𝐚𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚 [𝟏𝟖+]

Chapter 30

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𝐃𝐚𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐚 sighed, twirling a strand of hair against her index finger. Lucien approached her, "How are you feeling, bunny?" He asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and massaging her back. Dahlia was nervous, depressed, fearful of what's to come. They could both feel that Gerald was approaching, and they tried their best to fight through it.

She was, however, wearing thin. She struggled to eat, she struggled to sleep. She lost a measurable amount of weight, which caused Lucien's worries to progress. He was patient with her, and took on all of the tasks to let her rest. He hunted enough food for the both of them, he created a plan to fight off gerald, and he was there for her. 

Dahlia thought about her friends. She missed the sound of Oliver's laugh, and she missed Selma's maternal instinct. She knew she should be mad at Selma, but the only person she was mad at was herself. 

"Do you think we'll ever get out of here?" Dahlia chimed in, leaning on her back and staring up at the ceiling. Lucien looked at her, watching as the skin on her neck bobbed up and down as she swallowed back a cry. "Of course we will. I'll make sure we will." Lucien promised, and she smiled back at him for a moment. 

It was a pained smile, a forced smile. The young brunette found no joy in their situation, despite Lucien trying his best to make it comfortable for her. She was sick of being constrained to the old bed, and she was sick of not being able to take care of herself.

Losing her independance was a knife through the heart. Dahlia never had the privilege to depend upon anybody, in fact she always made a point of handling the challenges she faced all alone. She felt that if she ever let anybody in, if she ever let anybody look past the mask she continuously wore, they'd crack, and she'd crack with them. 

She was fortunately distrupted from her thoughts as Lucien cleared his throat to bring her attention to the dinner he prepared. She chuckled dryly. 

On the table was a singular cooked fish. The crust of the fish slightly charred, and the head of the fish still attached. It would be fair to say Lucien wasn't the best cook. You can't expect him to be. He never had to cook for himself, or for anyone else. Lucien and Dahlia were different in that aspect. Dahlia, always providing for herself, and Lucien, always having someone provide for him. 

She accepted the lousy meal graciously, and kissed Lucien on the cheek as they both sat down. "Thank you, I know you tried your best." Dahlia smiled, and Lucien gasped dramatically, feigning hurt. 

"He could find us any time, you know?" Dahlia spoke with a mouthful of burnt salmon. Lucien bit his lip, "Yeah, I know. How much do you trust Oliver?"

"I trust him... a lot. He's my best friend, why?" The woman replied, squinting her eyes in suspicion. "Do you think he'd try to save you? I mean, if he somehow managed to show up here before Gerald.", Lucien asked, but it sounded more like a statement. Dahlia hummed in thought. Oliver was a good friend, but would he sacrifice his relationship with his father over this? Would he be the hero in this situation? 

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Oliver paced back and forth around his living room. Ryan was sat on the couch, staring up at the whiteboard in front of him. Oliver had scribbled a nonsense plan, and Ryan was convinced he was driving himself insane. "Look, why don't you go take a nap, and we can think about it after?" Ryan suggested, and Oliver looked at him like he had three heads. "A nap?!- You're a professor, think of something!" The disgruntled male exclaimed, and the older male shook his head. "I'm a professor of Demonology. I have no experience with crime!" He exclaimed back. 

Oliver huffed in defeat and slammed himself onto the couch next to Ryan. After a couple minutes of silence, he began snoring softly as he dozed off. Ryan chuckled quietly, and threw a blanket over Oliver before walking away. He walked into the kitchen, and poured himself a cup of coffee. 

'Did Gerald get to her?' He thought, his lips etching into a frown. They needed to scrap the plan, and try to find the couple as soon as possible. 

A few hours pass, and It's now early morning. Oliver woke up with an aggressive yawn, alerting Ryan. He stretched his arms out, and the older man walked into the room. "Did you think of anything?" Oliver asked, his voice still drowsy with sleep. "Dahlia must've left a trail of blood from her gunshot wound, I say we follow the trail." Ryan suggested.

"What, like Hansel and Gretel?" Oliver yawned, and he nodded. "Well, It's better than the plan I made. Holy fuck." Oliver commented as he looked up at the whiteboard. Ryan chuckled, "I say we get down to Calloway and follow the trail."