Sometimes I was conscious, and sometimes I wasn't. I was in a car, still in the back seat and Damon locked the door, covered me up before he went to get something to eat and he kept his surroundings in the eye so no Sark would get me this time. Only goddamn Damien.
Damon would stop somewhere in between to eat and go and give me a shot in the arm, and then nothing. When I finally started to come to a little more, I realized a lot of things at once.
I was not in the car anymore. I was in the house. I didn't feel so well. I had a myriad of symptoms and was feeling unwell. It took some time for me to awaken properly so I could get an idea of why I was feeling so terrible.
I was lying on the bed. I felt weak. I opened my eyes to see where I was. I started to make sense of the symptoms and diseases that I had been injected with.
I'm cold. I can't breathe properly. It hurts everywhere. I was feeling generally weak; my stomach was hurting. Oh, the symptoms. Let's start thinking about what could be. And what they would have meant for my life.
The first one: Cold, aha, malaria. It's an enduring favorite and a fucking disease. So I would get a high fever. Inability to move, or do anything other than shake wildly, and feeling very ill as my red blood cells would be destroyed too. This always caused quite severe anemia, and it took time for me to get over it.
Then the second one: I can't breathe. What could this be, maybe lung cancer, but I don't cough up phlegm. So it is more like probably COPD. I've had that in the past, too. So my breathing and oxygen absorption are ineffective. Meaning I need to get my oxygen in another way. That is, absorb it straight from the air, not needing lungs for that my oxygen would absorb from my mouth starting with, my throat, every cell that would come to contact with oxygen would ensure that I had enough it. I could stop breathing, so this was not the problem.
Third was quite easy too: Rheumatoid arthritis is the pain I recognized. It would make my moving not so easy and my overall feeling too. Not so easy to eat when your fingers are stiff, sore, and not moving so well. Or dress myself. Somehow I didn't see Damien being husband of the year and helping me with everyday chores with these symptoms and diseases. So I would have to fend off myself. Not so easy and what would then be his teaching, in what way he would take me to shed? Somehow I knew that was gonna happen.
The fourth one gave me quite nasty stomach pain... some chronic stomach disease, Crohn's, or something. So no eating, or if I eat, these would be consequences, Angelus, Spike and Drusilla busted my implant, so there would be no use, but it is fine. We don't eat so much. What I knew from Crohn's was that what they could eat, was almost everything that had no value to me, so I would get even thinner. Fine, we will see what comes to that heat. I might be in too bad a state to keep any kind of heat.
The Fifth one: Fine. I looked at my skin, and there were clear bruises, which I recognized. At least I'm a doctor. Leukemia. Oh, how wonderful! This would take away my blood cells, and my immune defense, too. This would weaken me quite a lot. Even though I knew that dipping myself in salt water, could be broken, I knew that I would not have the chance of that to happen.
So Leukemia would render me even more anemic and lack of my other blood cells too, my blood would be quite weak. And because of the Crohns, no blood drinking, as my stomach would probably not tolerate that. So I would get huge bloodlust once I would get better.
The sixth one: The squeezing chest pain was probably coronary artery disease. Meaning, no fast movement, no any kind of stress or sports. Even though I knew I could survive without a pulse, the pain would be too much for me to bear as I was unable to get to my rage, I was not sure if I had been given some rage blocker or did Damien had learned to keep my rage in the bundle too. Or stop me from accessing it.
So now I knew what diseases would ravage me in the upcoming weeks. One day, I swore to myself, that Bran would get what was coming to him and with interest. I would personally ensure that. All of his little manipulations would be revealed and then, Adam and the boys would see what kind of twisted monster Bran had become over the centuries.
How he loves to hurt me and see me as the victim. Why does everyone want to see me weak? Am I so strong that they just need to strike me down, or is it that I am a woman? Aren't women supposed to be this strong, or is it because I am unique, my own unique species, and is this partially motivated by fear of the unknown? I had no idea, and I knew that I needed to try to get on moving, to get use of these diseases so I could cope to the best of my ability.
I tried to sit up. My stomach wasn't so full anymore, and I didn't even feel the effects of the jelly. I was in one of the guest rooms downstairs, apparently. I hadn't an idea how long I had been out, long enough for diseases to come on properly so I would be weakened already. I got to sit up by the edge of the bed., soon I could get on moving. Then I heard footsteps approaching.
The smell of wet dog and cold, emotionless clinical gaze crushed my faint hope that Damon would have gotten on the surface as Damien walked into the room.
He came closer, his voice was enjoyable as he sneered at me, "Morning, baby. Are you feeling good? The symptoms, the symptoms, but don't worry. Look, I'm not doing this exactly as Bran planned. The symptoms will stop in the days I put them on just for the sight, and they'll make you a little weak. Once again, you haven't been taking care of yourself, but that's okay. I'll get you through six weeks. Your heat is on pause, but when it will return, I don't know. Maybe your body still won't be in the heat after these 6-8 weeks. But we'll see. Come on, let's take a walk. "
He came by me, took my hand, and helped me to stand.
Damon walked me around the house. He kept his grip on me and walked me at that pace so that my heartache would come on. I would gasp out of pain and not focus on breathing, but starting to try to get some air in my lungs. He knew exactly how to make these symptoms come on, as worse than possible, so they would spend my strength even more and my fitness, too.
He watched intently, his eyes fixated on my every move. The aroma of food wafted through the air as he led me into the kitchen, but my Crohn's disease prevented me from indulging. Despite this, he placed a plate in front of me, but each bite only brought a piercing stomach ache that left me trembling and immobile.
The fever of malaria soon crept in, causing shivers to run down my spine as my temperature soared. With my blood supply dwindling, dizziness and weakness consumed me.
Helpless and in excruciating pain, I lay on the sofa, defenseless against his sadistic pleasure. There was no mercy in his eyes as he relished in my suffering. When the worst of the fever subsided, I mustered the strength to rise, but he returned, forcefully pulling me up and keeping a tight grip.
We embarked on another endless walk until the symptoms became so severe that I could no longer move. My attempts to speak were met with silence as if my vocal cords had been paralyzed. He had ensured that I was silent. Oh, I hated that syringe. I was weak, limp, and tired, not by force, but by my own exhaustion.
Within a few days, I had transformed into a mere skeleton. He showed no concern; he had his twisted enjoyment to look forward to and to ensure I could endure his torment in the shed for the next six weeks; he made sure to weaken me thoroughly.
As we walked, he spoke incessantly, boasting about how he manipulates Bran time and time again. He exploits Damon's telepathic abilities to infiltrate Bran's mind, earning his trust. He acknowledged the risk of Bran discovering his deception and mistakenly blaming Damon instead.
After three grueling days, the symptoms began to subside. Damien approached me, his voice filled with irritation as I lay on the sofa, slightly more alert but still worn out. Fatigue consumed me.
He sneered, "Now, my dear, now we can truly begin. In the shed, I will treat you as you deserve, and then we will see what fate has in store for you. Let's see if you will be in any shape to get in heat. I have no idea why you were in heat in the first place, nor I don't care. But Bran does, you see. He really hates it when Damon takes you to the Azores. And you have heat there. He wants to be part of your heat. I have no idea why. Is he just so horny, an old twisted creature or what?"
I got up to sit. He looked at me like I would be just a piece of meat.
He looked at the floor and said, "Some day, baby, I will reveal all to you, I promise that. I will tell you what are those bags that I have dripping you, and why, and what is going to happen. You might be in some sort of surprise there and see that as twisted as I am, I am not an actual monster. Bran is. He truly is and maybe one day, baby, you will learn to love me too. To look at me the same way as you looked at Damon when you were madly in love. I might not be able to do the same to you, not at first, but in time, I might learn."
Despite what he was saying, there was no emotion in his eyes and my pretender side of the truth in his words. He truly believed that. Fine, I am never gonna love this version. This was truly evil, but I kept my mouth shut, my expression neutral. Even I wanted to save right about every other human and when was imprisoned in a medical facility, I always held on, not wanting to kill, to maim but my rage blew open and I did kill them.
But I had no will to even try to save Damien. I wanted him gone. I did not want his love, or his manipulation, because this was right away very creepy and he was becoming a real stalker, who had an obsession with me. He truly believed that he could learn to love me or get me to love him.
That would never happen and I knew I was nowadays pretty foolproof when it came to brainwashing or programming some programming could be effective for a short time, if it would be done over a brutally and long time while keeping me weak and sedated but It would not be stuck, I would get rid of it, so even if he tried to manipulate my mind, either using drugs or Damons' telepathy, he was not so good with that.
To influence me, well it would happen with honey, not with vinegar and this one had no will to treat me properly, his gaze was cold as ever, he was getting ready for his enjoyment in the shed, and after that, who knows what would happen. When we would have a good time with Damon, who I loved and wanted to be with.
I had no idea will there would be in European tour, meaning world-saving at some point, or will yet another demon or black witch ring the doorbells and do something to this pack. Or when and if I get better, is it just my work that will take me? And who I will lose next if I am going to go on missions? Will there be yet another painful trip to Lake Lanier at some point and no hope for a better future?
Sometimes I felt like we had done nothing to stop these guys, but then again, Rob or Jake, Magnum, even Murdock reminded me how much I had done. But now I would not be a flea for some time. I would be a victim. First by Damien's brutality and his twisted experiment and then Bran's little fucktoy, who he would impregnate time after time. Until I could not take it anymore.
What shape I would be in then? Could I have someone to help me? How long would be my recovery? my straps? How come one could recover from that? Would Adam help? or Charles? Or if Bran would say to them that I broke the rules, and that was my punishment. Would they believe him?
My desperation about my future made me want to even try to fight back. I was sitting on a sofa. Damon had gone to sit on one of the armchairs, to look at me, watching me, to wait for me to do something. I was too weak to even try my teleportation, and I hadn't done it since that one time. So no hope there.
I made a fist, slowly, as to assess my ability to hit. I was dizzy, weak, and anemic, but I had even a small spark to try to act. It was better than just lying down and letting him torture me. At least I would have to try to do something about things. I kept my expression neutral and tried to come up with a plan. Fine, I will try to escape to the kitchen, get a knife, and do some real damage to Damon. I could feel actually a slight ache in my sinuses, meaning I was making a little poison for him. Good job. It would be so helpful and might give an edge too.
Desperate to escape, I made a feeble attempt to flee, but the symptoms, although lessened, still held me captive. I got up to stand and started to walk up to kitchen, too slowly. I could hear him walking behind me, enjoying this little hunt, my last act of defiance. Damon effortlessly caught me, turning my body to face him. He gripped my neck, breaking my vertebrae, and held on for a moment, ensuring I understood my fate. Then he released his grip, and darkness enveloped me.