𝐚𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚 [𝟏𝟖+]

Chapter 8

𝐃𝐚𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐚 wakes up suddenly, groaning at her loud alarm as she wipes her eyes. She gets up lazily and looks in the mirror, where she nearly jumps in shock because of how bad she looks. Her eyelids are puffy from crying all night, and dark purple circles form under her eyes. Her lips are dry and cracking, and her head is pounding from the vicious and unforgiving hangover. Pushing aside all of her problems, she begins to beat her face with makeup, desperate to cover last night's telling of what happened. She semi-successfully manages to drown out her dark circles using concealer, and she distracts from her puffy eyelids using dark eyeshadow. Giving herself a small hum of approval, she begins to get dressed in the most comfortable attire she can find, the outfit being a pair of black flare leggings and a baggy band t-shirt. Lazily slipping on a pair of white sneakers, she grabs her bag and makes her way through the door. As she walks the halls, she sees Irene leaning against a wall and looking as guilty as ever. She ignores her, however, ignoring the heavy feeling on her heart and speed-walking out the door.

Dahlia realizes she left her car in the parkway at Calloway labs, and she sighs in frustration. She can no longer use her phone, because she woke up to it having stopped working completely, the screen pitch black. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and thinks of a plan. So far, she has 2 options. Option 1: She can ask to ride with irene. One problem, she fucking hates her and never wants to see her again. Option 2: She can just not go to work today. Both of these options are undesired, and she groans internally, before her face brightens as she sees Mr. Simmons and a third option begins brewing in her head.

"Hey, Mr. S." Dahlia grins, and leans next to him. He sighs in annoyance, "Dahlia, you know I don't like it when you call me that.". She says nothing in response and instead, looks at him with pleading eyes, "What, what could you possibly need at 9 in the morning?" He furrows his eyebrows, and crosses his arms over his chest as he looks at her. She raises her eyebrows, "Well, I had a bit of a mishap and I don't have my car, so I can't drive to my internship. Can you please take me? I know you have a few minutes before class." She pleads, making prayer hands as the man sighs and looks at her incredulously. "How do these things always happen to you, Winslow?" He shakes his head in amusement, yet gives in and decides to drive her.

"Yes! Thank you, I owe you one." She laughs in relief, and he cocks an eyebrow, "How about you just turn in your work?" He speaks, and she smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. They make their way out of the school, and to his car. She takes note of how polished and neat his car is, completely different from the state of his office. 'He must take care of his car more, probably one of those car-obsessed men.' She thinks to herself, and shrugs lightly. Stepping into his car, she takes a seat in the back and cringes at the intense and pungent smell of rosehip. She nearly chokes, and he notices this, frowning. "What, you don't like roses? I like to use a bit of rosehip essential oil in my car, it calms me." He explains, calmly. She coughs in response, plugging her nose, "A bit?! It smells like you used the whole bottle." She struggles, and he laughs in response. "Now you're just being dramatic."

They have a short, boring small-talk, and he brings up her internship. "So, how's Calloway Labs? Is it everything you imagined?" He asks, and she sighs, making him peer his head at her in curiosity, "Well, It's fine. The guy I work with is really nice, and Mr. Sullivan is nice too, the Demon is okay too, I guess." She shrugs, and he freezes. "Demon? They still use Demons? I thought they stopped doing that years ago." He furrows his eyebrows, and she tilts her head at him, "Huh? Why?" She asks, the topic suddenly piquing her curiosity. "Something about unethical Demon summoning, apparently Sebastian Sullivan didn't approve, so he cut out all use of Demons in Calloway. They shifted the narrative and turned it into a 'Haven for academic and scientific research on the topic of the underworld' using books and old findings, not Demons. But I guess they changed it back." Mr. Simmons explains, and Dahlia hums. "Sebastian Sullivan?" She asks, and he nods, "Yeah, Gerald Sullivan's father."