The Human Pet

Chapter 17

Warning: dehumanizing, physical altercation, aggressive thoughts and actions, physical restraint, mental breakdown

This story will not have a happy ending. If that’s what you're looking for you should probably stop reading now.

It's much the same, three days later.

My period is done, which is a bright spot in the swarm of darkness buzzing around me. I'm given another bath which leaves my skin crawling for a few hours. I switch wildly between having no appetite and shoving pellets into my mouth for even a scrap of real food.

There's always a pit in my stomach right after.

I've given up on trying to learn new words. It wouldn't make any difference. I try to hide my grimaces each time Alistair tries to teach me, but I don't think I'm doing a good job. I can't help it. The longer we do this, the longer I try to ignore that he can't understand how I feel, the more I feel like ants are crawling under my skin.

I hate it.

I hate those pellets. I hate this damn collar. I hate how this stupid couch is too high off the stupid ground.

I hate how Alistair looms over me even while sitting. I hate how his hands are big enough to cover my entire head. I hate how they slide over my arms and pull me closer to him.

I shove at him. The shock on his face irritates me even more.

"Layla?"

This time I smack at his outstretched hands. That…

That felt good.

"Layla, what's wrong?"

How dare you have the nerve to ask me that. How dare you talk to me like I'm a child. How dare you sit there and act like you didn't ruin my life-

I don't know when I lunged at him. All of a sudden I'm hitting and clawing at my owner, letting out all the anger I was too scared to feel before.

He gets up off the couch. Foolishly, I try to follow. I'm aware of him yelling at me to stop but I don't care anymore. One moment I'm screaming profanities and the next my wrists are being held in too big hands.

The room goes sideways. Alistair carries me at his side, the front of my legs pressed against his hip so I can't kick at him. My hands are held in his other hand. I thrash, but his grip tightens.

Then I'm on my feet. In a flash my legs are pinned between Alistair's, my wrists held high above me. Try as I might, I can't squirm free.

Then I'm being bundled up and shoved. With my flailing I'm practically tossed in. The door swings shut with a click, and with a glare I rattle the bars of the cage. 

All I get is a finger trust in my face and a stern 'no' from Alistair. I settle for spitting curses. Twice I kick at the bars, each time it ends up hurting me and making Alistair glare in my direction. With a huff I turn around and cross my arms.

I don't relax when he leaves. But as the minutes go by my anger becomes an afterthought. He's gonna be mad…
He's gonna be so mad…

But...he'll understand, right?

...would I understand if my pet lashed out at me?

My arms drop.

Is he gonna return me?

Will he have me put down?

Aggressive dogs are put down, maybe it's the same thing here…

When did he get this cage?

Is this my time out crate?

When did my vision get so blurry?

…

Oh, I'm crying…

I don't know why I'm crying. Maybe it's for today. Maybe I'm grieving for the menial life I had on Earth. Maybe I've always wanted to cry but held off until now.

Maybe this is how animals feel when scolded by their owners.

It doesn't matter right now. I cry until I'm all dried out. I'm glad I don't make myself sick. The last thing I need right now is to be covered with vomit.
By the time I hear his footsteps my sobs have tapered off into small hiccups.

And Alistair is there in the doorway, staring at me like I'm a cornered animal. I only glance at him, trying to look as worn down as I feel. It's strange that I know him. He won't come near me if I still look pissed or a second away from crying.

"Done?"

I nod, dragging the heel of my hand across my cheek. "Mhm…"

We both stiffen when he lifts me out of the cage. And relax when he sets me down. My head hangs as he kneels. There's a moment of silence.

"Layla. Look at me."

I hesitate, then lift my chin enough to look into his eyes. They're void of any emotion. Just a cool, analyzing look.

"Why?"

My eyes drop. I don't have the energy nor the ability to explain this. So I shrug.

For a moment I think he's going to press. But either out of pity or weariness he drops the subject. I'm left to follow after him as he leads me down to the kitchen.

I don't have much of an appetite. I spend dinner staring aimlessly at anything but the giant sitting not ten feet away from me.

I sleep in my own bed that night.