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I Love You More

story based on this prompt and tagging @noneuclidianlasagne because you expressed wanting to see it

content: lady whump, lady whumpee, kidnapping, captivity, escape, broken bones, hospital setting, medical whump, disabled whumpee, paralysis whump, bad caretaker, emotional whump, self-deprecation, internalised ableism

Nolana was sitting in the corner of the room, shaking with nerves. It had been two days of constant terror since she had been kidnapped, and her kidnapper was showing no signs of letting her go anytime soon.

The room was simple, with a bed that had springs sticking out of it, a desk with chipped edges, and a window with bars on it. Nolana was eyeing that specific window, and had been for the past about an hour. She was pretty sure she would be able to squeeze through. She just had to try.

But she was afraid to try. What if her kidnapper came into the room just when she was halfway out? They would drag her back and beat her, like that first day when she tried to fight back. They were bigger and stronger, there was no escaping their fury. And Nolana was scared, she was so scared.

But then, she heard a sound she hadn't heard in two days. An engine roaring to life. She got up on shaky legs and walked over to the barred window, looking out to see her kidnapper backing out of the driveway. They were… gone.

Nolana stood there and stared at the empty driveway for a few minutes. She was on the second floor of the house, and the drop down to the driveway had to be at least four metres. But four metres was manageable, wasn't it? If she jumped, she would be fine. Right? And then she'd only have to run to the neighbour's house across the street, or crawl, if she landed badly and broke her ankles.

There was no time. She didn't know when her kidnapper would be back. She had to act. Now.

She reached through the bars and opened the window — crisp, chilly winter air rushed in. Then she started the process of trying to squeeze her small body through the opening. It wasn't working. She had too many layers on. She stepped back and threw her hoodie off, then thought a bit and threw her shirt and pants off as well. She had to fit through. There was no other way.

She went back to the window and tried again, sucking her stomach in, stretching out so her breasts weren't in the way… and slowly, painstakingly, she was starting to fit.

"Please," she whispered as she struggled to get her body through the bars. "Please. Please. Please."

Suddenly, she was through. Nolana started free falling, and she was just about to scream when her foot caught on the bars. She was now dangling head-down from a second storey window, in her underwear, in winter.

"No!" she squealed. "Oh no, oh no, oh no…"

She wriggled and writhed, but she couldn't get her foot free. She was panicking more and more, and the only thing running through her mind was, 'They're going to kill me for this.' In her mind, she prayed that the neighbour would notice her, that they would help her, or somebody, anybody would help, but there was nobody around. It was daytime, everyone was working, there was not a single car on the street.

"Please, just let me go!" she screamed at the bars on the window, putting both hands against the side of the house she had been kept in, and yanking on her foot with all her strength. And it finally slipped free.

And she was falling.

Crack.

Pain exploded in Nolana's head and neck, and when she tried to raise her arm to rub the sore area, she found that she couldn't. When she tried to stand up to run over to the neighbour's house, she found that her legs didn't obey her. She just lay there, unmoving, wondering when someone would notice her.

She was paralysed, she realised a few seconds in. Completely paralysed from the neck down. She couldn't even feel the cold concrete on anything but her cheek that was pressed against it.

Nolana didn't know how long it took for someone to finally arrive on the scene. It could've been minutes, it could've been hours. But when she finally heard the sound of another human, she could've cried of joy.

"Hello? Miss? Are you okay?"

"Help," she rasped. Even speaking was painful. "I've been kidnapped. I can't move. Please help."

"Kidnapped?" The stranger, whoever it was, sounded taken aback. "Should I call the police?"

"Call an ambulance. Please. I can't move."

"I'm calling everybody. It's going to be okay, miss." Nolana could see their boots approaching where she lay, and soon she felt something warm being draped across her body. "Have my coat for the time being. Hello? Yes, I need an ambulance. And police. A woman here has been kidnapped and escaped, but now she can't move. Yes, please hurry."

It was a blur after that. Sirens, a gurney, EMTs assessing her situation, so much pain in her neck, hospital, operating room… then she was sedated.

—

Nolana slowly blinked her eyes open. The room she was in was bright, and for a second, she thought she was back in that house of horrors with her kidnapper; but she quickly realised she was in a hospital. The machines next to her were beeping periodically, there was an IV in her arm, and she couldn't move her head because of a neck brace. The only part of her body she had been able to move after the fall, now she couldn't. Panic was rising in her chest.

"Hello?" she called, hoping that a nurse or doctor would hear. And someone did hear, because a nurse poked their head in.

"Oh, you're awake! I'll call the doctor right away." Then they were off.

Nolana waited as patiently as one could when their whole body was suddenly paralysed. Honestly, she figured she wouldn't be able to do much but wait until she recovered. So she waited. And waited. And waited. When finally, a doctor came into the room with a medical chart in hand.

"How are you feeling, miss?"

"I can't move. Why can't I move?"

The doctor sighed. "Well, why not start with the bad news?" they muttered, then cleared their throat and said what Nolana was already thinking. "You broke your neck when you fell out of that window. You have damage C4-C6, and you're… well, paralysed now. From the neck down. Which I'm sure you've already figured. The injury to the spinal cord was pretty extensive, but — here's the good news I wanted to start with — the spinal fusion was a success. You won't need another surgery."

"What do you mean success?" she asked, tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't move. I can't move!"

"I understand," they said with compassion in their voice. "I'm really sorry, miss. I won't try to sugarcoat it; you will never walk again. Well, there's a less than one percent chance that you will, but I wouldn't bet on it. And for now, you'll stay in the hospital for recovery."

"What— What do you mean? I'll never— What? Please—"

"The nurses here will help you with everything," they cut in. "I'm sorry, I have to rush. The police are also here to question you. I told them you would probably need a few minutes to get your emotions under control, but I don't know how understanding they'll be. Miss, I think you're strong. It'll be okay."

Nolana watched as the doctor left, and immediately after, two police officers walked in to question her about the kidnapping. She was crying now, and she couldn't even lift her arm to wipe away the tears.

"My name is Officer Moran, and this is my partner, Officer Welch. We're here to assist you with regards to the kidnapping."

"What's your name, Miss?" Officer Welch asked.

She was shutting down. She kept weeping, more and more tears trickling down her cheeks and seeping into the edge of the padded neck brace, and she thought of her husband, her poor husband who must've looked for her day and night in the past 48 hours, who still hadn't been notified yet, because if he had been, he would've been by her side.

"Miss?"

She wanted to thrash. She wanted to throw her body around on the bed in a temper tantrum. She couldn't. No matter how hard she tried to will her body to move, it wouldn't.

"Miss, we need to identify you to be able to notify your family. I understand you have been through a very traumatic event, but we need to do this if we want to catch whoever did this to you."

They hadn't caught the kidnapper. Terror gripped Nolana's heart when she thought about the fact that her kidnapper might come after her, might track her to the hospital, and might kidnap her again. This time, she wouldn't be able to fight.

Officer Moran sighed. "Miss…"

"Nolana Moor."

"Nolana Moor," Officer Welch repeated, then left the room, hopefully to notify her husband. She didn't care about anything else. The police should've already caught her kidnapper, she had jumped out of their house, all they had to do was go in, search it, find the car, and arrest them.

But it would be okay. As soon as her husband arrived, all would be okay. He would protect her, even when the incompetent police couldn't.

Officer Moran was asking her questions, but she had already retreated into a far corner of her mind. Her husband. She just needed her husband. He would know what to do. She just needed him.

—

"Nolana!"

Nolana wanted to jump for joy when she saw Matteo racing through the door of her hospital room to be with her, immediately grabbing her hand and raising it to kiss it. But she couldn't. She still couldn't move. "Matteo," she said in tears. Officer Moran was still with her, trying to get her to talk, but she hadn't given them anything in the past half an hour.

"I'll come back later," they mumbled as they walked out, and Nolana did not care for them one bit.

"I can't feel you holding my hand," she sobbed. "I can see it, I know you're holding my hand, but I can't feel it."

"They told me about the accident on the phone," Matteo said gently, setting her hand down and instead moving to kiss her on the forehead — something she could actually feel. "It's okay. I understand this is scary right now, but it'll be alright. We'll figure it out together. Have you told the officers everything about the creep who kidnapped you?"

Nolana swallowed. "Why do I need to tell them?" she asked in a shaky voice. "I was right there. I was lying on the driveway of their house. Why can't they just go in and—"

"Nolana, you need to cooperate with the police," he said seriously. "Please."

"No!" she screeched, and even Matteo looked taken aback. "I don't want to talk about it! I just want them to catch them! Why is that so hard?"

"Okay." He caressed her face softly, and Nolana leaned into the touch as much as she could. "I'll talk to them. I heard you jumped out of a window — I'm sure they can search the house you jumped out of to find out who they were. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"They said I'll never walk again…"

"No, I'm sure you will. You're strong, Nolana. It's going to be okay. It might take a while, but you'll definitely regain mobility. There's no world in which you don't."

"Can you— Can you wipe the stupid tears from my face? I can't… I can't reach up to do it…"

Matteo wiped her tears so gently that it made her immediately want to cry more. "It's going to be okay. I'm here now. I'll talk to the doctors, get to the bottom of this paralysis issue. I'm sure we can invest in physical therapy and rehabilitation and all of that. We'll get you walking again. Just trust me, okay?"

"Okay," she sniffled. "I love you."

"I love you more. These past days have been absolutely hellish without you. But I can't even imagine what it's like for you… Just, let's just stay positive, okay? Okay."

—

Despite Nolana's complete lack of cooperation, the police had managed to track down her kidnapper — only to let them go when they realised they didn't have enough evidence. She had been doing quite well in hospital up until that point: she had regained some mobility in her arms, and the neck brace had been taken off. But after that? After Officer Moran told her the news that her kidnapper walked free? Nolana lost all will to get better.

"Nolana, you need to do these exercises," Matteo begged. "I know you're upset, I'm upset too, but you cannot neglect yourself."

What was the point? She was a quadriplegic with some absolute freak out there who had a vendetta against her. She wouldn't survive the next year, maybe not even the next month. They would come back for her. They would take her again.

"Please. Nolana. Don't you want to walk again?"

"I will never walk again," she said without much emotion.

"Not like this. You have to work at it. You've been doing so well, you can't give up now."

Nolana looked up at the ceiling, the ceiling she'd been staring at for the past six months. What was the point? What was the point in getting better, only to be taken again? Beaten? Locked up?

"Nolana…"

"I want to go home."

"You can't go home yet. Rehabilitation takes a while—"

"Can't I discharge myself?"

"And do what? Nolana, you can't go home in this condition. I've been trying to make the house accessible for you, but I don't even have a floor lift yet to transfer you from bed to wheelchair, you can't push a manual wheelchair—"

"I want to go home." I want to spend a few days in the comfort of my own room before they come back for me.

"I'm sorry. Maybe in a couple months. You have to stay strong, okay?"

When the tears started falling, Nolana couldn't even muster the strength to feel grateful that she could reach up and wipe her eyes. Her arms were so weak, her fingers were completely paralysed, she couldn't feel anything from the chest down, this was such a mess. She was so angry. She was so devastated. Here she was, 27 years old, with a miserable urostomy bag attached to her leg she couldn't feel. 27 years old, being spoonfed three times a day like a baby. 27 years old, addicted to pain medication. How did this happen? How did she go from normal, healthy young woman to… this?

"Nolana?"

"I want to go home," she repeated.

"Soon, okay? Just hang in there. The house will be completely ready for you by the time you come back. I'm learning stuff as well, so I'll be ready for you. I'm learning how to be a good caregiver."

"I don't want you to be a caregiver. I want you to be my husband."

"I am your husband. I remember my vows. I'm here for you, okay?"

Nolana nodded. "Just get me home from here."

—

Despite how much she wanted to go home, when the day came, Nolana found herself terrified. She couldn't let go of the notion that her kidnapper would track her and take her again. As much as she hated the hospital and all the things the nurses did to her, at least there was always someone there, a nurse, a doctor, and she never had to feel alone.

"Should I lift you over the threshold like on our wedding day?" Matteo asked jokingly as Nolana rolled over the threshold in her power wheelchair. In the end, she never managed to get enough strength back into her arms to push a manual one, which meant being stuck with a bulky piece of machinery she wouldn't be able to travel much with. Ha, travelling. Of course, she wasn't thinking about real travelling, out of the country or something — she was thinking of trips to the store. Travelling… She would never travel again.

"Funny," she said, deadpan. "You'll be lifting me a lot anyway."

"I hope you know I don't mind," he hurried to say. "Nolana? I really want to be here for you. I want to be a good husband, and a good caregiver."

Nolana knew there was no other choice for him. They didn't really have the means to hire assistants who could help her as much as she needed, since she needed care 24/7. He didn't have a choice but to read up on how to care for a disabled person of her calibre and step into the role of a caregiver, as much as she hated even to think about it. A caregiver. At 27. She needed a stupid caregiver.

"Are you hungry? I cooked your favourite food in honour of you coming home," Matteo beamed.

"Not hungry," she muttered, rolling in the direction of their bedroom instead. She had lost a significant amount of weight in the hospital, a combination of muscle atrophy and simply not having an appetite from what was most likely depression.

"Oh. Do you want to lie down? The doctors said you should probably avoid lying down a lot, we don't want you to develop a bedsore."

"Then don't put me in the bed. It's not like you can't decide where I stay, now. If you refuse to haul me over onto the bed, I'll stay in the chair."

"Nolana," he began, sounding gravely serious. "It's not my decision; it's yours. I'll haul you wherever you want me to. I'll be your arms and legs. It's not like now you're at my mercy or something—"

"But it is. I am at your mercy. I'm at everyone's mercy. I can't do anything." She was clearly working herself up, and Matteo noticed. He got on one knee and took her stupid, paralysed hand in his own.

"Hey. Nolana. We'll get through this, okay? Like we've gotten through everything so far. We'll get through this."

Nolana bit her lower lip, but she couldn't avoid tearing up. "Right," she muttered.

—

Nolana lay in bed, on her side, watching the clock slowly turn from one minute to the next. It was the middle of the night, her husband was sleeping next to her, and soon, he would be woken up by an alarm he'd set. Because soon, it would be time to flip her over from one side onto the other.

Despite doing her best to avoid it, Nolana had developed a pressure sore. She was prescribed antibiotics and bed rest, strictly on her side, but constantly flipped over onto the other side to avoid a bedsore. She was a nuisance. A burden.

Matteo's alarm went off, and she could hear him turn over to turn it off. He hadn't slept more than three consecutive hours in the past month. He climbed out of bed and walked over onto Nolana's side, gently nudging her. "Nolana? Are you awake?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Alright. Time to flip you like a pancake." It was a joke he'd cracked the first time he flipped her over, and cracked at least once every week since. But the joking manner was missing from his voice now. He sounded tired. Worn out.

"You don't have to do this," she offered as he worked. "You could just leave me be until morning, flip me then."

"You're not getting any more sores on my watch."

"You're tired."

"As are you."

"I'm just lying here all day. You actually have a job."

"Nolana," he sighed. "I don't want you to get worse. You could get an infection from sores. You could develop AD, you could die." Ah, yes. Autonomic dysreflexia. A sudden jolt in blood pressure that caused strokes and epilepsy. How wonderful.

"Okay," she relented.

"I don't mind doing this," he insisted, but Nolana could tell it was more and more of a lie each day. "Just try to go back to sleep. I'll do the same."

Nolana watched him walk back to his side of the bed and lie down. He must've been absolutely spent, because within a minute or so — though she couldn't see the clock now — he was snoring again. She wanted to reach out and gently caress his face, but with how discoordinated she was, she would've poked his eye out. And she wouldn't feel the soft touch of his skin, or the gentle poke of his stubble.

She closed her eyes and tried not to imagine her kidnapper's face. Tomorrow would be another day.

—

PTSD. That was what the doctors had diagnosed her with. That was the explanation behind her sudden panic attacks that made her feel like she was dying.

"It's really common in people who have gone through something as traumatic as you," her psychiatrist had said. "We can give you medication, but the most effective treatment plan includes prolonged therapy."

So Nolana started going to therapy. Yet another expense, yet another burden to put on her husband.

"How was therapy today?" Matteo asked as Nolana slowly rolled up the ramp into the van they'd bought.

"Fine, I guess."

"Making progress?" He strapped her in, making sure to secure both the wheelchair and her.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Nolana shook her head a little. "I don't know."

That seemed to set something off. "What do you mean you don't know? Shouldn't you be feeling some type of way by now? It's been weeks. You should know if it's at least working."

"I don't."

"Why can't you answer anything normally?" Matteo stepped back, out of the van, and ran a hand through his hair. He tried to calm down, and Nolana felt too numb to even feel bad about making him angry. "Let's just go home."

"Okay."

"Don't 'okay' me. Just— Just be quiet, then. You know what? I hate when you don't respond, but maybe today I'd like that."

So Nolana didn't respond. The car ride home was spent without any words, and when they got home, Nolana went to their shared bedroom to stare at the wall until it was time for Matteo to lift her out of the chair and into the bed. Matteo didn't comment on it, though he knew full well that that was what was about to take place. He didn't argue about her needing enrichment and hobbies, he just stormed off to his office and slammed the door.

—

Nolana hated the stretching. It took ages to go through every position, and what little feeling she had left in her body was spent feeling uncomfortable, like her ligaments were about to be torn. Matteo was the one who handled most of the daily stretching, aside from the two times a physiotherapist came to the house.

"You're becoming stiff again," he commented that morning.

"I am?"

"Yeah. I won't be able to dress you like this."

Nolana didn't respond. She could sense that an argument was about to break out about her not doing enough, and she didn't want it. She just wanted peace. Where was the Matteo who had promised everything would be okay? Who had promised her that she would walk again?

"I just don't understand why you can't put a little more effort into taking care of yourself," he went on anyway, apparently dead set on arguing. "Not a lot. Just a little. I'm doing most of the stretching for you anyway, you just need to let me."

"It hurts."

"It's supposed to hurt a little."

"It hurts a lot."

Right on cue, her leg started spasming. Just great.

"I can't do this right now," Matteo said, literally throwing her spasming leg on the floor and leaving the room. Nolana stayed lying on the floor until he returned a few minutes later. Her leg wasn't spasming anymore. "The spasms are because of you neglecting stretching, by the way. I read about it."

Part of her wanted to be spiteful. He wanted to argue? She would argue. And she would tell him that it was his responsibility to handle the stretching, and if she was stiff and spasming, it was his fault. But a bigger part of her just wanted love. Unconditional love from the one who vowed to give her exactly that.

Matteo got on his knees and grabbed her leg, moving it into position to stretch. "Sorry," he said, and Nolana could tell he didn't mean it. Not anymore. Not after so many months of gruelling work as her primary caregiver.

"It's okay," she said anyway.

"I love you."

Nolana closed her eyes.

"I love you more."

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