"Lavaughna, something - something's not right."
Jasmine felt the rumble of her flat voice but it sounded out of body. The servant woman she'd been speaking with reached for Jasmines hand, saying something with a pinched face. But Jasmine's head bobbed, her eyes rolling back as the world turned into a funnel of swirls.
There were disembodied muffled screams. Someone calling out her name. But Jasmine couldn't make out any of it, a violent sting came as the blunt force of the ground collided with the back of her head. A sea of faces hovered overhead but there was no differentiation between any of them. Their marred appearances meshing together with the muck colored skies. Jasmine unable to tell where the world ended and the heavens began.
Someone parted the sea of people – Jafar possibly. Or maybe a guard. She couldn't tell. Couldn't smell anymore either to decipher whose hands were on her body and gripping her face. Jasmine was too numb and dull.
Someone gathered her up in their arms and it sent a splitting pain that stemmed from her back and shot over her entire body. The one holding her shouted. Frantic. Her head swayed as he ran. The grey smoky sky cutting out and replaced with the decorated arches of the palace walls. Jasmine sensed danger. Somewhere deep within knew that something wasn't right. But she couldn't cry or shout with the people around her. Couldn't validate their feelings of worry or tell her friends and family that she loved him. All of them.
Jasmine screamed until her lungs burned and threatened to burst. Her clothes were cut off her body and she was pinned down as someone dug a tool into the meat of her calf – blood soaking the mattress and the torturous hands that worked to cut the meat of her leg.
A strap was placed in her mouth and she bit down. Jafar's voice was somewhere in the room, but she couldn't see him. Couldn't see anything but hot white lights of pain. A metallic smell evaded her nose until it burned. Then again, darkness consumed her entirely.
Jafar had been forced out of the room after he'd lost it. Blacked out with rage Jafar nearly murdered the doctor and the servants who pinned Jasmine down.
Jasmine had been screaming and then went deathly still and Jafar was sure they had killed her. Within seconds he was no longer in control.
"Get off me! Get the fuck off me!" Jafar whirled around on Razoul who had bravely aided in guiding Jafar from the chambers.
"My liege forgive me . . . Forgive me," he bowed his head and waited for a blow. But Jafar stormed off down the hall, holding his mouth and placing a fist on his narrow hips as he paced the corridor.
"My king, if I may look on the bright side –."
"No you may not! You incipient waste of space." Jafar bellowed sending Razoul back into a submissive bow.
Jafar huffed through his nostrils, "I have more important things to do than wait for my wife to die." And stormed away.
Jafar had murmured low and to himself but Razoul caught it and looked up with round eyes – Jafar's heartlessness knew no bounds.
Jafar closed himself within the room after the royal physician had cleared him to do so. It was the dead of night. Maybe already early morning. He hadn't slept or been able to work like he'd planned. Instead he'd spent the last torturous hours sick to his stomach and outraged with fear.
Jafar's back remained glued to the doors as if taking a moment to prepare himself. For what, he wasn't entirely sure, but there was a heavy presence that encumbered the air, keeping him rooted where he stood – a weight he'd felt many times in his life. Death.
Tabiib had said Jasmine lived through the surgery but that didn't mean she would make it through the night.
"In addition to the gashes on her back, Queen Jasmine had a rotted piece of bark stuck deep within the calf of her left leg. The wound grew infectious. Had she come back inside the palace once it happened I could've stopped the worst of it. Now all we can do is wait and see. She's lost a lot of blood. She might not look like herself right now."
Jafar rewound the earlier conversation with the doctor and blew out forcefully. Stop being a bloody coward. Jafar closed his eyes briefly then stepped across the room towards the bed. His hands shot to wrap behind his back and his chest puffed up like a shield as he stopped next to his wife's side.
Even as the glowing fires illuminated her skin with an orange tint Jasmine was deathly white. . . perspiration making her hair slick and the violet slip she wore cling to her form. A pool of glistening fluid caught in the dip of her throat. Her mouth was parted slightly, lips dry and void of their usual luster as she breathed ever so lightly. Her chest rose and fell in such a shallow rhythm that Jafar had to lean in to make sure she was still breathing.
After a long moment of frail reassurance, he straightened, eyes screwing shut forbidding him to look at her any longer. There was a peaceful sense about her which one might expect from a corpse – a stiff cold body, void of fear, pain . . . And life.
Jafar was no stranger to death or pain. However, the sensation that assaulted him now made him admit to his frail humanity. It sent gooseflesh down his spine and made he hairs on the back of his legs stand on end. For a split second Jafar faltered and slapped a large hand flat against his chest to cease the ripping of his heart. Jasmine was dying slowly and painfully.
He wanted to run from the dark room. Wanted to place a pillow over her face and kill her now. Anything to put a stop to how broken he felt watching her waste away right before him. He needed to do something. To control it somehow no matter the end result. But he couldn't. Jafar had no power when it came to this. No say in the outcome and it drove him mad.
Rage and fear. Hatred and heartache. Strength and weakness. He felt them all at the same time and the weight took a toll on his calloused heart.
He couldn't stand to look at her but he couldn't peel away from her either.
Jafar bent over the bedside and pressed a kiss to Jasmine's forehead. Her skin was clammy and smoldering to the touch. Though it churned Jafar's belly it reassured him she was still alive, and still his. If only for a while longer.
His lips grazed the base of her ear and he whispered to her. "I hope you don't think it will be so easy to escape me, my love. I won't let you go so easily." He smiled tightly and kissed her ear lobe, then her forehead and finally her slackened mouth.
Jafar left and prayed, for the first time in years, to Allah.
An entire week passed before Jasmine's fever finally broke without returning. Though she was on the mend, and bed ridden, Jafar had given her space. Sleeping instead in his old chambers while she had the infamous royal bedroom to herself. His visits to her were also rare and brief. Other than coming in to say, "good morning. . . I see you're still alive," Jafar remained elusive.
Which Jasmine didn't protest to. Her stitches were healing nicely but she was still in pain and found herself exhausted all the time. She couldn't imagine having Jafar brooding in the corner or demanding her to perform wifely duties so the small mercies were much appreciated.
Around the tenth day Jasmine requested to take a stroll; of which Mia, happily obliged, holding onto Jasmine's hand as they walked through the first corridor. Jasmine was limping and weak, taking stops every few feet to catch her breath. She felt pathetic to be in such a state and therefore glad the hallways were barren.
Mia was more than a wonderful companion and operated as Jasmine's eyes and ears over the last several days. Jasmine was able to remain less focused on her ailments while Mia divulged a never-ending list of conversational pieces. It turned out that, once the girl felt comfortable enough, she could talk up a storm, and Jasmine found Mia's bubbly personality refreshing.
Young Mia went in order of events, recalling best she could all that had happened. Most were basic facts, such as: the Europeans had all gone back home, the streets were cleaned up and the dead had all been buried. Thirty-five Mia stated. To the latter Jasmine flenched knowing Ummah had been reduced down to nothing more than another number. And possibly Vada. But Jasmine kept a faint smile and continued to listen.
Reconstruction of some homes were underway while the Sultan had begun projects on an orphanage, a scholarly building, and a café.
"Want to know what the coffee house will be called? Fa'ar Saghir. Isn't that simply adorable!?"
Little mouse. He named the freaking building after my diminutive pet name?
Jasmine found it obnoxiously offensive and didn't know whether to cry or laugh at how ridiculous this all was. Jafar was building three of the things she suggested, while naming one of them after her. Was he trying to be charming or condescending and manipulative? Either way she hated the odd fluttering in her belly when speaking about him and quickly changed subject.
"There was a little girl. . . Nivea. She was four I think. Brown hair. Green eyes. . .Do you know what happened to her?"
Mia thought on it for a moment and nodded with a smile as they turned a corner and headed to walk the path of a second corridor.
"Oh. Sultan Jafar found her family. A father and grandmother. Their reunion was rather magical – I watched from a distance but could see the joy of the family as his liege handed the child over. Sultan Jafar is also having a new ship built and is gonna expand trade with Russia and possibly even the America's. Or at least that's what I've heard. Isn't that amazing?"
Apparently, Jasmine would not be avoiding Jafar's name during this conversation.
Mia went on, "The Sultan is doing some rather extraordinary things as of late. Don't you think your Majesty? Er – I mean. . . If that's not too bold to say my Queen?"
Jasmine hadn't been able to control the roll of her eyes and shrugged, feeling childish for her mannerism. "No, Mia. Not bold at all. You're right. He's done. . . good." a smile was produced but didn't reach her eyes.
Jasmine truly was impressed with all Jafar was doing. However, it was slightly unsettling to use the term good when describing a maniac. Manipulative? Yes. Nasty and vindictive? Absolutely. But good? It didn't fit right in her mouth.
After a few more steps Jasmine decided she was tired and headed back to her chambers. In the solitary room, Jasmine fought against the excited buzzing of her heart and the cautionary alarms whaling inside her head. Jafar would never change, no matter how many orphans he helped or how many of her ideas he listened to. Everything he did he did for himself. And every form of pleasure he sought would always come at the expense of others. It was only a matter of time before he struck again and ripped her down into a sinking hole of despair. Should she let her guard down the blow might very well kill her.
So, Jasmine tuned out all notions of affection and drifted off – forcing herself to recall all Jafar had ever done. She recalled the image of scaly skin and dripping fangs when Jafar transformed into an ungodly creature the night he'd taken over Agrabah. Relived the way Jafar almost beat Aladdin to death. Then how he nearly killed her by strangulation – bringing her to the point of defecation. Jasmine remembered the way he mutilated Dracul's face before slicing open his jugular and then how he cut off the man's hand and used it like a toy during their wedding night. He had broken her so badly and reveled in her misery. Time and again. Allah only knew how deep Jafar's crazy went. How much farther Jafar was capable of going given time.
No. Jasmine could never love him. Could never allow herself to sink so low.
With the recall of every heart wrenching memory Jasmine cooled the flame in her chest a little more until it was dull and meaningless yet again.