Page 51 of His Pet

What did I do wrong?

I obeyed him. I did exactly what Cameron wanted. Yet, he got angry again. For a moment, I thought he was actually going to kill me. Maybe it would have been for the best. Obviously, I’m not enough to make him happy no matter what I do.

Seconds pass by, turning into minutes. I think? Time works strangely down here. I feel like I should be doing something. Escaping, maybe? Yes, I should be doing that. Get out of here, reclaim my freedom, go back to being a person.

Except it all sounds so pointless. What good is being free when I fuck up everything I touch? Not to mention how exhausting making decisions is. Isn’t it better to just let go?

I squirm on the soft cushions, uneasy. It’s not right. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not supposed to be on the couch without Cameron.

He isn’t here to tell me what to do, but I slip off the couch anyway, the hardwood floor greeting my knees. That’s better. Not comfortable, but I’m not supposed to be comfortable. I messed up again. I don’t deserve comfort. Not from the soft couch and especially not from Cameron.

The cage sits open in front of me and I crawl inside. Within its confines, the world at least makes sense again. Here, I’m safe. Not as safe as being held by Cameron, but that’s not going to happen again. He doesn’t like me anymore, and I don’t know how to fix it. No matter what I do, he’s angry. It must be me.

Of course it’s me. It’s always been me. I’ve never been enough. Never strong enough, religious enough, smart enough. It figures that I’m not good enough for Cameron either.

I watch the ceiling through the bars of the cage. The AC rumbles to life. The fridge responds. They’re still humming. The only thing that didn’t change.

I idly wonder what’s going to happen to me now that Cameron doesn’t want me anymore. Will he kill me? He said I’m never leaving the basement alive, and he keeps his word.

I should probably be freaking out, but I’m too numb to really worry. My life never mattered. At least once I’m dead, I won’t have to feel miserable. Cameron will get a new pet, one that will make him happy. Everyone wins.

With a sigh, I curl up on my side. The water bottles are right in front of me and I have a brief thought that Cameron will be angry with me for not drinking enough again, but it’s not enough motivation for me to reach for one. He’ll be angry with me anyway, and I don’t feel like moving anymore.

***

Cameron

I take my anger out on a boxing bag and a bottle of scotch, both at the same time. Not my best idea ever, but it works to numb my emotions to a manageable level. For a while at least.

Once I’m drunk and exhausted enough to think about Justin without blowing up, I realize I didn’t lock him up. Too angry to think straight, I just left him on the couch, and he’s been free to roam the basement for hours. Sure, there’s no way he could get out or call for help, but…

Fuck! Terror slams into me as I remember all the knives I keep in the kitchenette. Justin could have spent the time trying to pry open the keypad by the door. What if he electrocuted himself?

If he’s just waiting for me behind the door with a knife in hand, I can handle him, but what if…

I don’t even finish the thought, already stumbling down the stairs. Justin wouldn’t hurt himself, would he?

No, he can’t be dead. I won’t allow it.

Fuck, why was I so reckless?

It takes my fumbling fingers two tries to correctly input the door code. It’s then that I realize I could have checked the camera feed, but I left my phone upstairs and there’s no way I’m wasting more time getting it.

I dodge and swiftly turn around as I pass through the door, ready to fend off a pissed pet with a knife, but Justin isn’t there. He isn’t on the couch either, nor in the kitchen.

“Justin?”

No response.

My heart thumps painfully as I check the bathroom, convinced I’ll find him bleeding in the bathtub.

The bathroom’s empty, too.

That gives me pause. Could Justin have gotten out? No one ever has, but then, I’ve never left anyone alone without them being locked in the cage.

Fuck. The cage. Could it…?

My breath catches in my throat when I see a familiar figure curled up on the cage’s floor. Justin’s here. His eyes are closed, but his chest moves with slow breaths. He’s okay.