London Institute For The Mentally Ill (An Infernal Devices Fanfic)

XI

C/w: graphic depiction of rape.
A/n: Words are not enough for putting this on hiatus for 3 months. I had no idea my senior life would suck academically speaking.

Every staff inside the facility were gathered in the main hall.

Tessa was just finishing her coffee before she got notified about it. Caffeine still pumping hard and fresh on her veins, she walked briskly. Part of her wants to know what is going on out of pure curiosity. Maybe the asylum has an elite visitor of sorts?

She can hear the whispers from her fellow nurses as they trudged along the hall. From what she can make based on what she heard, it seems like the asylum is apparently for sale. To whom, exactly? Everyone is wondering the same thing.

Maybe they are indeed going to greet an elite visitor with intentions of buying the property. Whatever happened to this Mr and Mrs. Branwell, she wasn't sure either. She felt bad for her now friend Sophie. She can totally see that she is attached to the Branwells whoever they might be. Either she stays here and serve a new master, or she leaves and remain loyal to Branwell. Tessa isn't sure what option does she like.

Everyone is cramped in the rather small main hall, bodies pressed tightly to one another, forming lines on either side of the doorway as if they were honoring a king. Sophie ushered them to the lines upon arriving. The poor girl had dark eyebags under her eyes, a few strands of her hair coming off loose from her tight bun. Despite all that and her sloppy make up, she looked okay.

Once everything was said and done, Sophie quickly instructed them. She was standing tall at the end of the line, facing the doorway. "I need all of your enthusiasm in greeting our guest good morning." She rapidly said. "He goes by Mr. Mortmain by the way."

Mortmain.

Upon hearing the name, Tessa felt a lump well in her throat. She felt her body go stiff; the slightest movement in her fingers, however, causes it to shake. She instantly regretted drinking the coffee. Her heart wants to get out of her chest, hammering wildly, loudly.

She should get out of here.

She can always say that she needs to use the restroom. She isn't much of a liar,  but it can actually become true anyway. Her churning stomach wants to get her breakfast out of her body as soon as possible.

Every part of her wants to get out of here.

So she totally should.

But she thought of Nathaniel. Nathaniel, who took her under his wing after their aunt's death. Nathaniel, who paid for her studies, her meals, her every want and need. Nathaniel, who could lose his job because of her disobedience.
Nathaniel, who, upon losing his job, will probably lash out on her. They always do.

She fought the urge to flee and breathe. She counted mmentally hoping to drive the black spots dancing in her vision away. Before she could succeed, however, the worst came.

There he was, in all his glory. Mr. Mortmain in a dark suit entering the hallway, an aura of regal and power around him. Everyone's greetings drowned out of her ears, where her blood is roaring. She felt her eyes go warm not only out of fear but also out of anger. She felt herself balling her fists in an attempt to still herself. She can see the fascinated look on the eyes of the other staff. She can hear the little gasps from their mouths. Mr. Mortmain might have passed off as hot in their standards, with his primal looks out of his messy hair and shaven beard complimented by his buffy physique. For a man in his thirties, he sure can still pass off five, seven years younger.

To Tessa, that beauty other people see is a mask, a facade. He is a monster. She can see from the dreamy gazes of the women around her that they envision a happy ending with him.