patient?' he asked Harriet as she made her way downstairs. Amar had just been out for a walk in the brisk November air.
'She'll be asleep till dawn at least, sir. She keeps mumbling, 'Don't tell my mother, please. She doesn't need that stress,' said Harriet. He grimaced with a nod. 'The police were here earlier this afternoon to take a statement, but her medication is too heavy for her,' she added.
'Yes, Armel told me,' he said as a fresh wave of shame washed over him. That just meant that she was in too much pain to talk to anyone for more than a minute. 'That just means that she's in too much pain because of me,' he said, hanging his head in shame.
'Mr Vargar, you didn't hurt her. If not for you, she would have drowned in her own blood and died,' she said, making her way down to the kitchen.

Amar trudged to study and got himself a nightcap as he wondered who had hurt her and why.