The Human Pet

Chapter 8

Warnings: mentions of breeding and menstruation at the beginning, panic attacks and dissociation at the end

“Good afternoon. I'm Dr. Vincent.”

The vet is old and balding. His smile looked odd. Like he couldn't quite lose the scowl. Nevertheless, I get up and shake his hand. As I introduce myself, I feel Layla's fingers trying to dig into my shoulders. All I can do is rub her back soothingly.

I set my pet on the examination table, prying her arms out of their embrace and holding both her hands in one of mine. I run my thumb over her knuckles, letting her huddle against me as I answer a couple of questions about her diet so far.

“Now. Are you planning on breeding her?”

This makes me pause. The original answer was a clear no. It was a bit of a hassle to breed wild humans, though the addition to the gene pool was always appreciated. They needed to be extra vaccinated, watched thoroughly to find the best window, and the vet bills to make sure everything went along smoothly would pile up. And even then, there was no guarantee that the offspring would be perfect. A human with a birth defect would have trouble being adopted.

However…. I wanted Layla to have the opportunity to bare children. Of course, I wouldn't force this on her. She could choose her own mate and I would let things happen naturally. But even that was often very painful for the mother.

Looking down at my little girl, I realize that I couldn't do this to her. “No.”

“I see. Do you want her fixed, then?”

This question doesn't take as much thought.

“No.”

As painful as menstruating would be for her, I know that Layla would never trust me if I made this choice for her. I could deal with a moody human. A terrified and broken down human, however, would break my heart.

“And you realize that without getting fixed, she will bleed twice a month. She will also be able to become pregnant at any time should she be mounted.”

“I am aware.”

The vet shrugs, filling out the last of the forms and pulling open a drawer. There's a tray of tools. Scalpels, clamps, those scissors used to tie stitches that I never bothered to learn the name for. A machine beeps, and Vincent grabs the microchip from it.

“Alright. I'll need you to hold her down. Humans can be quite the drama queens.”

My eyebrows furrow. “Aren't you going to sedate her?”

“No need. Humans can't feel pain. They just like throwing a fuss.”

This makes my blood boil. My arms tighten just a bit around Layla. I manage to keep from gritting my teeth as I respond. People like this didn’t respond well to rage. And after today, I’ll never have to see him again.

“I'd like her to be sedated.”

To my pleasure, a look of shock crosses over his face. He opens his mouth to argue, but at the sickingly sweet smile I give him he closes it and walks back to his desk. I'm handed a paper and a pen.

“This states that you acknowledge all the risks of the sedation and intend to pay the extra fee. Please read through before signing on the dotted line.”

His voice is tight and slightly bored. After reading through and signing the form, I watch Vincent grab a syringe and a bottle. I move Layla back to the chair I was in. My legs clamp around hers, my hand stretching out her arms while my other arm holds her still.

As she calls out my name I chant to myself. This will be over soon. It's for her own good. She'll forgive you in time. And as her struggles slow in my arms, I murmur into her ear.

~~~~

When I wake up I'm groggy and sore. Looking around with a soft groan, I notice that I'm no longer at that place. I'm at Alistair's house, on his couch.

The feeling of fingers in my hair makes me jolt. Hands wrap around my wrists so I can't get far. Alistair drags me onto his lap, watching me struggle to get away as I scream and shout.

“What did you to do me?! I thought I could trust you!”

And why? I’ve only been with him for two days. Why did I put my trust in him? Tears cloud my vision. His attempts to calm me down make me even more riled up. Talking to me like I'm a damn dog. Letting that stranger stick a needle in me. Admonishing me like I don't have every right to be acting this way.

One of his hands goes down to my hips. I can only kick weakly, cussing at him through tears until finally the pain makes me stop. With a sob I curl in as much as I can.

I squirm when I feel him hold me close and get up. My voice cracks as I weakly protest. “Put me down. Let me go. Alistair!”

My shoving does nothing. It isn't until Alistair says my name and forcefully turns my head that I pay attention. We're in the bathroom. The mirrors are angled so I can see the back of my neck.

Or, the bandages around my neck. Under that damn collar. I reach my hands up, only for them to be grabbed. For the first time I look, actually look, at Alistair.

I can't place his expression. Something between tired and guilty, coupled with a stern gaze. Like he's done with my antics.

“No.”

A pit drops in my stomach. I didn't notice it before now, but there was always a soft look in his eyes.

It's gone now.

I shake violently. My breathing gets faster and faster. Tears fill my vision, refusing to clear up no matter how many times I blink. Every thought in my head fights to be heard. Too loud and too soft at the same time.

I’m just a pet here. I’m clearly not on Earth anymore. I’m on this random planet, filled with God knows what, at the mercy of these giant beings who can clearly do whatever they want with me. And the thought that scares me the most?

If Alistair gets tired of me, what’ll happen to me? Will he leave me to fend for myself? Will he take me back to the shop to be sold again?

He’s really all I have here...isn’t he.

I had to fight to keep my own name. Who has to do that??

My thoughts get less coherent from there. They jump, one to another, never finishing, until everything blurs together. And it feels endless. Like it's never going to stop.

I hear my name and feel something touch my lips.

I blink. I’m in the high chair. There’s a bowl in front of me on the tray and a spoon in front of my face. Alistair sits in front of me. He doesn’t look so stern anymore… just tired and… concerned?

My lips part in confusion. The spoon is gently pushed passed them. And despite my churning stomach, I don’t fight.

My arms are heavy. My chest hurts. Everytime Alistair moves I flinch. Every praise he gives me makes me want to curl in and hide away. Even his own food is tasteless.

I barely move. All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing, feel the weird almost painful rise and fall of my chest. My limbs are too heavy. They’re foreign to me. Nothing feels real. I have no energy to react to anything. Not even when I’m lifted up. Not even to the flashes of Alistair restraining me that plague my mind and leave me shaking all over again. Not even to the dull yet burning pain in my neck.

And as I lie next to Alistair that night I realize something.

I am truly afraid of what’s going to happen to me.