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I wake to the light, harsh and bright, carving itself into the room. My body is stiff, aching in places I didn’t know could ache. For a moment, I am unmoored, the soft fog of sleep a balm against recognition. But then the collar shifts, a slight pressure at my throat, and reality snaps back into place. The cage, the leash, Nathan’s voice like a blade slipping between my ribs: I think I’ll keep you.

The hours are long gone, the ones we agreed on. I glance toward the wall where the clock used to hang, but it’s gone. He’s removed it. Of course he has. The absence of it feels dark, like a hand pressed over my eyes. Still, I’ve been tracking time in other ways: the rhythm of his steps, the stretch of light shifting through the window, the groan of the house as it wakes. It is well into the afternoon now. I’m sure of it.

I tell myself it’s nothing, that it’s just him testing me. Pushing my limits. A first-day trial to see if I’m worth the effort. This is what I repeat, over and over, like a mantra. This is fine. This is normal. He’s testing me.

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But my body protests, each movement stiff and reluctant, my muscles shrieking against the cold press of metal bars. I shift, curling tighter, grounding myself in the steady rhythm of my breath: in for four, hold for four, out for four. My head swims with fragments of his words, each one heavier than the last.

I think I’ll keep you.

He couldn’t mean forever. Forever is absurd. This is an agreed upon arrangement. A thing with boundaries and terms. Eight hours, payment at the end of the week. That was the deal.

But the words don’t leave me. They loop in my mind, cutting into my certainty, carving doubt into the soft places I’d hoped to protect.

I want to call out, to ask if my time is up, but my voice isn’t mine to use. The rules are clear, and I know better than to break them. Instead, I press my palms to the floor, cold and hard beneath me, and try not to think about how the bars feel like an extension of my skin.

The footsteps come at last, faint at first, then louder. Relief blooms sharp and uneasy. I uncurl, just enough to peer through the bars, my heart caught in the tension between dread and hope.

The door creaks open, and there he is, his expression calm, unreadable. He stands there for a moment, watching me like he’s considering something I can’t see. “Good afternoon,”

he says, his voice smooth and even.

I nod. My throat tightens against the words I want to spill, the questions clawing their way to the surface.

“Did you sleep well?”

he asks, his tone so casual it feels like a joke.

I nod again, though my dreams were anything but restful. They were tangled things, filled with commands that stuck to me like second skin.

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He crouches, his eyes meeting mine, sharp and quiet. “Let’s see how much you’ve learned,” he says.

The commands come, one by one, and I obey without hesitation. My body moves before my mind can register, each motion smooth from repetition. Sit. Beg. Stay. The words cut through the air, and I mold myself to fit them. When he nods in approval, I feel the weight of his gaze linger, heavy as the collar at my throat.

I am hungry now, my stomach a raw ache, the sound breaking free in a low growl that startles us both. Nathan’s eyes flick toward me, sharp with amusement. I lower my gaze instinctively, a flush creeping up my neck like shame. I want to go home. To oatmeal, blueberries in a perfect circle, something real and mine.

Instead, I bark. The sound is sharp, ripping through the silence, and I feel it leave me like a piece of myself.

Nathan tilts his head, his smile faint and cutting. “What is it, girl?”

he asks, his voice playful, mocking, and I feel the edges of myself fray.

I raise a hand, point toward my mouth—a small rebellion, a plea.

His smile disappears, replaced by something cold and dangerous. “Dogs don’t point,”

he says, his tone flat, edged with warning.

My hand falls instantly, my body folding into itself, eyes wide and pleading. This isn’t funny anymore.

He studies me, his gaze heavy, the air thick enough to choke on. Then, like a crack in glass, his expression softens into a smile. It’s casual, almost warm, but it doesn’t ease the tension coiled in my chest. “I get it,”

he says lightly, as if we’re sharing some unspoken understanding. “You’re hungry.”

He crouches to my level, his knees cracking faintly, and pets me, his hand dragging over my head and down my back. The touch is dehumanizing in its softness. My body stays rigid beneath his hand, every nerve electric, but I don’t flinch.

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“Don’t worry, girl,”

he says, his smile curving wider, something gleaming beneath the surface. “I’ve got just the thing for you.”

He stands, the leash clipping onto my collar with a familiar metallic click, and the sound lodges in my stomach like a stone. “Come,”

he says, and I follow. My hands and knees drag across the floor, the hard surface scraping at my skin, my muscles burning from hours of this. Hunger twists sharp in my belly, a hollow ache that makes the world blur at the edges. I focus on the rhythm of crawling, a quiet mantra: left, right, left, right.

The kitchen is bright and clinical, the air sterile and sharp. He stops in the center of the room and points to a spot on the floor. “Stay,”

he commands, his voice low and firm, the word pinning me in place.

I sink back onto my heels, watching him move. He hums softly, almost cheerfully, as he busies himself at the counter. His movements are light, unhurried, like he’s enjoying some private joke. I track him, my eyes following the way his hands pull out a metal dog bowl, the scrape of it against the counter making me wince.

The sounds are vague but visceral—clinking metal, the wet smack of something sliding out of a can. It’s enough to make my stomach churn, the hunger warping into nausea.

He sets the bowl down in front of me, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Here you go, girl,”

he says, stepping back like he’s waiting for applause.

I hesitate, leaning forward just enough for the smell to hit me. It’s sour, rancid, a sharp slap of canned dog food. My stomach lurches, and instinct takes over. I jerk back, nearly knocking the bowl over. “Oh god!”

The words rip out of me, raw and unguarded, before I can stop them.

The air shifts instantly. Nathan’s smile vanishes, replaced by something colder, sharper. He steps closer, his eyes narrowing.

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“What did you just say?”

His voice is quiet, but the edge in it cuts clean through me.

My breath catches, my heart pounding as I freeze under his gaze. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, and I drop my eyes to the floor. My fists clench against the tile, nails digging into my palms.

His voice slices through the tension. “Now you’ll have to be punished.”

The words settle in the air like lead, heavy and inescapable. He snatches the bowl from the floor. “No food until tomorrow,”

he says. That’s it. The thought rises, unbidden but steady. I’m done.

Pain shoots through my legs as I push myself upright, my knees trembling, my back stiff and unforgiving. But I stand tall.

He turns, his face a mask of fury, his movements slow as he closes the space between us. “What do you think you’re doing?”

he asks, his voice low, crackling with warning.

I hold his gaze, my breath coming in shallow bursts, my chest tight with the force of it. “I’m done,”

I say, the words trembling but firm. “I want to go home.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His eyes stay locked on mine, searching, calculating. The silence presses in, wrapping itself around me like a noose. Then he sighs, the sound heavy with exasperation.

“Okay,”

he says finally, the word soft, almost resigned.

The relief is immediate, rushing through me like a flood. My knees threaten to buckle under the weight of it. He steps back, his movements measured, his face unreadable.

“You’re free to go,”

he says, his voice calm, even.

I nod, my body trembling, my hands curling at my sides as if bracing for something that doesn’t come. His words hang in the

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air, and I cling to them as I back away out of the kitchen. Each step backward is cautious, measured, my eyes glued to his. His silence clings to me, thick and unbearable, his gaze dissecting me. “I understand if you don’t want me anymore,”

I say, my voice fragile, trembling under its own weight. “This... this is too much. I can’t do it.”

The words unravel as I back away, each one pulled taut by fear. His face doesn’t change. The intensity in his eyes doesn’t waver, and the stillness of him is louder than anything I can say. “I’m sorry this didn’t work out,”

I add quickly, the apology tumbling from my lips like loose thread.

Still nothing. His silence is a living thing, filling the space between us as I turn, stiff and mechanical, toward the hallway. My feet quicken, and I count my next moves in my head: Clothes. Purse. Out.

His presence trails me, a shadow stitched to my heels. I don’t look back. I can’t. The air feels heavy, pressing against me as I reach the study and fumble for my clothes. My hands shake as I pull them on, the fabric sticking to my skin, every movement jagged with panic.

My eyes scan the room frantically, heart hammering as I search for my purse. “Hey, where’s my—”

I start, the words bursting out before I can think.

Pain.

It’s sudden and blinding, a fist slamming into my stomach, and my body folds in on itself like paper crumpling under a heavy hand. Air flees my lungs, leaving me gasping, clutching at my abdomen as the room swims in and out of focus.

I blink through the haze and see him, standing over me, fury carved into the lines of his face. In his hand, something small and black. It takes a moment for my brain to connect the dots, but then

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the prongs glint under the light, and fear floods every corner of my body.

The taser crackles before I feel it, the electricity tearing through me, locking my muscles in a violent spasm. I scream, raw and guttural, the sound tearing through the room. My body shakes uncontrollably, the aftershock leaving me limp and gasping on the floor.

“Speak again, I dare you!”

he snarls, his voice a jagged edge cutting through my disoriented thoughts.

I try to form words, anything to pacify him, but my throat tightens. No sound comes, just the desperate heaving of my breath. His hand twists into my hair, yanking me upright, and I stumble, knees scraping the floor as he drags me toward the cage. The sting from the taser lingers, radiating through my body in sharp, pulsating bursts.

Before I can resist, he shoves me inside. My body crumples awkwardly against the cold metal bars, the cage a fist closing around me. The door slams shut, the lock clicking with brutal finality.

Tears stream down my face as I curl into myself, the sobs coming in ragged, broken waves. My hands tremble as they press against the cage’s unforgiving floor. The collar around my neck feels tighter, heavier, like it’s pulling me under.

Nathan stands above me, the taser still in his hand, his chest rising and falling with sharp, measured breaths. His eyes bore into mine, unreadable but searing. “You don’t get to decide when this ends,”

he says, his voice cold and precise, every word a shard of glass. “I do.”

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I shrink away, my body folding tighter, but his gaze doesn’t relent. The room seems to close in, the air thick and stifling, the bars pressing into my skin like a brand.

He leans down, his face inches from mine, his voice soft but terrifying in its calm. “You’re going to learn the rules,”

he says, the words curling around me like smoke. “And you’re going to learn fast.”

I nod instinctively, the motion automatic, a reflex born of fear. My mind races, spinning with questions that lead nowhere. How did this happen? What do I do now?

Nathan straightens, his grip on the taser firm, and steps back. The sound of his footsteps fades as he leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

I sit in the cage, my tears falling freely, my body trembling from the pain, the fear, the weight of it all. I tell myself this isn’t real, that it can’t be real, but the cold bite of the metal bars and the lingering ache in my abdomen tell me otherwise.