Well Hello

"Now, I must admit that I am partly to blame for what happened too." The ringing in your ears lessened to where you could hear his gentle voice, a murmur cast over his shoulder as he grabbed a tourniquet from the metal tray he had wheeled in across from you.

You blinked wearily, your senses slowly returning back to you. Victor had moved you into his office while you were unconscious. The chair that usually stood in front of his desk — the chair you frequently sat in to report any recent important calls and deliveries, was now in the centre of the room, and you were tied to it. Ankles bound to the antique wooden legs. Spine flushed to the rigid back with a leather strap digging into your ribs. Your right arm was secured at your side, your hand absently throbbing with minor pain. Your left arm was propped up on a pillow, another thick strap looping over your forearm, across your lap, then under the seat to secure it in place. You couldn't squirm, only slowly lift your head up to watch him saunter back over to you with a look in his eyes you couldn't see, nor possibly recognise if you could.

"You've been given too much work lately," He continued, unfazed by the growing panic that gradually seeped into your face.

A pale finger of his slid up your left arm, tracing a vein before following another, then another, carefully searching for what he desired from you. He brought the tourniquet around the top of your arm and pulled it painfully tight.

"Please, clench your fist for me." You did as you were told and a smile tugged at his cracked lips from your obedience.

His large finger returned to your skin and began to prod at a particular vein that bulged and throbbed under his touch. Victor kept still, feeling your blood pump through you. With the visor he had begun wearing lately whenever he was due to leave the clinic, you were unsure if he was currently looking at your arm or at your eyes. You weren't sure what was worse, his fascination with your blood or his fascination with your reaction. He cleared his throat all of a sudden, straightened and returned to the metal tray behind him, back turned to you once more.

"I should have expected you to be tired, what with not getting enough rest" —He held up a needle to the light and rolled his head onto his shoulder to look back at you from the corner of his eye— "but I did not expect you to carelessly shatter my research," He tutted, then shook his head.

Your brow furrowed at the reminder of your very recent bout of carelessness. A small box tossed down the stairs and he had caught you in the act of trying to tidy it away.

It was getting to be too much for you now. A nurse had fallen ill two weeks prior and with the remaining staff ever busy with their own work, your boss Dr Gideon called upon you to manage some of her work in her stead. Of course, you were no doctor or nurse, you were merely a hardworking receptionist—the only receptionist—now forced to rush blood and stacked papers between the other staff member's desks, all while juggling your own incoming calls and urgent emails. By the end of the first week, Victor had found you and chastised you for falling asleep at the front desk after your shift, before dumping three clipboards in front of you and telling you to make some use of yourself. By the end of the second week, you had spent two nights in a row at the hospital, trading your desk for sleeping in your car when you managed to drag yourself out the front door.

When you awoke this morning, a box greeted you, fragile written on each side. A note was also attached to it.

'For immediate storage'

You fished your phone from your pocket and groaned at the time that flashed up on your lock screen. It wasn't even five o'clock in the morning yet. Going against your better judgement, you decided to heave yourself up and deliver the box to where it needed to go, lest Victor spotted you dozing in the building once more. You assumed it had to be taken to the blood lab. Why did you have to store it and when did it even get here? Did someone drop by late last night to deliver it without bothering to wake you up? How embarrassing...

A yawn tore through you as you made a great effort to ascend the stairs of the lobby. The plan you crafted in your tired mind was to drop these off at the blood lab for those with actual medical knowledge to deal with later in the day. You had no idea where it was supposed to go anyway. It wasn't your job and nobody had bothered to enlighten you, not once. However, you unfortunately never managed to reach the top of the stairs in the lobby. During yet another mighty yawn, you foolishly decided to close your eyes and dramatically tilt you head back towards the ceiling. The toe of your shoe collided with the edge of the next step and the whole staircase instantly rushed up to meet you. You brain kicked into a sudden high gear and tossed the box in your hands to the side so you could clumsily catch yourself. Your body crashed into the marble and slid down a couple more steps before you finally came to a stop. You huffed out an anxious breath of relief. That would definitely leave a bruise or two on you somewhere.

Glass broke below you, the sound only now registering in your mind. Your eyes widened. Slowly, you turned your head to peer down at the box now resting on its side at the bottom of the stairs, lid thrown off, the casing inside dislodged, and all the vials of blood thrown about the floor. Some were cracked, most were completely smashed, but all were ruined. Twenty new vials of blood utterly ruined.

Without a second thought, you picked yourself up and hurried to the bottom of the stairs to try and clean up the mess you stupidly made. Without a broom nearby, you went to grab the lid to brush the broken glass into the box but recoiled in pain as there was broken glass lodged in the cardboard. You brought your sliced finger up to your face and winced at the blood freely flowing down the side of it and onto your thumb.

"Well," A calm voice drawled above you, "it seems you've had quite the accident, doesn't it?"

Your head whipped around to find Victor Gideon looming over you at the top of the stairs. He was dressed in his usual lab coat, but instead today he worse an odd visor or half-helmet over his eyes, something you had heard talk of from the staff but you weren't expecting something so oddly sci-fi looking. Immediately, you remembered the position you were now in.

"Dr Gideon" —you scrambled to your feet and glanced back down at the blood sprawling across the perfect floor— "I tripped and it slipped out of my hands, I must apologise." You played it over in your mind and cringed at how quickly this all happened.

"I can see that you tripped," He nodded slowly at you, spying the wound on your finger with curiosity. 

"I'll immediately look into where this shipment of samples came from and inform them that we require more and—" Victor raised a hand and shook his head to silence you.

"There's no need for that. It wouldn't be a good look for my care centre, now would it?"

You shook your head back at him, embarrassed. He started to descend the stairs towards you.

"No, it wouldn't," Victor let out a long sigh, saying the words for you.

He stopped on the last step behind you. He towered over you. The lack of open frustration towards you was highly unnerving. When he found you sleeping on the job, he openly shouted before falling into his usual mocking tone. You had a feeling your job was definitely on the line now.

"Lucky for us, though, I have an idea." In an instant his hand was around your throat.

Both of your hands flew upwards to tug fiercely at his wrist in a pathetic attempt to get him to release you. All you got was a single condescending tut as he lifted you off your feet and brought you to his chest. His grip tightened and you felt his nails dig into your pulse. The words you wanted to shout at him were forced out in weakening unrecognisable chokes and undignified grunts. Victor calmly shushed you, like you were a child he was lulling back to sleep after a nightmare and your vision finally grew fuzzy, then dark. There was nothing you could do but give up.

"It's best we get this over with before the others arrive." His grip loosened and he held you against himself for a second longer. There was enough time for you to replace what you broke and for him to clean up your mess before any of the staff noticed. 

Victor's eyes travelled from the blood on the floor to the blood he had seen on your hand. He used his free hand to take it in his own and lift it up to inspect it. Exhausted enough to trip and foolish enough to try and handle broken glass. If you hadn't piqued his interest at your first interview, he would have ordered you home and to not return without even thinking. Before finally slinging your unconscious body over his shoulder, Victor gently raised your finger to his lips and afforded himself one small taste of you. A smile spread across your skin but you weren't awake to feel it.

You blinked and realised he was now in front of you again. When your eyes caught the needle in his raised hand, you scrunched your face up and tilted your head away from the sight. Under the restraints, you felt your body jolt and twitch with nagging fear.

"Now, now. You've had blood taken before, your records state so. This is nothing new." Still he continued to speak to you like you weren't currently tied up after he choked you. It was far too professional and disturbingly casual.

A cold hand brushed your cheek and your body went rigid at the touch.

"I won't hurt you," Victor bent down to whisper to you. "Not unless you make me."

A gentle chuckle left him as he stood back up to take a hold of your arm. You winced at the sharp scratch of the needle breaking your skin and sinking deep into his vein of choice. Though you resolved to keep your gaze away, you remained acutely aware of the sound of him attaching a new bottle onto the end of the needle.

"You may unclench your fist as well," He noted playfully.

Your palm stung from where you had been digging your nails into the skin. You could only hope they weren't bleeding.

Victor began quietly humming to himself as he changed every filled vial out with an empty one. You counted each pop and click of the old being removed and the new being connected. You kept your breathing steady, staring at the wall of his office intently in a pretty good attempt at keeping yourself grounded and warding off any rising panic. It'll be over soon. But still your left arm began to tremble without your control.

"You're doing so well." Victor's voice startled you. It was so uncomfortably soft and reassuring.

Over the agonisingly long blood draw, the tray was gradually filled with the new vials containing your blood. You counted the nineteenth vial being attached onto the needle and you held back your tears of relief at the fact you were nearing the end.

Victor watched your blood effortlessly flow into the clear tube with rapt attention and a brimming sense of glee. If he wanted to, he could drain you of much, much more. Watch the blood ooze out of you and study it to his heart's content. Study it. Experiment on it. Corrupt it. There was so many things he could do and he wanted so desperately to try them all. But alas, such kisses of self-indulgent desires would leave you far more exhausted than you already were currently. He needed the blood, but he also needed a functioning receptionist as well. He removed the second-to-last one from the needle, deposited it on the tray and brought the final one over to connect it back up. Unfortunately, Victor himself was apparently losing his focus in the early hours of the morning as well. The back of his hand bumped into the needle in your arm and easily dislodged it with a violent hiss.

Pain tickled your forearm and you felt the needle be removed by Victor. Warmth spread down your arm and around your elbow. It was slick and gathered in your open, twitching palm. You forced yourself to keep your gaze at the wall.

"I do apologise. It appears I knocked the needle slightly, an easy mistake considering the hour." Your heart rate picked up when you realised Victor was making no quick attempt to stem the flow of your bleeding.

"Am I okay?" The panicked words practically tumbled from your tongue.

"Yes, yes, you are quite alright" —The tourniquet was finally removed from your arm— "and it's from the pressure. It looks much worse than it is."

Without thinking it through, your head rolled back over to see for yourself what he had done to you. Blood coated your forearm, it pooled in your hand and you felt it had overflown and dripped between your fingers and onto the floor. You tried to move your arm and felt the red soaked pillow stick to your skin. A sterile cloth was then placed over where the needle had torn your skin and Victor left it there to soak up the blood.

"Now, I know what you must be thinking," He regarded you by name, "but you won't be let go after this." His words came as genuine shock to you.

"I... I won't?" Part of you wanted to doubt it so you never had to step foot into this building ever again.

"Of course not, you replaced what you lost us and nobody will ever know it happened." Victor practically cooed at you as he removed the now soaked cloth to hold in his open hand. "This will be our little secret."

If he wasn't going to fire you, then once you had been released you would be leaving by yourself.

Suddenly, though, Victor tilted his head at you, like he had heard your very thoughts and his playful smile sagged into a thin, pursed line. His head dipped down, eyes behind the visor scanning the crimson webbing spreading throughout the fibres of the fabric in his hand. The calloused skin of his thumb dragged a heavy line through the centre, the pressure enough to force some of the blood to dribble out the sides of the cloth and onto his shoe.

"But you're just another... normal person, aren't you?" He saw your features scrunch slightly with returning worry. "You see, I am so close to finding the person I have been after for so long and I can't let you report this... incident, and get my centre into trouble." Something bubbled in his chest as he spoke and a distinct rasp crept into his voice as he continued to ease into casual threats towards you.

"The easiest option would be to dispose of you" —He threw his other hand up when your face suddenly contorted at such a comment— "but I do not wish to do that." The way he slowly said you name as the stern note in his voice melted into one if amusement, it made you shiver.

Victor watched you avert your eyes again when he brought the damp cloth to his nose and breathed in deep and slow. Such intoxicating blood. His forked tongue poked out between his lips and brushed against the fabric lightly. Then, his eyes fell to the blood still on your arm and in your hand, the edges of it already crusted.

"I will give you the day off and you will return tomorrow morning. You will speak to nobody about this, not even the police." That subtle edge of venom slid out of his throat again and Victor delighted in how you tensed and flinched when his voice barely rumbled. "Don't even try. I would know if you did."

The floorboards creaked as he lowered himself onto one knee, dropped the tainted rag of blood and now chose to hold the back of your turned over hand in his palm. The legs of your chair squeaked momentarily from your sudden jolt as Victor kissed your bloodied palm and parted his lips to silently suck on your blood. A wicked smile grew on his face, drinking in both your taste and your body jolting to the side once more upon audibly swallowing the blood in his mouth. He brought his other hand up to press two fingers against the pulse on your neck.

"If you did... I would come find you." Victor's mouth sank back down to suck at the blood still coating your fingers, swiftly sliding his tongue between each digit to ensure every drop was tasted.

He couldn't help but chuckle to himself when his second swallow was followed by the chair legs grinding and bouncing against the floor. The remaining fingers around your neck spread out wide and pushed down on your collarbone. It wouldn't keep you in place but the uncomfortable pressure gave you enough pause, anticipating another choking, for him to secure an easy third helping of you.

"And I would have you bleed more of your delectable blood for me." After that, he no longer stopped to make a show of swallowing your delicious blood. Instead, Victor eagerly gulped down every drop and his tongue lapped at the blood and his lips sucked on the surface of your skin, working their way up your forearm to the tiny tear in your arm.

He could feel your blood pound under his fingers and if he weren't making such noises against your arm, he could possibly be able to hear your little heart beating all too quickly. It excited him to no end. He found himself gradually leaning against your leg, surprising himself with the fleeting feeling of friction against his crotch.

"Do you understand me?" He breathed, pulling himself up for air to stare directly at you.

You nodded quickly, eyes squeezing shut in terror.

"Say it," Victor demanded, voice now cold, that bulge against your leg more and more apparent as the seconds ticked by.

You forced your eyes open to search the far wall for the correct string of words you carelessly lost in the depths of your fear. Your mouth hung open, panicked breaths the only thing escaping.

"Say it!" His voice boomed in your ears and you felt ashamed about the whimper that left you.

"I-I understand!" You affirmed, voice shaky.

The hand on your neck retreated away to wipe your blood from his lips, though you still saw a red glint on his gold teeth.

"Good... Good..." He too sounded as breathless as you.

He rose to his feet and retrieved the discarded cloth from the floor and shoved it into his pocket, turned his back to you, then focused back on the vials of blood he momentarily forgot about. Nineteen was enough for what he needed, so he began to wheel the small cart to the door of his office.

"I'll leave you hear too calm down. Blood tests can be very anxiety inducing for some patients." His gentle, teasing tone returned and part of you was relieved to hear it. "I'll see these to their proper place, clean up your mess, then let you go home for some sleep."

Without another word nor a single lingering hesitation, Victor turned and left the room like nothing had happened. Your head flopped back and tears weakly threatened to sting the corners of your eyes, exhaustion overpowering any want to fully cry at this moment in time. You'll save your inevitable breakdown for when you returned back to the relative safety of your home. You did not want to give Victor any chance of satisfaction from your tears.