𝑻𝑽𝑫 & 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑶𝒀𝑺 𝑰𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 & 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒔

11. Enzo St.John

~Augustine, 1953~

As if being sold out by one of your closest friends wasn't bad enough; but being injected with vervain and tossed onto the grimy, stone floor of a dank cell was the cherry on top of a perfect day.

You shifted a little under the weight of your fading unconsciousness- the sound of the barred door closing and the clanging of metal ringing in your ears as Whitmore slipped his keys into the pocket of his coat and made his way back down the hall.

Your head was spinning; practically throbbing as you managed to set yourself up, leaning against the wall as you took in your surroundings with hazy vision. Who would have thought that your one night off would end with a kidnapping?

"Welcome." A deep, masculine voice rasped, seemingly coming from the small, barred grate that sat at the bottom of the wall next to you.

"Dr Whitmore never gets tired of watching us vampires heal." The name slid from his tongue as if it were acid burning his mouth. "The name's Enzo." He greeted solemnly, offering his hand through the grate.

He hadn't yet had the chance to see who his new neighbour was. So when your clearly more feminine hand accepted the gesture and shook his own, he was taken quite aback— his bravado halting as his heart stuttered in his chest.

"Y/N." You greeted.

>>

Over the years, Augustine had been home to dozens upon dozens of vampires. However, the compound was yet to have any female test subjects. So lucky you, being the very first, were in for the brunt of the deal.

Enzo knew this.

And it was exactly why he had decided to take you under his wing.

>>

You had a week before Whitmore returned from his trip and started up his workshop of horrors once again.

And in that time, you'd learnt about Enzo's background before Augustine- about him. The week was a haven of fragile laughs exchanged between cell bars and hopeful attempts of distracting each other from reality.

In all but that one week, though taking into regard your needs for companionship in such dire straits, you had grown quite fond of your charming cellmate. The thought of not being alone makes you feel more comfortable than you should have been.

>>

The familiar sound of the steel door scraping against the stony ground as it squeaked open hit Enzo's ears. He could practically visualize Whitmore making his way toward your cells with his lab coat and sick smile alike.

He sighed, groaning as he sat himself up from his place sprawled on the ground.

"It sounds like Mr Hyde has made his return." He grumbled with an exasperated breath. "Whether or not there was ever a Dr Jekyll, we'll never know." He joked darkly.

"Enzo." You gulped fearfully, almost in a whisper. His ears perked up at the worry in your voice.

With no intention of making any sudden movements, you shuffled back feebly, the sound of the gravel under your feet reaching his ears as he too, moved over to the small grate that separated you.

"Don't worry, gorgeous." He assured, "You're new; it'll be another week before all the blood's out of your system. He wouldn't dare risk anything before then."

He wanted nothing more than to tell you everything would be fine, or that he wouldn't let anything happen to you. But he couldn't make that promise, no matter how much he wished he could.

But having another week until Whitmore began his sick experiments on you was the most comforting thought he could fathom. So he held onto it.

>>

The heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, coming to an abrupt stop at your cell doors as the figure you feared so greatly began fiddling with his keys.

"As much as I've missed these little bonding moments of ours," Enzo spoke sarcastically, "I wouldn't have minded if your trip had been extended."

"Wit won't get you anywhere, Lorenzo." The doctor quipped absentmindedly. "Not to worry though," He smirked knowingly, "I'm letting you off today. I think it's about time I started a new project."

Enzo's eyes widened and his stomach turned at the insinuation. Even on the edge of desiccation, he could hear your irregular breathing as your cell door creaked open and the self-proclaimed Doctor headed inside with a vervain syringe in hand.

"Don't you touch her!" His voice boomed as he hauled himself up to the bars with all the strength he could muster. His eyes were wild, and if the breaths pushing at his chest had been any more rapid, they'd surely have been able to fill a hot air balloon.

A small grunt escaped your lips as Whitmore pushed the syringe into your neck, lifting you to your feet and roughly ushering you out of the cell in your weak state. The bars clanged as Enzo hit the rusting metal with balled fists.

"I'll kill you." He spoke through gritted teeth, his grim stare being more warning than any words. But with as little as a sideways glance, Whitmore had pulled you away, down the hall, and into the dreaded room, Enzo knew all too well.

>>

Enzo's hands tore through his hair, running down his face and covering his ears as your screams traced through the walls of the building. He had returned to his place on the floor, his legs too weak to keep himself standing as he tried to block out the sounds. You were being tortured, and there was nothing he could do.

It ate away at him, and it hurt; worse than when he was being tortured himself. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, he didn't know what to do.

>>

Hours had passed before Whitmore decided to call it a night and carted your bruised and bloody figure back down to the cells.

Enzo's ears perked up at the sound of the door opening, and he scrambled over to the grate as the doctor let you collapse onto the floor. Then, without a care in the world, locked the door, turned on his heel, and left.

"Y/N." His voice was a sombre hum of concern as he peered through the bars. You lay just in reach, your skin speckled with sweat and blood. Craning his arm through the opening, he brushed the hair from your face and assessed the damage done.

Blood trickled from the corners of your closed eyes and down your jaw; the same evidence of suffering staining the fabric of your shirt. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.

"We're gonna get out of here. Both of us." He spoke solemnly, his fingers tracing your cheek as his thick accent travelled through your ears.

He'd never really had a reason to break out of Augustine; to escape. But now he had you.

"I promise."

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