Unnatural Instinct: Wish

Your eyelids are so heavy that they’re hard to open. Impossible to open. You can hear voices. Strange sounds. There’s an odd beeping noise. The slam of a door. You open your mouth to speak, only to shut it again. You try to swallow but your throat feels like it’s full of cotton wool and there seems to be something stuck down it, like a straw. You desperately want to rub at your nose.

Why can’t you open your eyes? Where’s the Dark Prince? What’s he done to you? You tense your body up as you force your eyes open. It’s so exhausting that it’s agonising. You manage a crack. You can’t see much except for the shadows of things, the scene swimming with fog and tears. Though it hurts, you force your eyes to a narrow slit, blinking rapidly as you look around.

Slowly, things come into focus. You’re in a room brightly lit by the sun blazing in through the window to your right. It’s so bright that it hurts your eyes and you look away. The walls are a light green. There’s a door open on your left, leading onto a carpeted hallway. Someone walks past carrying linen. There’s a small side table. A pair of chairs.

You sit up with a groan, wincing at the pain in your back. You’ve never been so stiff in all your life. You fall back into your pillow, feeling strangely weak. It’s such an immense effort to complete such a simple task. Your arms are trembling as you pull yourself up again.

You turn your head towards the source of the beeping. It’s a little pump connected to a thin line. You grab at your face and realise that the thin line runs down your nose and is connected to the “straw” down your throat. It feels awful. It tickles. It scratches. You gag. All you want to do is pull it out. You’re about to do just that when you notice the familiar sweater folded up on the chair beside you. There’s a phone.

You reach over to pick it up, your arm trembling with the effort. You tap it on and tears swell in your eyes at a very old picture of you and your brother when you were teenagers.

You look up. ‘Allan?’ You cough, then gag. Your throat feels croaky and it’s awkward to speak.

You try to put the phone back but your fingers are out of your control and you fumble it to the floor. Carefully, you slide to the edge of the bed. The stiffness is ridiculous. It hurts to bend your back. It hurts to straighten it. It takes every bit of stamina just to sit and hold your head up. Your eyes are aching against the light and you cover them with your hands.

Taking a breath, your heart pounding like you’ve just run a race, you push yourself to your feet. Staggering, you grab onto the pole the pump is attached to but your knees give way. You and the pole fall to the ground with an almighty CRASH!

Your head is swimming, your ears are ringing, your heart is galloping. The ceiling spins and spins and spins. You shut your eyes against the unending brightness.

‘Oh my God! Someone help! She’s awake!’ Someone grabs your shoulder. ‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’

Then you hear your name. A man is shouting it. You force your eyes back open to find your brother looming over you, his face ashen.

‘Allan,’ you croak.

His face splits into a grin. It fills with colour. He shouts your name again, this time joyously. Dropping to his knees, he drags you into his arms. All you can do is cling back, bewildered and weak, as he weeps into your shoulder.

‘I knew you’d come back! I knew you’d fight it!’

There follows a confusing blur of faces and excited voices. You’re helped back into bed. People are prodding you and crowding around you. A nurse pops a thermometer in your mouth. A doctor shines a light in your eyes. They’re asking so many questions:

‘Are you hurt?’

‘Do you know your name?’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Do you remember what happened?’

But all you can do is stare at your brother, the tears leaking from your eyes. He’s raking his fingers through his hair, grinning from ear to ear as he speaks to Mika and the kids on the phone. Even through the crowd of onlookers, you can hear the distant sound of Lilly’s tiny voice screaming in joy.

‘How long have I been gone?’ you croak.

‘Almost three months,’ the doctor says. ‘We didn’t think you’d wake up.’

‘Th-three months?’

It had only been a matter of days in your dream. If you had stayed weeks, months, years … You turn cold. You start to shake. Thinking something wrong, the medical team descends upon you.

Life is a whirlwind for the rest of the day.

They pull the feeding tube from your nose. They help you from the bed and you’re disgusted to find that you’re wearing a nappy—and it’s wet! A nurse accompanies you to the bathroom, her arm hooked through yours as you struggle.

‘Why am I so weak?’ you gasp.

‘Your muscles have atrophied. But don’t worry, it hasn’t been that long. You should rebuild them quickly.’

It hasn’t been that long. But it could have been. It could have been forever.

Later, when you’re back in bed, Mika and the children join you, hugging you and kissing you, laughing and shrieking.

‘Be careful,’ Allan says as his children jump on the bed alongside you. You grip onto Lilly so tightly you worry you’ll break her.

‘I missed you,’ you tell her.

‘I missed you more.’ She wraps her skinny arms around your neck. She begins to cry. Then you cry. Allan turns away, sniffling.

The kids stay for a while before they’re taken home, Mika giving you a kiss on the cheek before she leaves. You suddenly remember her warning: Know what’s important.

How did she know?

Silence fills the room. Allan is too quiet as he sits stiffly beside your bed. He’s fiddling with the arm of his chair, his eyes turned away.

‘Why’d you do it?’ he says.

‘Do what?’

‘The doctor said you took pills.’

‘It wasn’t that many,’ you say quickly. ‘They were only to help me sleep.’

His eyes flick to yours. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I didn’t try to kill myself, Allan.’

He nods. ‘The doctor seems to think you didn’t either.’ He leans back into his chair, his hands folded upon his chest. You suddenly realise how tired he looks. His clothes are rumpled. It looks like he hasn’t changed or had a shower in quite some time.

‘I heard you,’ you say.

His eyes jerk to yours.

You give him a quivering smile. ‘You and Lilly—begging me to come back. If it wasn’t for you …’ You turn your head as the tears threaten to rise again.

‘We never gave up hope.’

‘Can the doctors explain it?’

‘They have no idea what happened. They did multiple tests but could come up with nothing.’ He gives a mirthless laugh. ’Apparently you’re a medical mystery. Can you explain it?’

You think back over all that’s happened to you: the marshes, the hall of mirrors, dancing, the outrageous goblins, your endless sleep. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand it. You still don’t know who he was—the Dark Prince. Was he just a dream, after all?

I did this only because I love you.

‘No. I can’t explain it.’

The doctors prefer that you stay in hospital for a couple more days—and you don’t argue. The last thing you want is to be alone. Throughout the first night you toss and turn, falling asleep moments at a time before jerking awake again. What if the Dark Prince takes you back and you can’t get out again?

You’re on the verge of calling for the nurse before deciding against it. Even if someone stayed with you as you fell asleep, they might not be able to wake you up.

Sweat has broken out on your forehead. You’re trembling. Your fatigue is like a heavy weight pressing down upon your chest and shoulders. The nurses made you walk and exercise for most of the day and it feels like you’ve been hit by a bus. You must sleep. You console yourself with the fact that at least someone is there to wake you up in the morning.

If they can.

After more tossing and turning, you eventually drift away.

The next time you wake, the nurse is drawing open the curtains and bright light is pouring in. Throwing an arm across your face, you almost cry.

The following night you fall asleep much more easily. And again, there is no Dark Prince. No obsidian castle. No marshes. Or goblins. You can’t remember what you do dream about but you know they’re normal. It seems he really has left you alone.

You don’t go back home once you’re discharged. Instead, your brother insists that you stay with them.

‘Until you can get back on your feet. No arguments,’ he adds before you can protest.

Though you’re grateful, you can’t help but feel a little humiliated. At least you get to spend time with Lilly and the others. You’re never alone anymore. So many games. So much screaming and laughter. It reminds you of your own childhood.

And just for a little while, you feel almost content.

Almost.