31. Breaking The Habit.

Day 1.

I woke up in bed, feeling a sore neck, having my neck snapped, and taking some time to gather my bearings. The last thing I remembered was being on a sniper mission, where I had encountered a remarkably powerful demon king. Just as I started to feed on it as Wulfe, numbers one, two, and four, Mariella arrived. Number two snapped my neck, and I recalled Wulfe telling me that I had a serious addiction to blood that needed to be addressed. 

The bed I found myself in was not a thin, uncomfortable cot, but rather a nice and cozy one-person bed. It wasn't queen-sized, just a normal size. As I sat up, I noticed that I was in a room with peculiar, shiny walls. The room was sparsely furnished, with a table, chair, small nightstand, and a bed. I could see into the bathroom, which had a shower stall, toilet, and sink.

I wasn't sure where I was, as this place didn't resemble any of our houses. One of the walls seemed normal, with a small vent near the ceiling that had a sturdy grill, making it difficult to access. However, my sandcat form could fit through it. I would have to reassure my overly concerned pack that I was perfectly fine. I was just incredibly strong and needed blood, and I still had the hive in my mind that required constant maintenance. I wasn't an addict; this was all a misunderstanding that they would soon realize. Surely, it was just a mistake on their part, and everything would be fine. I just needed to get some blood. However, the need that I had, was not normal bloodlust, it just need to get that high from the blood, not the actual need for blood. 

As I sat on the edge of the bed, three of the walls suddenly became less opaque. They turned out to be made of some sort of adjustable glass. I looked towards where the door was, and now I could see a corridor. Damon stood behind the door, observing me, while Wulfe stood next to him. A few other Salvatores were also present, their expressions stern but filled with worry. Obviously, they had planned some kind of intervention. I refrained from rolling my eyes and patiently awaited their big revelation. What would they do to me?

Damon spoke to me, there was some sort of intercom that made his voice sound a little tinny and impersonal. "You are addicted to blood, but we will get you well. This won't be nice, I won't lie, and it won't be painless. At least, I suspect it won't be. You will get your first blood in these little pouches, 100 ml each. We will start by giving you one every two hours, and then the number will dwindle until we get you back to needing only three liters a month, which equals one pouch per day. Then you can get out. Not sooner. This is an intervention, and you will get mad. You will suffer withdrawal, at least to some extent, so just so you know.'"

I was silent. I just couldn't believe it. Wulfe was looking at me like I was somehow broken. Well, according to them, I was broken. But fine, it was time to show them that I wasn't addicted to blood. I could handle this. I wasn't that weak. I didn't say anything but lay back down, looking at the ceiling. I was giving them the ice age treatment. Let them just see that I was fine.

Wulfe said to me, "You get your first pouch now. See, on the wall, there is a clock. Once you have consumed your pouch, the clock starts to count until you get your next one, so there's no use trying to save up so you can have more blood at once. It's just one pouch."

I nodded as he put the pouch in a little box and pushed it through. I stood up, walked over to the table where there were cardboard cups, opened the pouch, poured the blood into a cup, threw the bag in the trash, and sipped the tiny amount of blood. It wasn't that strong. Then I went back to bed, lying down and looking at the ceiling.

Damon said to me, "You get to go to the big side. It's made for your feline side. Once a day, or maybe every two days. Let's see how this goes. It's meant to stretch yourself. This won't be nice but it's mandatory. You will see the benefits later on. I'm sorry I didn't catch this before. And don't worry about work, Alaric and Magnum are handling things already."

I didn't say anything. Everything would be fine, and in a few days, they would let me go and apologize once they realized I was fine. I kept my expression neutral, not reacting. Damon pressed some kind of remote, and the walls became opaque again, giving me my privacy. I could hear their footsteps echoing as they walked away. I glanced at the clock on the wall. 1 hour and 53 minutes until the next bag. Not that long of a time. I could do it. 

I had to distract myself from looking at the clock, as I was certain that I was being watched. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing my desperation for that bag. No, I would stay composed and casually drink it, as if it wasn't a big deal. I was angry, but I managed to control myself. I knew that my emotions were tied to my bloodlust, and this situation was already difficult enough without making it worse. I just hoped that the whole pack was prepared for the consequences, as I wouldn't simply ignore this. 

Mimi's brain began to fire more rapidly, as the high from the strong demon's blood wore off. It affected her in many ways. Firstly, it intensified her bloodlust and overall state. She felt more irritable and her feline side was also affected. Her feline side wanted to remain strong and sensed an impending weakness, so she increased her determination to stay strong. This caused her pretender side to become more active, prompting her brain to conjure a suitable role for the occasion.

As a result, her brain consumed about 30% more calories and her sense of hunger was suppressed. This was initially caused by Damon's intervention, as he was angry with her. Thus, Mimi's lack of hunger was done by Damon withdrawing his will from her body and then the physiological changes that her altered mental state caused. However, Damon was unaware of this and attributed it solely to Mimi's anger and need for blood. He assured himself that she would be fine and that there was no need to worry about her. 

As her condition worsened, the small amounts of blood she received did not fulfill her desires, and soon they became insignificant. She remained angry and spent most of her time lying in bed. However, whenever a small opening appeared, a pouch of blood was handed to her. She would eagerly approach it, pouring its contents into a paper cup and sipping it slowly. As the cup emptied, time restarted. It took her about 30 minutes to finish the cup, which meant she didn't have as much blood as she needed.

Lack of strong blood with a creature her caliber had again profound effect but it was all masked by her rage and self-control. Despite this, she maintained her role, keeping her expression neutral and her mind protected. No telepath could enter her mind, and Damon had teleported away, leaving his staff to provide the blood pouches and keep track of time. He would occasionally check on her, but he was still furious and unwilling to witness Mimi begging for more blood as her supply dwindled, one pouch at a time.

It had been a few days since they captured Mimi and confined her to a cubicle. Damon and Mariella had been spending their time in their main bedroom in Ireland, barely thinking about Mimi. Number four had visited her and had been unusually quiet afterward, not sharing what he had seen. He had some instinct screaming at him but he was unable to dig it out just yet. Mariella exerted her alpha force over Salvatores so her actions suppressed Number Four's sharper protector ability.

Mariella lay next to Damon and suggested, "My love, why don't we go have breakfast and see what the pack wants to do? Just think, if I were to go into heat, it's been a while since our pack has had that experience. I could pop us girls into heat and I have an idea, as we have so many males, why don't take a few of our girls from a magic house in our heat, they would get an experience like no other and it would force guys like Dresden, Constantine, Murdock contributes to our gene pool."

Damon grunted and replied, "Not now, Mariella. It's not the right time to reproduce while Mimi is being treated. Not a bad idea though take more females but not right now. When we get heat Mimi will be part of it. Try to stay focused, for God's sake. And stop treating me like a sex toy. We should be focusing on how to help Mimi, not living in this damn castle. Why did I let you do all the talking without thinking?"

He got up and headed towards the shower, leaving Mariella perplexed. Why was Damon suddenly thinking this way? Why it was always her sex life that suffered when some crisis would come? She had only been trying to be an alpha female and help them all. Maybe this approach wasn't the right one, but Damon needed to see for himself that they could all have a life while Mimi recovered from her problem.

After Damon took a shower, he insisted that Mariella do the same to ensure she was properly clean. He had provided her some cleaning products and he was not going to let her out of the shower until there was no scent of sex. it was sometimes that Mariella wore the scent of sex like some perfume and now it was something that Damon could not take. He then proceeded to change the bedding and mattress in their bedroom.

Damon was not in the mood for a long fucking marathon; it was time for Mariella to understand that. They needed to find activities to do together instead of just spending time in the bedroom. Damon felt frustrated with himself for reverting back to his old ways. He wanted to be a strong leader and guide his pack through this difficult time. He also felt the need to prove himself to almost the entire pack.

time had lost its meaning in my captivity. I lay in my bed. Although I had consumed the blood they provided, I didn't need it. I felt restless and craved something else. Blood no longer satisfied me. I didn't want to give the pack the satisfaction of seeing me in a disheveled state, so I maintained my composure and conserved my energy while lying in bed. I had, despite my crazy reputation, gotten some form of self-preservation instincts over the years and those drove me to stay put.

My mind raced a mile a minute, making it difficult to focus on anything. Time seemed meaningless, and my mind was a chaotic mess. I wasn't sure what I would become or how severe my condition would worsen. Something was wrong with me, as this bloodlust was not normal. I did not need blood, this was not the same as it had been there inside the wall when Bran had done that to me. However, I kept all of these thoughts to myself and didn't share anything with anyone.

They didn't offer me food, nor did anyone ask if I was hungry. I assumed it was part of my punishment. I was a complete mess, and I was aware of it. Despite wanting to be active and do something, I restrained myself, knowing that without food, my body would burn calories quickly enough. I wasn't feeling well, and I knew it would be a challenging journey to recover from this state. 

I tried to release myself with my fingers, but physical pleasure didn't help. Besides, it burned too many calories. I needed to stay as still as possible. I was racking my brain, wondering what was wrong with me. I had never heard of this state before, so I was completely unaware. My mind was fragmented, lacking focus, and feeling sick. Although the illness slowly started to dissipate after a few days, maybe I wasn't sick at all. Maybe this was just something else.

Mimi's brain was desperately seeking stimulation. Her brain cells craved high concentrations of all four forms of Vampiric NDMA, serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine. But since she couldn't achieve that, her brain cells were in disarray. Her brain cells were in withdrawal as they had no way to cope with this lack of neurotransmitters.

Her pretender side tried to cope by using tryptophan, caffeine, and melatonin to maintain stability. Any form of sensation that it could find. It would conjure old sensations, from memories, digging through her mind and popping something but as there was not enough juice to upkeep that feeling, her mind had to find the next sensations. 

However, without a sense of hunger and experiencing the first signs of caffeine withdrawal, her ability to distinguish between her role and reality began to blur. She was living deeper in her role, no longer being Mimi but the persona she had created to appear strong and indifferent. This caused her neural mapping to shift, learning new pathways on how to think, act, and be. She became less of Mimi and more of her role.

Due to her past experiences, her role portrayed someone tough, uncaring, and comfortable with being alone. Her brain and pretender side were trying was role that would need as less neurotransmitters as possible meaning a role that she could maintain. Her lack of feeling, everything was hidden by her feline side. The staff observed her lying on the bed, calmly drinking her blood portion. To them, it seemed like she was attempting to address her problem. She cooperated without cursing, begging, or pleading. She behaved like a model patient.