Desiree woke up, not too much later, extremely uncomfortable. Still a bit dizzy, she had to use the wall to help her stand up, and then leaned heavily with her shoulder on the plush surface to remain that way. The room seemed darker than it had been before, but maybe it was just because she couldn't make it stay still. Feverishly, she shuffled her way over to the door, panting through her mouth with hot breath at that small bit of exertion. One shaking hand scratched her head, and came away with a fairly large clump of brown hair that was rather wet at the base. Seeing the bright red color on her hands, she dropped it quickly and touched her head in the spot it had come from, feeling a small, stinging patch that was completely clear. She fell to her hands and knees, entire body shaking violently and heaving up the small bit of food in her stomach. Was this all a feverish delusion? What was real and what wasn't? Just how sick was she?
With one last dry heave, she quickly scooted away from the mess she had made, hugging her legs to her chest and trying to control her breathing. Her heart rate was sky rocketing and panic was turning slowly to shock. Dry and hoarse whimpers escaped her throat almost like wheezes, uncontrollable and pathetic. It was starting to feel like everything was itching, but to frightened by what had just happened to her head, she dug her nails into her arms instead, unintentionally drawing blood with her nails.
It was this pitiful state that someone lab worker found her in upon approaching the cell. Desiree didn't even look up, completely oblivious to everything as her eyes glazed over and she withdrew to some inner sanctum. Whoever it was forced some aspirin into her by placing it in her mouth and coaxing her to swallow with a glass of water, just to lower her fever. When they were done, they left behind a change of clothes and a plate of light food, just some juice, toast, and a slightly browned banana. At some point they cleaned up the mess since it was so near the door, likely just to avoid stepping in it. However, with that she was alone again, still shaken but slowly returning to reality.
She couldn't... no, she
wouldn't let this get to her. Some psycho was likely relishing in her pain. She could quite pick out a camera in the room, but she would bet dollars to donuts that it was there. Her breathing was still shaking, but she inhaled deeply, held it a moment, and slowly released the air. Feeling slightly calmer, she rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the fuzziness of the things around her and return the room to its former bright state, but nothing changed. Assuming it was whatever drug they may have given her, she did her best to accept that it was normal for the moment. Glancing at the items left for her, she scooted over to them and started to nibble at the toast. The moment she swallowed, though, it felt like her stomach twisted inside of her, though not from nausea. In fact, it was like the bit of food had reminded her just how hungry she really was. The toast disappeared in an instant, washed down with juice, followed by the banana. Yet the hunger continued to gnaw at her.
Doubting she would be able to convince them to give her any more food for a while, she decided to divert her attention, think about something besides the hunger and the itching over her entire body. There was a set of clean clothes sitting there, a bit different from her plain purple t-shirt and leather jacket with jeans. They'd even been nice enough to give her fresh underwear, which was good to see considering how sweat drenched she felt. Although the fever was breaking unnaturally quickly, she was still a bit woozy, which would make it difficult to change. Then again, the difficulty would make a good distraction. Moving cautiously slow to a less conspicuous corner, out of sight of the window, she began to remove the sweaty clothes and use the t-shirt as a rag to wipe down with. She was still bound to smell of B.O., but at least she would feel a bit better. The new stuff wasn't quite sized for her it seemed, however. The wasn't quite her type but it did it's job, the sweater that reminded her a lot of her lost Zweilous was far too big, especially for being a boat-neck style, and the tights were a bit too small, making the stylistic rips a bit worse. Despite it being foreign and not exactly proper, something about the oversized sweater made her feel more secure, hugging it's warmth to her and fighting off the shivers. It was enough that she felt she could try and stand and make her way to the door. Though still week, she managed to make it there and look out at the others. She was in a new location, but she saw the face of one of the girls they had dragged away earlier. She could kind of make out the form of another person in a nearby cell, but it was strange and gaseous. But perhaps that was her still blurred eyesight.
"Hey," she spoke hoarsely, trying to draw someone's interest and perhaps start a conversation. One hand absently scratched at her midsection through the fabric of the sweater, completely unaware of the coarse fur beginning to sprout there.