Page 11

The crisp envelope, stuffed with rent money—actual, physical cash—felt heavier than it should have in my hand as I drove to my landlord’s house. The bills were perfectly aligned, crisp and fresh, sealed inside with a neatness that felt like absolution. I’d imagined this moment for days, the small victory of catching up on rent, of watching his face when I handed it over.

And he didn’t disappoint. The look on his face when he opened the door was priceless—shock, maybe a little confusion, like he couldn’t believe I had paid it and he’d have to kick me out. I smiled, wide and confident, handing him the envelope. “I’ll never be late again,”

I said, the words smooth, like a mantra I was trying to believe myself.

He grunted something in response, something that might’ve been “good”

or “okay,”

but it didn’t matter. I’d done it. I turned and walked back to my car with a spring in my step, the cool air brushing against my cheeks, sharp and electric. The relief was almost overwhelming, a physical thing that loosened the tightness in my chest. But there was something else, too—a faint unease that lingered in the back of my mind.

SHY GIRL 82

The drive home was quiet, the city slipping by in blurred fragments of light and shadow. My mind wandered, circling back to Nathan, to the cage, to the black collar that still felt like a phantom weight against my neck. The memory was sharp and intrusive, but it didn’t fill me with dread. If anything, it felt oddly comforting. Predictable. A challenge with clear rules, a role I could step into if I just practiced enough.

MIA BALLARD 83

Once home, I sit at my desk and open up my laptop. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I type dog behavior tutorial into the search bar. The results flood the screen: videos on training dogs, analyzing their movements, understanding their instincts. I begin clicking through them, one by one, absorbing the information like a sponge.

I learn quickly that different breeds behave very differently. Border collies are energetic, almost frantic in their movements. Labradors are playful, friendly, and eager to please. Dobermans are sleek and purposeful. After some deliberation, I narrow my focus to one breed: golden retrievers. They’re gentle, easygoing, loyal—qualities I think I can emulate.

I clear a space in the center of my living room, pushing the coffee table against the wall so I have room to move. I set my phone on the floor, propped up on a book, and start recording myself.

First, I get on all fours, my hands flat against the carpet, my knees pressing into it. The position feels unnatural at first, my body stiff and awkward. I watch the video tutorial again, mimicking the way the golden retriever lowers its head and wags its tail. I don’t have a tail, of course, but I sway my hips gently from side to side, trying to replicate the motion. “Good dog,”

I whisper to myself, my voice soft and coaxing. Next, I practice walking on all fours. The tutorial emphasizes smooth, fluid movements, so I focus on coordinating my hands and knees, ensuring each step is balanced. I crawl across the room, turn, and crawl back again, repeating the sequence until it feels less awkward.

SHY GIRL 84

Then comes the barking. I watch the dog in the video tilt its head and let out a sharp, playful bark. I pause the video and mimic the sound, my voice hesitant at first.

“Woof,”

I say softly. It doesn’t sound right. Too human.

I try again, this time louder, more forceful. “Woof!”

It’s closer, but still off. I rewind the video and listen again, studying the pitch and cadence of the dog’s bark. I practice over and over, adjusting the tone and volume until I’m satisfied.

Finally, I add the tail wag to the bark, performing both simultaneously. I crawl to the center of the room, sit back on my heels, and let out a soft “woof”

while swaying my hips. I feel silly, but there’s something calming about the repetition, the focus required to perfect each motion.

I review the video I’ve recorded, taking notes on my posture and movements. Back too stiff. Hands too far apart. Bark needs more energy. I adjust accordingly, repeating the sequence until I see improvement.

When I finally stop, my knees ache, and my palms are red from pressing against the floor, but I feel accomplished. I sit back on the rug; my legs crossed and replay the video one more time. I have been doing this all day.

“I can do this,”

I whisper, a small smile forming on my lips. “I just need to practice more.”

The thought feels reassuring, almost comforting. With enough repetition, enough preparation, I can perfect the role. I can be the best dog Nathan has ever seen.

I haven’t officially accepted the offer yet, though my mind is already consumed by the details. Every time Nathan asks—four times now since our date—I give the same answer: Maybe. I have more questions.

And I do. The questions churn in my head, relentless and specific, each one growing sharper the longer I think about it. The first one came late at night, the thought too urgent to ignore: Can I use the bathroom?

MIA BALLARD 85

His response was quick, firm: Yes, you can use the bathroom. I am not cleaning up your shit.

The bluntness of it startled me, the words cutting through the vague, almost playful tone of his earlier texts. I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling as I typed my next question.

What if I cough or sneeze? Does that count as breaking character?

He replied almost immediately: Yes. Unless it’s unavoidable, I expect you to stay in character. Any slip will be punished.

The word punished lingered in my mind long after I read it. My heart raced as I typed back: What kind of punishment?

His reply came slowly this time, the three dots lingering far too long. That depends on how serious the infraction is. You’ll learn.

I stare at the words, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. I didn’t press further, but my mind raced with scenarios, each one spiraling into the next.

The next question surfaces like a wave, impossible to hold back: Will I be able to leave when I want?

This time, there is no immediate reply. The silence stretched, unbearable. My thumb hovered over the screen, refreshing my texts. My mind spirals.

Finally, after what felt like hours, his answer appeared:

Yes.

What about water? Will I be able to drink from a glass, or do I need to use a bowl?

Bowl, he responds, without hesitation. You’ll eat and drink from the floor, like a dog. You can only stand if I allow it.

The finality of his tone is unshakable. Each rule he laid out felt like a wall closing in, limiting my movement, my options, my autonomy. And yet, the boundaries are also oddly reassuring. They gave structure to the chaos of my thoughts, parameters I could follow.

SHY GIRL 86

I ask another: What about leaving the room? Do I need permission?

Always, he replies. You don’t move without my say-so.

I pause, staring at the screen, the collar I’d worn at his house flashing in my mind. My breathing quickened as I typed another question, the most important one yet: What if I mess up? What if I’m not good at this?

His response is fast, cutting off my spiraling thoughts: You won’t mess up. You’ll learn. Quickly.

I stare at the text for a long time, my fingers brushing against the edges of my phone. The firmness of his answers both terrified and intrigued me. Each message cemented the role he wanted me to play, stripping away any room for doubt or misinterpretation.

Deep down, I know I’ll say yes. I always knew. But the finality of it still looms, the decision sitting heavy on my chest as I close the message thread and stare at the ceiling, imagining what it will feel like to fully step into the role.