Death Defiant

AMARA Swallowing down the bile in my throat, I made it to the bathroom just before my stomach emptied itself. Tears pricked my eyes as my stomach roiled inside me, determined to squeeze me in half. My throat felt thick, and my head felt like it was disconnected from my body. Folding over the toilet, I emptied the contents of my angry organ, annoyed as this was the third time it had happened in the past 24 hours. Finally finished, I angrily swiped at my mouth and stood up, gripping the sink for purchase.  I always felt weak afterward, the loss of nutrients taking its toll on me. The woman in the mirror was unrecognizable. I was wasting away, the hollows under my eyes dark and purple, my black hair limp, my body almost skeleton-like. I groaned and made my way to my bed, preparing for the oncoming headache. The headaches always followed the vomiting; this was a vicious cycle that had started a few months after my 23rd birthday.  I had been to doctor after doctor, hospital after hospital, and no one could find anything wrong with me. They had run a gamut of blood tests, scans of my head and stomach, full body scans, and even bone density, but each time my bloodwork came back exceptional and nothing abnormal was detected. So I was prescribed medication for my crippling headaches, medicine that didn’t even touch them. Medicine for my nausea, which also did not even blunt it in the slightest. Talk about miserable. Placing my head on the pillow and pulling on my sleep mask, I fell into a fitful sleep.  An infant, a small one, was ripped from its mother's arms as she cried out.  “You know we have to do this” a melodic voice reminded her, “we can’t risk it.” More sounds of sobbing at that statement. Strong arms cradled the infant as the sound of the mother’s crying faded. The sound of wings beating against the sky flooded my senses, bright blue and the sound of a low masculine hum, like a strong undercurrent. Tears fell on the baby’s face, not her own; they came from the man holding her. “It will be OK,” he said, his voice strained with emotion, “shhhh you will be going to a better place soon. One where this will not matter, be strong, my daughter.”  The scene cut, and the child was now lying on a large marble table. Surrounding the tightly swaddled bundle was a group of 7 men, their hands and bodies glowing as they stood completely still around the table. Brows furrowed in concentration, they did not move a muscle, not even to wipe the sweat dripping down their faces with the effort of what they were doing. And what were they doing?  I watched closely as the baby began to cry, soft at first, but it quickly turned into full-blown wails. She sounded like she was in pain, and I realized she was glowing just like the men. A soft light surrounded her that was gradually dimming as they continued. Whatever they were doing, they were taking something from her, robbing her of something.  Anger swirled through me as her cries of pain continued, the men paying them no heed, intent on whatever it was they were doing. Finally, they ceased, wiping their brows. Even though they were not covered, I couldn’t make out their faces. It was like they were blurred as if I was looking into the sun. The man who had carried the child here once again picked her up, kissing her forehead softly, he murmured to her. “Be brave little one; I love you always. It is better this way.” And then everything went dark, and I felt as if I was falling through a never-ending chasm.  My body jerked hard, and I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking all over. The headache was gone, but I felt weak in ways I never had. This was typical, these nightmares and weird dreams after the headache. Then I would wake up and feel like I had been on some insane drug bender.  Thankfully the doctors had granted me disability, so I was currently living off that, unable to predict when or how these episodes would hit. It seemed, however, that each time they did hit, they got worse and more intense than the previous. They always centered around this child, a girl I knew somehow, and these men, or just the one man.  All I could gather was that the girl was ripped away from her home and sent somewhere else and that some weird voodoo was done on her. I had scoured the internet and discovered that a dream about a child being kidnapped was indicative that you feel like you’ve lost part of yourself, or you are outgrowing part of you that you never thought you would shed. Not exactly the answers I was looking for.  I groaned, forcing myself to move from the bed and toward the kitchen. Now that the nausea and skull-splitting headache had passed, I was definitely hungry. Searching through my cabinets, I discovered I had not been shopping for a while, as evidenced by the trash can full of to-go boxes. I grimaced; whatever was going on was making me lazy and gross. Confident that I would not be suffering for at least a few hours, I decided to go shopping.  The bright fluorescent lights made my eyes swim as I entered. I was losing track of time, slowly. The aisles looked daunting to me, and I swallowed, willing myself to get started. I just had to go up and down every aisle, stock up on food, and then I could seal myself away for another little while. The outside world was becoming unbearable, and as much as I liked being outside, not knowing when I would become incapacitated was a risk I did not want to take.  I loaded my cart with the essentials, canned things like fruits and vegetables, microwaveable dinners, packets of meat that could be easily frozen and thawed, bread, and peanut butter and jelly, of course, as that was a staple. All things that took minimal effort but that were better than continuing to subsist on fast food and take-out.  Hell, even a frozen pizza had to be better for me than what I was eating. I had just gotten to the chip, snack, and cookie aisle when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, which meant another episode was incoming. s**t! They never came back to back, not this fast. Usually, I had a span of a few hours in between them.  I nervously checked my surroundings, looking for somewhere to hide before the sickness took me. I quickly walked to the back of the store, by the meat area, knowing there had to be a storage room somewhere back there. Thankfully I saw the employee-only sign and pushed my cart through the vinyl flaps hanging from the top of the doorframe.  The pain had started to swell in my head, feeling the familiar pulsing around my eyes and temples. I began to run, veering to the right as it looked darker, my cart clattering on unsteady wheels. Through my vision that was starting to blur, I saw a small alcove, probably where employees went to be alone, but I didn’t care; I needed sanctuary.  Sitting down, I leaned against the cold metal, feeling it through my shirt and taking deep breaths. My hands had already started to shake, my stomach was in major turmoil, and I grabbed the trash can that was close by, preparing for the inevitable. Sweat broke out on my brow, and my throat felt tight as my stomach continued its assault on me. My body felt weak, dizzy, and my vision tunneled as my stomach churned, preparing to forcefully expel its contents yet again. I leaned forward, the trashcan between my legs, sweat trickling down my spine, and my eyes switching between blurred and black vision.  “Hey, are you OK?” A deep masculine voice sounded above my head. It was all I could do to shake my head, secretly glad this stranger was here because I felt like I would pass out. He placed a large hand on my back softly, his cool touch soothing to my burning body. The spots dancing in my eyes began to recede, and my stomach stopped its incessant pulsing. I drew in several deep breaths, getting my bearings as the hand on my back made small circles, and it was so soothing I couldn’t even be bothered to be embarrassed about my sweat-soaked shirt.  “I think so, better at least.” I said shakily. My hands still gripping the trash can hard and shaking.  “Deep breaths,” he soothed, his hand still on my back. He left it there for a few more seconds before he removed it.  As soon as he did, my vision blurred again, and the throbbing was back, even worse than before. I moaned in pain and hunched over the trashcan again, retching almost immediately. Embarrassment made my already hot cheeks hotter as I was puking up everything in my body; hell, it felt like my body was trying to turn itself inside out with the force of it.  “s**t!” He said above me. I felt my hair pulled back and his hand settled on my shoulder.  Again my stomach stilled, and my vision cleared. Why, why did this man have the power to stop whatever this was from happening? He handed me a paper towel. I wiped my dripping nose and the side of my mouth where some spittle was currently residing.  When I had cleaned up as much as possible in the circumstance, I dropped the remnants of my episode into the trash. I turned to look at my rescuer, whose hand was still on my shoulder. My heart stuttered to a stop as I gazed at one of the most beautiful humans I had ever seen in my life. His face was perfectly proportioned; the only flaw, if it could be called that, was a slight hump on his nose.  His short, dark brown hair was tousled, a wild mop on top of his head, his light green eyes held my gaze with an intensity I wasn’t used to, and I noticed they had golden specs in them. My eyes dropped to his mouth, his full lips begging to be kissed. Startled at my unbidden thought, my eyes shot back up to his. Pulling myself together, I moved the trash can to the side. “Thank you,” I murmured. “Can you just keep your hand there, I know this sounds insane, but it makes it better for some reason.”