She didn’t know which was the worse - waking up to the hum of the fluorescent lights coming to life or the guard’s double rap on the door with the wooden nightstick.  “Time to get up.  Dr. Nowak wants to see you ay-es-ay-pee,” ordered the man who stood outside her door all night, presumably to keep her from escaping.<br/><br/>Groaning about the double wake-up call, she rolled over to bury her face into Reed’s chest.<br/><br/>Reed wasn’t there.<br/><br/>He hadn’t been there for over a year.<br/><br/>Tears welled in her eyes as she faced the same realization she’d had to face every single morning since that fateful day.<br/><br/>Reed was dead.<br/><br/>Clara swore she could still smell traces of his scent in his pillow.  Smushing her face into the pillow hard enough to suffocate a person, she searched for that lingering smell of the man who had been her better half, her mate.<br/><br/>“Now, sweetheart.”  The guard rapped harder on her door.  Anger flashed in her eyes as she forced herself out of bed to get dressed and head to the lab.<br/><br/>The tests were the worst part.  The constant poking and prodding and being forced to give blood before submitting to scans and exams had a way of wearing on a person.  The medical procedures were a regular part of her life; she had never known differently.  As a child, it had been simple enough to accept that this was just the way things were but now, as an adult, she found herself wanting to push back, to find out what would happen if she ever said no.  Yet she knew she could not.  They owned her, even more so now that she was here alone without her Reed.<br/><br/>“You’re free to go now, Clara.”  Dr. Nowak barely looked up from his computer screen as he casually dismissed her hours after she’d first knocked on the lab door.  Nowak was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick mustache reminiscent of Tom Selleck.  He was also extremely business-like about their regularly scheduled appointments.  Most of the other white coats tried to make casual conversation to alleviate the way they treated her like a science experiment.  But not Nowak.  Even after more than twenty years of these appointments, he still treated her as an experiment and not as a person.<br/><br/>Clara slid off the exam table before she tugged a fitted black tank top on over the dark gray sports bra she wore.   “See you next time, Carl.”  He hated being called by his first name and she knew it.  Such a small act of rebellion meant nothing in the grand scheme of things but it did make her feel just a bit better.<br/><br/>The linoleum floor was cold under her bare feet as she crossed the room to leave.  The smell of the lab was bothering her more today than it ever had.  Even contained as it was in test tubes, the scent of blood always irritated her.  Combined with the constant low buzzing and humming of all the equipment, it was enough to drive her mad.  She was glad to be dismissed rather than be subjected to more exams.<br/><br/>The hallway floor was cold too but she didn’t mind.  The chill felt good.  She remembered the scientists realizing years ago that their experiments’ average temperatures were always a bit higher than a human’s normal.  That discovery had led to tests galore where the white coats had subjected the children to various experiments as they attempted to find various temperature thresholds.  What would be considered a fever?  What would make them hypothermic?  How long would it take for their core temperature to return to their normal temperature?<br/><br/>Clara had already been feeling itchy in her own skin, anxious to move or do<i>something</i>to burn off the excess energy that was making her feel like she wanted to climb the walls.  The old memories weren’t helping that feeling go away.  She picked up the pace and headed towards her room.<br/><br/>The door wasn’t locked.  It never was.  In fact, there wasn’t even a lock on the door.  After all,<i>people</i>are provided with privacy, not science experiments.  In some aspects, it made life easier; she never had to worry about losing her key, for one.  Clara entered her room and grabbed a pair of socks from the dresser before sitting down on the edge of the bed to put on her sneakers.  The easiest way to burn off the feelings was to go for a run.  It took her a few tries to get the laces tied just so but soon enough she was strapping her iPod to her arm and putting in her headphones.  The tension in her shoulders began to ebb as the music blasted in her ears.<br/><br/>The company had kindly provided their<i>creations</i>with a well-equipped gym, fully understanding that there would be a need to expend copious amounts of energy.  Swinging her arms back and forth and in front of her, she headed for the track.  After a deep inhale followed by a slow exhale, Clara began to run.  The pace she set was one she could maintain for a very long time yet it was one a normal human would be hard-pressed to keep up for that same amount of time.  Around and around she went until the number of laps and distance had long been forgotten and many hours had passed.  Finally, she slowed down to walk a few laps, her hands resting on top of her head as she cooled down.  Despite the substantial amount of exercise she had just completed, that irritable feeling remained.<br/><br/>Her skin was coated with sweat once she finally headed off to her room.  She needed a shower and she needed to eat.  Sweaty clothes were stripped off and tossed into the hamper as she stepped into the shower.  The water was hot and the small bathroom quickly filled with steam.  Clara leaned forward to rest her arms on the cool tile wall and her forehead on her forearms as the water pounded down on her back and the tears rolled down her cheeks.<br/><a class="username" data-user-id="82" data-username="@Manaan" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/82/">@Manaan</a>