𝐚𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚 [𝟏𝟖+]

Chapter 11

𝐓𝐡𝐞 young woman tucks a sliver of hair that fell from her messy ponytail behind her ear, driving into the Calloway Labs park-way whilst listening to the cheesy pop songs coming from her car's radio. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth while thoughts swarm her head. Thoughts of Oliver, thoughts of Irene and Finn, thoughts of the ominous text messages. After receiving the message last night, she spent hours trying to decipher the identity of the culprit. However, after staring at the text aimlessly, she still had no idea. She didn't have any friends besides Oliver, and Oliver was most likely too busy getting treated at the hospital. It could have been Irene, but why would she want to toy with Dahlia further, especially after their confrontation? It's all a mystery. 

She inhales deeply as she walks to the front door, and once the key-card activated door opens she's instantly greeted with the fresh laboratory smell. She waves politely at Selma, who seems to be writing something at the front desk. "Good morning, Selma!" The young woman greets, and Selma smiles warmly, "Good morning, dear. How was your day?" she asks, her eyes glued to the computer screen on the front desk. Dahlia shrugs, "Same old." 

"Oh, I almost forgot. Gerald wants you to see in his office." Selma's eyes widen as she remembers, and Dahlia sighs. "Right on. And where would that be?" Dahlia asks, awkwardly. Selma chuckles lightly and uses a bony finger to point to the hallway. "Down the hall, to the left, keep going straight, and then make another left." Selma politely advises, and Dahlia nods and begins walking.

The doors and hallways in the building all look eerily similar, all polished and white, some of the doors being steel and barricaded. Once she reaches the door she thinks might be Gerald's office, she knocks and winces as the metallic exterior makes contact with her knuckles. Gerald replies almost instantly, "Come in!" His voice calls out, and Dahlia opens the door. Inside is Gerald sat on a chair, his legs resting on the desk in front of him. Across from the desk is a bookshelf full of all kinds of demonology books, ranging from old folklore to new discoveries. One book Dahlia can't figure out is one hidden between two smaller books. Its spine is thick and corroded leather envelops the whole book, there doesn't seem to be any letters or words on it aside from a couple random Roman numerals. She tilts her head, trying to get a better look, and Gerald stands in front of the bookshelf.

"Dahlia, I wanted to see you to let you know that because Oliver is hospitalized, you're going to have to take care of the laboratory and accomplish your tasks by yourself for the time being." He enunciates, a serious look on his face. Dahlia gulps, but she puts on a tough mask. Backing down from a challenge would mean that she's weak, and that Mr. Simmons was right in saying that she isn't prepared. The last thing she wanted to do was to prove his concerns right. She nods, not saying a word. Gerald hums in approval, gesturing her out of the door. As she starts to walk away, she takes one last look at the bookshelf, gaining a deadpan look from the older male.

'How am I gonna treat that demon all by myself? I don't even know what shots to administer!' She thinks to herself, and anxiety pools in her stomach as she makes her way down the hall to the familiar lab. When she walks in, more dread fills her as the lab is dead silent and the realization that Oliver isn't there sets in. She quickly slips on her lab-coat, and hangs her bag up, Making her way to the Demon's 'cell', she inhales one last time before opening each lock and finally opening the door. The demon is sat on a thin, dirty mattress. Blood and dirt stains cover the mattress, and there's a rusted metallic bucket in the distant corner of the room. There are no windows, and the only source of light is a single flickering lightbulb hanging from the old ceiling. She shivers as she studies the room, appalled by the conditions the man is kept in. Regardless of him being a demon, no one deserves to live this way. 

He looks up at her as she walks in, and doesn't say anything as he stands up. He practically cowers over her, being inhumanely tall. Her eyes travel up his defined chest, and bruises and cuts appear to trail up his abdomen. When she finally reaches his face, his light eyes are cold and his lips part slightly as he lets out soft breaths. She clears her throat and reaches for the handcuffs in her lab-coat's pocket, and he chuckles deeply. "We've known each other for a few days and you're already cuffing me?" He teases, looking down at her as she ties his hands together, her own shaking. She takes note of his long, sharp nails, almost like claws. They're mostly white, but they fade into black at the tips. She shakes her head, trying to rid her brain of the inappropriate thoughts surging through.

As they walk through the door, she trails behind him, holding his cuffs together, and stares at his back. The scar from when she cut out his premature wing is almost fully healed. 'I must've done a good job.' She thinks to herself, and a small proud smile comes to her lips. As she lets go of him once they reach the gurney, he sits himself down and rests his bigger hands on his knees. She hums a small tune, and looks through the glass case full of syringes. He watches her, slight amusement in his eyes as he notices her cluelessness. "It's the red one, you'll find it." He mocks, and she glares at him, promptly using a small key to open the case and pulls out the red syringe. As she approaches him, he tenses up as he feels her hand press against an area on his left forearm. "We've already injected your right arm, so It's better to use your other arm this time." She notes, and he hums.

"What an observation. How long did it take you to figure that one out?" He laughs, and she rolls her eyes. "Why do you have to be such a dick?" She asks bitterly, as she quickly pokes the needle in his arm. He shrugs, "It might be an underlying condition, will you cure me, doctor?" He looks up at her with fake pleading eyes, and she gives him a death stare. He watches her as she injects the serum into his pale skin, her hands shaking slightly. Without notice, he places his rough hand on her soft one, keeping it in place. Her breath hitches in her throat, and she quickly finishes injecting him before swatting his hand away. He gasps, feigning hurt. After successfully administering the shot, she places a cotton ball against the area, catching any blood or remaining liquid that might've seeped through the small hole. "Hold that there, please." She urges, and he gently takes the cotton ball from her and holds it on the spot. 

Dahlia throws away the empty syringe, and begins wrapping surgical tape around the cotton ball, keeping it in place. He stares deep into her eyes, studying her brown orbs, and she uncomfortably shifts, sitting down on a stool. "So, I guess we'll wait a bit and you can tell me if you feel anything from the shot." She says quickly, and he hums in agreement. He lays down on the gurney, and stares up at the ceiling. She watches him, taking note of each movement he makes. He can feel her eyes boring into him, yet he doesn't say anything. "How are you feeling now?" She asks, biting the inside of her cheek nervously. He sighs, "I feel bored. How about you answer some of my questions?" He suggests, and she shrugs and nods.

"Why do you do that?" He asks, and she furrows her eyebrows, "Do what?" She asks him back, and he begins. "Why do you chew your cheek? You bite your lip a lot too. Your mouth must be a mess." He asks bluntly, slight amusement in his tone. She freezes up and begins feeling around the inside of her mouth with her tongue, tracing around the small bite marks on the inside of her cheek and behind her bottom lip. She sighs in annoyance at his observation, because it made her observe it too. "I don't know, bad habit maybe." She answers honestly, and stares up at the ceiling too. "Now, here's my question," She sighs and continues, "Why did you do that to Oliver?" She asks, and his head snaps towards her. He watches her jaw softly clench and unclench as she stares up at the ceiling, and he takes note of the soft looking skin of her neck.

"No reason." He smirks, but keeps to himself. She narrows her eyes at him, but moves on. "Is your neck soft?" He asks, out of the blue, and she nearly chokes on her own spit. "Wh-what?" She snaps her head towards him, and he laughs loudly. "I mean, if I used my nail to slit your throat, would it bleed out instantly or would I have to do it twice?" He hums, and she furrows her eyebrows at him. "You're weird." She stammers, sitting up on the stool with her back straightened. "You're weirder." He mocks, and she huffs in irritation. She thinks of a question, and her face brightens. "Have you ever thought about escaping?" She tilts her head at him, and his gaze softens as he looks at her. "I don't know, would you help me?" He amuses, and she shakes her head bitterly.

"After what your kind did to Selma's daughter, I don't think you deserve to." She answers bluntly, and he shakes his head at her. "It's not us."