Lamb To The Slaughter ✔️

5

"As you all know, this is a very serious situation," Mr. Sanchez speaks to the group of doctors and nurses. He tries to keep his voice calm, but I know he is scared, and he should be. If Atlantic laid eyes on him for even one second, he would kill him without hesitating. "But I assure you all, we will find him and bring him back soon. Just don't let the public know about this just yet."

I look at the people in the room. How they're all scared of the man I'm going home to after this. They all give each other uneasy glances, and I don't blame them. 

"But, on a lighter note, while we're all here let's give Dr. Ross a congratulations on winning the most promising award!" Mr. Sanchez smiles and points toward Dr. Ross. Dr. Ross begins smiling while everybody in the room starts clapping for him. I force myself to, feeling jealousy burn inside me. "The award ceremony is fast approaching, and remember that it is live televised, so dress nicely. No scrubs."

I glance over at Dr. Ross and his stupid fucking smile. I give him a deadly look, but he doesn't even look in my direction. 

I walk out quickly, not wanting to be there a moment longer than I had to. 

When I get home, unlike the day before, Atlantic is not in the backyard. He sits in my living room, watching TV for the first time. Which by the way, was a bitch to try and explain. 

He turns his head toward me as I walk through the door. I walk angrily, tossing my jacket onto the counter and kicking my shoes off with more force than usual.

"Fucking cocksucker," I mutter, but then walk over to Atlantic and stand before him. "Dr. Ross didn't even make that breakthrough - somebody else did, and he just copied the research!"

His blank face stares up at me. He probably does not care about anything I'm saying, but I need to vent. 

"I deserve that award, Atlantic," I continue. "I'm going to win it someday."

His dark eyes just continue to stare at me. He wears a black t-shirt and joggers I bought for him yesterday, and I can smell from here that he took another shower and used all my products again. He really likes the cherry-scented body wash.

I turn in the living room, and take a step toward the wall. I look up at the picture frame, which is slightly over eye level. I stare at the picture of me and my dad - he holds the award, smiling like crazy, while me as a kid stands with him. 

"You don't talk about him," Atlantic's cold voice speaks from behind me. I hadn't even heard him get up from the couch, but now I feel his tall frame behind me. "Your father."

I feel a stabbing pain in my heart for a moment. I force myself to clear my throat and turn around. I look up at him, at the strand of hair that falls on his forehead, at the emotionless eyes before me. 

"You don't talk about yours, either," is all I can think to say. 

"That's true," he agrees. "But you didn't kill my father."

He references the hospital he burned that my dad was in. I swallow my saliva, unsure on what to say. 

"You saved several lives before that," the Doctor inside of me says, always trying to find excuses for things.

He lets out a soft 'hm.'

"No, I hadn't," he says. My eyebrows lower. "I killed my father when I was 16, when let out for something. He let them run those trials on me - he let them take me and lock me up. But they never told the public, they did not want to ruin my image."

My eyes widen slightly. His eyes look at my hair as he tucks a strand behind my ear, and I let him, as I stand close to somebody I should be afraid of.