She thought not being bothered by Michaela would be a blessing, but it left a weird feeling in her gut. To the point where she actually tried to text her with no reply. She remembered Reagan saying she was doing the same to her, and it was.. odd. Not that they were friends, anyways. So it didn’t matter. When Reagan started giving her the same treatment, however, she started to get increasingly more paranoid that something had happened. Two people around her suddenly going missing? It was weird.
Especially with her father.. She shook the thought out of her head, thanked the person handing her the coffee she’d ordered, and left the cafe. Barely two blocks on the way back to the dorms, she felt her head splitting open against bricks and many hands on her, injecting her full of burning poison.
One blink later and she was staring at her own blood dripping down from her arms and legs. Another blink and she forced to drink something warm that tasted like acid. More bleeding, more acid. She vaguely remembered some chanting and tried to summon some sort of magic to combat it – But nothing. The next lucid moment was being literally thrown into a room, with two other bodies. Two bodies she recognized. Her teeth ached with hunger at the smell of Reagan’s blood, so she went to Michaela first, who looked noticeably more sick than the other. “Wh- What’s going on? Where are we?”
It hadn’t even been a week since Reagan joined The Pack and she was already in some life threatening predicament. Just her luck. She should’ve known before joining, before telling them she was all-in. But she wanted something more than her band and their groupies, as selfish as that was. She wanted a sense of family. Unfortunately, that sense of family apparently meant getting knocked over the head by a stranger after one of her shows and then dragged to a cell.
It’d been a few days since her capture and even more since Michaela. And they both looked awful. When she first arrived, Reagan didn’t have it in her to ask what they did to her. The smell of vomit in the corner, the blonde’s disheveled appearance, the blood everywhere. The withdrawals. It made her too sick to ask Michaela much more than what she could do to help. – which, was nothing. She didn’t have magic, she wasn’t a vampire, and the full moon seemed so far off.
By the time another person was thrown in, Reagan was very well aware of what they did to Michaela, having endured some of it herself. Turns out, she didn’t need to ask. She was curled up in the opposite corner from Michaela, as if the short distance was going to do anything to keep her from eating her when she got desperate for blood enough. At the sound of a familiar voice, she managed to look up and her heart sank. Not her too. Her chest filled with even more dread and pure, utter fear. Despite that, she managed a weak, insincere hint of a smile when she went to Michaela first. It made sense, after it clicked in her brain that she was probably hungry, just like the blonde. Still, she couldn’t help it. “Should I be offended you went to her first?”
The days blurred since Michaela had been yanked off the streets. She remembered chains soaked in vervain, burning her flesh until it felt like she would never get the smell out of her nose. There were experiments, no- torture. Her throat was raw from screaming, her brain scrambled from the pain and the insatiable hunger for the high. Reagan was dumped in to cell after she was, though the blonde had no way of knowing just how long it had been. Her first thought was maybe Natalia had gotten her too. Maybe this was her thing. Reel them in and sell them out.
They didn’t talk much, just a few short words exchanged here and there. Michaela was too afraid to ask what happened, and with one or both of them getting dragged out of the cell at all hours, there wasn’t a lot of downtime.
She heard the door scrape open even if her eyes were closed. She had become intimately familiar with that sound, learning to associate it with the deep unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her wounds had stopped healing one or two nights ago, and had Michaela had the energy, she might have already torn out Reagan’s throat. Footsteps came closer, an urgency to them, and the blonde peeled her eyes open before she shrank back when she recognized the figure, aggravating the wounds that had only just begun to scab over. “No.. please, no more...”
