In Search of Home

Chapter 64

Viktor wanted to throw up at the thought of the ringmaster owning him. He's dead, he reminded himself, nails biting into the palms of his hands. Very much dead.

"Triggers are very common in animals with mind sickness," Flosh'lm nodded, scribbling something on a piece of paper. "Do you know his?"

Vok'Rul began listing them. Sudden movements, raised voices, the word kora - which Viktor found out translated sluggishly into a mix between 'naughty,' 'bad,' and 'stop it' and had only made him twitch when he heard it - cages and carriers, collars, certain leashes - the list went on and on. Vok'Rul listed things even he was unaware of. Stuff like someone reaching for their waist, a tail sliding against metal, and even approaching him from behind. Viktor hadn't realized the alien paid so much attention to him. 

Frosh'lm hummed in thought after Vok'Rul had finished speaking. "I believe most of his issues can be solved with exposure. Place the items in his line of sight and reassure him they mean no harm. This can also be done with certain words, as well. Slipping them into a casual conversation will show him that it does not always have negative consequences." 

Viktor snorted, crossing his arms defensively, "As if." That sort of stuff would never work on him. He was intelligent, after all. 

Vok'Rul seemed to be of the same mind. "And if he is not amenable?" 

"Persistence is the key with those afflicted with mind sickness. Eventually, it will sink in that they are not in danger any longer." 

***

"Well, that was a waste of time," Viktor grumbled, crawling into the car. He curled in on himself, throwing his arm over his head. He watched as Vok'Rul came clambering in after him, dropping the leash heavily on the ground. 

"To you, maybe. It was quite enlightening for me, personally," Vok'Rul mused, reaching down to brush his claws against Viktor's hair. 

Viktor sighed heavily and dramatically, still upset about leaving his dad the way he had. 

"I know," the alien murmured, sympathetic. "I wish it hadn't ended like that, either. Bunch of incompetent fools they are, Kohgrash."

"I gotta take this out. My head is killing me. That's an expression, by the way," Viktor reassured him, having heard him start moving. The car started rumbling. 

"Oh. Good. Go to sleep, my little Kohgrash. I know you humans need much more than my kind."

Viktor grunted his acknowledgment, taking the alien's advice and closing his eyes. Sleep didn't come easily. His thoughts were racing, worried about his dad and lingering on what Frosh'lm had said about him. He thought about the scars littering his body, some pale and thin, others jagged and deep, like the bite digging into his arm or the scratch bisecting his face. Each one had been inflicted on him against his will, despite his best efforts, and by those he did not like. He didn't like all his scars, but they told a story and shaped him into who he was today. 

He wasn't sick, or - or broken. Certainly not as fragile as Frosh'lm suggested. 

"Ugh," he groaned, pressing his face harder into his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut hard enough to see stars. Something brushed against his side, and he jumped. Opening his eyes revealed Vok'Rul looking at him in concern. "S'nothing," he mumbled, cheek pressed against the floor of the car. The rumbling rattled his brain. 

Vok'Rul's expression became constipated like he was trying not to laugh and look disapproving at the same time. 

"Why don't you have headaches?" Viktor demanded, glaring at the alien. The effect was probably ruined since only half his face was visible. Vok'Rul shrugged, grinning. "God, you're annoying. All of you!" Vok'Rul cooed something at him apologetically, swiping his fingers down Viktor's side. "Yeah, whatever." He couldn't help the fondness creeping into his voice.