Author's Note:

And here's the first chapter! Hopefully the ending doesn't feel too sloppy - my laptop was low on charge and I didn't have a charger, so I was writing on my iPad and it was horrible.

Anyway, this chapter doesn't have anything really explicit - just a lot of ugly implications. And nasty equipment. See notes at the bottom for specifics.

I'm really excited to be getting started. I hope you like this chapter!

It was in the summer when it happened.

You were driving back from your grandparents' house in Rockport. You lived in Katy, so it was a two-hour trip. It was around noon. You'd forgotten your sunglasses – the glare of the sun on the car was beginning to get to you. Your air conditioner worked, but not as much as you wanted it to.

You sighed, your attention shifting off the road for a moment. Your grandparents were nice people, but they were clueless about the big issues. Part of the reason they were still in the state is that they had thought the whole "secession" thing would blow over. They didn't leave in time... then again, neither had you and your parents. But at least your parents were willing to see monsters as more than convicts. Your grandparents had adopted what they considered a "reasonable middle ground": monsters that were owned by the state were ethical, just not privately owned ones. You were going to leave soon anyway, but having to constantly bite your tongue definitely sped up the process. Of course, school would be starting in about a week, so you would need to start getting supplies anyw-

THUMP. THUMP.

You jolted back as the car rattled. Oh, shit. You shouldn't have let your attention wander, especially when driving past the cattle ranches. The bump wasn't that big, though. A smaller animal? It saddened and sickened you.

Up ahead, there was a patch of road before the entrance to a ranch. You pulled into it, cursing under your breath, then got out of the car and squinted back at the road behind you.

It was just bits of tire on the road. No animal in sight.

You sighed in relief, then bent down to check your own car wheels. They looked fine. Taking the opportunity to stretch, you looked over your surroundings.

On the other side of an electric fence plastered with signs – "Danger! Do Not Touch" – a herd of cows casually regarded you as they slowly chewed their cud. You remembered how you used to wave at the cows as you drove by, mimicking them. Eventually, you drove past them often enough that you stopped doing it. Plus, you'd lost your taste for it since everything else happened.

You stared at the nearest cow thoughtfully for a few long seconds. "Moo," you finally said.

The cow didn't respond.

You didn't expect it to. You turned back to your car.

And then the air was split with a man's scream.

You spun around.

The cows had their heads turned toward the noise, ears lifted up.

There were a cluster of buildings in the distance. You couldn't hear anything else from there.

Hands trembling, you pulled out your phone. You considered dialing 911, but decided not to. You also considered raising your voice to ask if everything was okay. You couldn't quite bring yourself to do it – it wouldn't carry that far, anyway.

So instead, you simply took out your phone, turned on the camera, started recording, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After about five minutes, you turned off the camera and slowly lowered the phone.

Nothing had happened.

You had to admit, you were a painfully shy person. More accurately, you had Social Anxiety Disorder. Sure, you could power through it to talk to strangers, but situations where you had to take the initiative were really difficult for you. Add to that the very real likelihood of the ranch owner having a gun, and there was no way you'd actually go into the ranch to check if everything was okay. You decided it would be better for you to just wait a little longer. Maybe I should call my parents, ask for advice. If you could even reach them. They'd been busy lately. Your gaze drifted around.

Your eyes caught on a sign that you hadn't spotted before.

WARNING: Monster Convicts at Work.

"You here to pick him up?"

You jerked back, startled.

The origin of the voice was an older man who was resting his arms on the gate. He wore a white cowboy hat and had a mustache. He seemed frazzled, and there was a desperate gleam in his eyes that frightened you. Upon seeing your face, he looked startled, then tipped his hat apologetically. "Pardon me, missy. Your haircut threw me off. Thought you were a man." Then, like a switch was flipped, he suddenly kicked the dirt. "Dammit, he was supposed to be here two hours ago," he muttered.

You were stunned speechless. You couldn't even make a sound. Eventually, you managed to say something. "I heard a scream?"

"Everything's fine, missy. Sorry to worry you. We've got a mean little dog back there, needed discipline." Upon saying that, the man seemed to shrewdly inspect you for a minute. "Actually, miss, you wouldn't happen to have a couple hundred dollars on you, would you?"

You had exactly two hundred dollars. "Why do you ask?" You tried to keep your tone light. This whole thing stank to hell and you didn't feel safe.

"Well, y'see, that dog that I mentioned – it's not a dog. It's a moncon." His face wrinkled in disgust. "He's been more trouble than he's worth. Not a good fit for this place, I reckon. Someone said they'd come pick him up, but they were supposed to get here hours ago. So I was wondering if you had anything you might want an extra hand for? Maybe your folks? Don't want more than two hundred for him."

Moncon.

Monster convict.

It was the twenty-first century, and you were being asked if you wanted to buy a slave.

"He's not too bad with a firm hand," the man quickly reassured you. "You just gotta make it clear who's boss."

He made it almost sound normal, too, as if you were about to adopt a dog or something.

You were about to politely refuse and walk swiftly back to your car and drive on back to Katy.

But then the gears shifted in your head with a click.

And the next word out of your mouth surprised you.

"Okay."

Upon hearing those words, the man brightened considerably. "No joke? God bless you, miss." He walked over to one end of the gate and unlatched it. "Of course, I wouldn't want to swindle you, it's only fair that you see the product yourself. He's in the barn." He gestured forward.

You tried not to show just how scared stiff you were. What if this isn't an actual sale? Honestly, you weren't sure what was worse – being sold a slave or the possibility that there was no deal and this man had his own plans for you. Still, you kept your back straight and you followed the man, trying to hide the keys clenched between your fingers.

The ranch was so… normal. You'd been to similar ones a dozen times before, but not since monsters had come from below. You figured that a ranch owning at least one slave would be… significantly different, somehow. But no. If you hadn't known, you could have easily mistaken this ranch for one of the others you've seen.

The rancher seemed to mistake your mild horror for fascination. "That over there's our herd," he said, pointing to the cows in the distance. "But you've already been acquainted. And that over there…" He started pointing to various parts of the ranch, talking about what they were for, asking after your place or your folks' place.

You nodded politely and responded when necessary. You told him your parents had a farm… which was only a little true. It was a tiny thing, honestly – more of a hobby than anything else. But he didn't need to know that.

You both reached the barn.

"He's in here," he said, putting a hand on the door. "Now I've got to warn you, you shouldn't get too close to him. He's been misbehaving, and when he's in that kind of mood he's easily riled up. Just don't reach into the bars or anything like that." He winked – fucking winked – and slid the door open a crack.

You'd entered barns before. The doors usually let the light in enough to see – helped that the doors were so big. Even a small crack illuminated a good amount. But for whatever reason, the darkness within the barn seemed to swallow most of the light. All you could see was the side of a metal cage, and some brown cloth inside – a potato sack.

The rancher attempted to push the door, pushed it more strongly, then frowned. "Damn thing must've-" He cut himself off with a smile. "Forgive me, missy. I'll be right back with the tools. You just wait right here." He walked off.

Glancing over your shoulder as he went away, you returned your attention to the darkness. You squinted into it, trying to see if you could spot him.

Your eyes adjusted a little, but you still couldn't see a lot. Wherever he was-

But just then, the sack moved.

You tensed.

It moved some more. It turned, you saw what looked like white gloves, and then…

Above what you thought was the potato sack, there were a few blinking red lights, and… a brighter, steadier light, about half a foot above the others. And where the others were merely red, this one was crimson, in a way that felt almost impossible or unreal.

You didn't move a muscle, staring back at that light, a chill running up your spine. For a second, you forgot the reason you were here. You wanted to go right back to the car.

The footsteps behind you ground you. "Here we are! Sorry for the delay, miss." The doors shifted open, letting the light in. "This here's what you'd be buying. Of course, I'd throw in some tools for free."

You didn't say anything. You simply stared at the occupant of the cage.

From the way he'd been talking, calling him a "dog", you assumed that he would be some dog or wolf monster – you'd seen a couple of them on the news. But no, he wasn't even that – he seemed to be a skeleton. He was wearing what looked to be what was technically a corn sack with holes cut in it with the word "dangerous" painted on the front. What you had thought were gloves were actually skeletal hands, bound with two loops of thick black cord. The blinking red lights were his collar. The steady one… the steady one…

That had been his eye.

More specifically, his iris. It shone in his left eye socket, burning its way into you like a brand. The other one was completely dark, hollow like the darkness that used to fill the barn. You found it hard to tear your eyes away from his. Once you did, you spotted the second most significant thing about him:

The steel muzzle clamped around the front of his face.

"As you can see here, he's a little bit of a biter." The rancher tapped on the bars of the cage with one of the tools. "But this thing's very tight. You just make sure it gets tightened now and then, shouldn't be a problem. When you want to remove it, you use this." He lifted a pole-like tool from the ground. "Just press the clamps against the muzzle, like this." He pushed it into the cage to demonstrate, pressing against the muzzle. "Then you pull the trigger. Got it?"

You were almost too nauseated to nod.

He pulled the tool out. "You only wanna do that when it's time to feed him, and you always do it when he's in the cage. Sometimes, when you pull the mask off, he starts mouthing off, so watch out for that. Of course, that's what the muzzle is for." He laughed.

You didn't think you could fake a laugh at this point, so you simply smiled. Even as the back of your neck crawled.

He leaned the tool against one of the columns holding the barn up. "So, you were planning on taking him to your parent's place, then?"

"Yeah, something like that. We'll figure something out. It seems like a good deal, in any case." You shrugged in a way that you hoped was convincing.

"Glad to hear it." The rancher paused. "Hey, how old are you, missy? 19?"

"22," you replied. God, I hope he isn't going to be creepy. Creepier.

His mustache twitched. "Personally, it doesn't matter to me all that much who this fella goes to. But the people in the capital would be breathing down my neck if I weren't more thoughtful about that sort of thing. Just wanna be sure he goes to a good home, that's all. Can't keep him here, and, well…" He leaned forward, voice going to a stage whisper. "I'm not exactly allowed to euthanize him myself."

The bars of the cage rattled, startling you.

The rancher didn't miss a beat. He picked up the pole and hit the side of the cage with it, resulting in a loud clang. He bared his teeth at the skeleton. "See that? I can be noisy, too. Now, you better mind your manners around this nice young miss. Otherwise, people from the capital will come down to put a bullet in your skull." The rancher grimly smiled.

The skeleton didn't seem to react at all. You hadn't even seen him move to rattle the cage.

The rancher turned back to you. "So, I'm guessing you don't have a horse trailer with you or nothing. So if you're willing to buy him, how's about we take care of the paperwork now and you come pick him up tomorrow?"

You nodded quickly. "Sure, that sounds good." That would give you time to talk to your parents about this, get their help with the situation. And, of course, get an actual trailer.

"Swell." The rancher pointed at the cage. "Now, you behave yourself." He walked away.

You followed him, but your eyes slid back to the cage, and you were startled.

The skeleton's eyes were different. There was a light in each socket now, and they were both less intense. Less red. Softer, somehow.

Your eyes were glued to his until you had to turn away to follow the rancher.

As you walked away, you realized the doors hadn't been shut.

Five minutes later, all the necessary paperwork was signed, the payment was made (he suggested that you make it tomorrow, but you wanted to do it today, you needed that dirty money out of your hands as soon as possible – he was surprised that you trusted him that much, but stopped pressing the issue when you insisted), and the other info was transferred to you. You and the rancher walked back to your car, making small talk – or rather, he was talking to you while you pretended to listen. Honestly, your stomach was rolling with anxiety – you were having trouble thinking straight. You were thankful when you got back to your car.

"Well, it's been a pleasure doing business with you, miss." The rancher adjusted his hat. "Just stop on by tomorrow. When should I expect you, same time? Noon?"

"It might be a little later than that," you replied, thinking about the trailer. "I'll, uh, call and let you know."

"Fantastic. Miss, I hope you have a fantastic rest of your day." He paused. "Oh, and I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the consequences of letting him loose or anything like that."

The words were terrifying. You managed a smile and a snort. "Getting arrested or worse? No, thank you."

The rancher grinned. "Right? It'd be no fun for anyone. Him, or me, or you, or…" He trailed off and shook his head. "Nah, you're a sensible young woman. Wouldn't do anything like that."

You smiled. Of course you wouldn't release him.

You knew better.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." Slowly, the rancher turned around and walked away.

Inwardly, you felt something release within you. You let out a deep sigh.

"Oh, I nearly forgot! My apologies!"

That something within you was sucked back in again.

The rancher was back. "Forgive me, miss, I have such terrible manners. You should come inside and have some lemon squares before you leave! Made by the missus herself."

"I, uh… I'm sorry." You smiled apologetically. "But I really need to get back. My place is only about an hour away, anyway."

"You sure? My wife's lemon squares are divine. I can personally attest to that." He winked. "She made way too many of them. You'd be doing us a favor."

You nodded. "Yeah, I have to go back. Things to do." Places to get away from.

"Well, that's a shame. Maybe tomorrow." Suddenly, the rancher looked at you thoughtfully for a few seconds. Then he smiled widely. "God Bless You, miss. Have a safe trip back. We can't thank you enough for taking him off our hands."

"Yes, thanks. You too." And without another word, you got in the car and fastened your seatbelt. You waved goodbye to him and drove away.

Normally, you didn't mind when people said, "God Bless You." You weren't very religious, but you considered it a compliment. A sincere sentiment that existed regardless of your own beliefs.

This time, it just felt vulgar.

A short while later, when you were confident you had put some distance between you and the ranch, you pulled over to the side of the road and tried to process what just happened.

There was only one other time that made you feel the way you did just now. One time, you had been talking to your mother late at night when she'd gotten an urgent phone call from a family friend. You and your mom had quickly gotten dressed and taken a truck to her house, where you helped move your friend out of her abusive boyfriend's house. The boyfriend was upstairs, sleeping – you'd had to be as quick and as quiet as possible.

Later, you'd learned that the boyfriend was emotionally abusive, not physical – which was still horrible, but less immediately dangerous – and that he'd tried to convince your friend not to leave before you all left. But the feeling was still there.

Something inside you had frozen. Or hardened. And you just… did what needed to be done.

You were only a jumble of feelings afterwards.

There were two significant differences between these two events, however. One, you didn't have your mother with you this time.

And two…

You looked at the paperwork in the passenger seat, feeling sickened.

This time, you didn't feel like a hero.

You sighed and rubbed your brow. Focus, focus, focus. Your parents probably knew someone who had a horse trailer, they could ask to borrow it. You pulled out your phone, the adrenaline making your hands shake, and you dialed your mom's number. You held it to your ear and waited.

You got the voicemail message.

"Shit," you muttered. You really needed to hear her voice right now. Is it worth calling Dad? No, he's probably busy too. Instead, you waited for the beep. "Hi, mom, it's me. Look, I, uh…" You couldn't quite bring yourself to say it. "I made a dumb decision." Understatement. "But I can't go back on it. Do you know anyone who has a horse trailer? I really need it." You glanced at the rearview mirror-

And let out a shriek.

The skeleton was in the car. He sat there, buckled in, as if he'd been there all along. He had one eye again, glowing crimson, brow furrowed in a fierce warning glare. Slowly, he lifted his still-bound hands, and raised one bony finger in front of the muzzle on his face.

It took you a bit to walk yourself back from the brink of panic. After a little while, you returned your attention to the phone. "Sorry. There was, uh, there was…" You paused. "Hornet. In the car. Anyway, forget about the trailer, I don't actually need it. Just realized. I'll, um, call you if I need anything else. Okay? Love you, bye." You hung up and put the phone away.

There was a long, deafening silence.

You could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. Before, you'd been unable to keep your eyes away from his. Now, the idea of meeting his gaze scared you shitless. Still, you slowly managed to look back into the rearview mirror.

He seemed irritated, now. He tilted his head pointedly to the left.

He wants me to drive. "R-right. Sorry." You started the car back up, waited for a gap, then pulled onto the road.

The next half-hour was the longest one you'd ever experienced. You kept your mind to driving as much as you could, resisting the urge to glance into the back seat. You tried to distract yourself, divert your thoughts to anything else – the scenery, the upcoming semester, what you'd make for lunch when you got back – anything. It never worked for long.

For the first time, you were relieved that your back windows were tinted. You didn't want to explain why you had a monster in the back seat.

You didn't want to explain why you had a slave, period.

You couldn't resist the urge to look any further. You quickly glanced into the rearview mirror.

He seemed to be more relaxed. His sockets were half-closed, his eyelights staring out the window. He was slightly slouched in the seat. He seemed exhausted.

Belatedly, you realized that you hadn't had any music on while you were driving. It was a habit of yours – you were afraid that the music would distract you, even though you knew it probably wouldn't. Plus, most of the radio stations were country music, which you weren't a huge fan of. Still, he might want to hear something… "Do… would, uh, would you like me to turn on some music?" Your voice was barely audible over the air conditioning.

He looked over at you for a few seconds, expression barely changing. Then he looked back out the window.

Guess he doesn't really care. You kept your head down and kept driving.

It wasn't long after that you reached Katy.

You hadn't lived here all your life. You and your parents had moved here when you were about six. But you still remembered what it was like before the Secession. All the lawns were nicely kept – at least, they were in the area that you lived in. You remember picking up pinecones and acorns as you walked to school.

But the Secession hadn't been kind. Many people left, and because of it, many houses had been sold or left abandoned. Not even the influx of people coming in could replenish the numbers lost, no matter how hard the government tried. The grass on people's lawns either dried up or grew out of control. Fire ants became an even bigger problem than they were before, ant hills popping up everywhere. Certain areas became neglected, signs falling apart.

Katy was a half dead ghost town.

Driving through the streets was still painful. You couldn't help but remember the friends you used to have, before they'd all moved away. You didn't make friends easily, so you always treasured the ones you did. It made it that much more painful when they left.

Of course, you had too much to deal with in the present to get caught up in your memories.

You pulled into your parking space and turned off the ignition. You took a deep breath. "We're here."

It was a small, weird apartment. The stairs were narrow and made of wood. The walls were covered in shingle siding. You lived on the second floor. There wasn't a whole lot to say about it – you had rented it along with another student when you first started college. They were the daughter of your parents' neighbors, and you weren't all that close, so it wasn't too surprising when they left for a better arrangement. Now you had the place to yourself.

But you wouldn't for long.

You drummed your fingers on the steering wheel as you tried to plan how you'd go about things. There weren't too many people here this time of day, so you should… probably just take him inside. Yes. Here we go. You exited the car and slowly, carefully opened the side door.

He was still just sitting there. You had half expected him to make a break for it. He stared at you expectantly.

You gulped. Your throat was rather dry. "S-So, uh…" Your eyes drifted down.

That's right, the "leash". It was attached to the cords binding his hands together. You were thankful that it wasn't actually attached to his neck, but it wasn't much less humiliating and awful.

You shook your head and started speaking again, quietly. "Um… apparently, I have to keep you on a leash when we're both outside." You shuddered involuntarily. "So, I'm going to take the leash now. Okay?"

The skeleton didn't respond. He didn't exactly move in a way that would make it any easier for you, either.

"Okay then. I'll just…" You ducked down and awkwardly fished the leash out between his feet. You almost dropped it at one point, but kept your grip, fists clenched to keep from shaking. You glanced up at him.

You weren't sure if he was unimpressed with you or just tired.

You gave him a weak smile. "Let's get going, shall we?"

After nearly forgetting to collect the paperwork and lock your car, you made your way up the stairs to your apartment. It felt like you were dealing with too much all the time – trying to keep a grip on the paperwork and the leash at the same time, trying to hold your keys in your hand. You managed to make it to the top of the stairs, and after a ridiculous amount of fumbling, you managed to make it inside.

You let go of the leash, locked the door with a click…

And you felt some small relief.

"Step one complete," you muttered.

More like steps one through four.

He was staring at you now.

Self-conscious, you walked briskly to the living room, set down the paperwork, tucked your keys away, and turned around.

He had followed you.

Good. Slightly unnerving, but good. "I'm, uh, going to work on your restraints now. Can I see your hands?"

It was hard to tell, but you could have sworn you saw him lift a brow bone at that. How does that even work? After a few seconds, however, he obliged.

You were going to have to touch him now. You suppressed the fear that thought brought, and examined the cords carefully. They were done up pretty well. "You want to sit down? This might take a while."

He remained standing.

"Okay." You started working on it. It took a few minutes to figure out what strands you were supposed to pull. Your fingers touched his bony wrists in places, and even though you knew better, you had to keep yourself from flinching when you did. Eventually, you pulled the right cords, freeing his wrists.

Immediately, he started rubbing them, wincing as he did so.

"Okay, good," you mumbled to yourself. The muzzle would be next – you didn't think you could remove the collar. You walked up behind him and started examining it.

It was also done up pretty well. It made you sick to see just how tight it was – it wasn't supposed to come off, most of the time. Still, you thought you could work out a way to remove it if you were careful. You gently tugged on the straps and strings keeping it in place until it finally came loose, falling to the floor. "There. That should…" You trailed off as he turned around.

Holy shit, he had teeth. Huge, sharp ones. There was a gold one on his left side that gleamed in the sunlight. He stretched his jaw out, shifting it around, making it painfully obvious just how sharp they were. They looked like they could tear through skin like tissue paper.

As much as you despised yourself for thinking it, you understood why the slave-owner made him wear the muzzle. You would never want to get on the wrong side of those bad boys.

He rubbed his jaw, then looked up at you again with a look of almost tired indifference. It reminded you of a cat.

There was a lengthy silence.

He's waiting on me. "S-so. Uh. As you can see here, this is my apartment." Pause. "And yours, too. I guess." You stepped past him. "This is the living room right here…" You gestured further back. "The kitchen's over there." You pointed to an open door way close to the kitchen. "That's the bathroom over there." You pointed to a doorway slightly closer to you. "This is the spare bedroom, which is yours now..." You felt sheepish and stupid. "Is-is any of this making sense?" You turned around.

He was no longer there.

You felt something like panic shoot through you. He must have left. He must have left because you removed his restraints. Which was fine, wasn't it? But no, it wasn't really, because he would almost certainly get caught, and he'd either be returned to you, or his status as a troublemaker would get him killed by Conviction Enforcement Services. You tried to think of what to do-

And then you heard the soft squeak of bedsprings from the closed door to your room.

Immediately, your panic melted into relief. He was just in there. That was fine. You gently turned the knob to enter.

It wouldn't budge.

You rattled it, but it wouldn't work. The door was locked. "Um, excuse me?" No response. You knocked on the door. No response. "That's… that's my room." No response. You remembered all the embarrassing things you left lying around in there, and your cheeks heated up. You raised your voice a little more. "Hello?" You pressed your ear against the wood of the door.

You heard your laptop being booted up.

You felt a flash of intense irritation and horror, which quickly changed into resignation. Let him do what he needs to do. You didn't feel like giving him a hard time, considering what circumstances he'd just come from. You walked back to the living room. Shit, what do I do next? Part of you just wanted to collapse on the couch and not move for a while, but you knew that if you did that, you probably wouldn't get up for the rest of the day. You needed to keep moving, for now.

Don't monsters need to eat special food? You remember reading that somewhere. You took out your phone and looked up places you could buy monster food. Luckily – or perhaps unluckily – the nearest place wasn't far away at all.

You picked up your purse and keys, then stopped by the door. "Hey, what types of food do you like?"

No response.

Well, I hope he likes whatever I pick for him. You started to leave.

"burg."

You stopped. "What?"

No response. Whatever he said, he didn't repeat it.

Burg. As in hamburgers? Or iceberg lettuce? You decided to get both, and you left, hoping that he'd be out of your room by the time you got back.

He wasn't.

You put down the groceries on the living room table, then you knocked on the door. "Hey, you still in there? I came back with groceries. Burgers. You want me to make you one?"

No response.

I think he is…? Either that, or he was elsewhere in the house and the door was just closed. But both the bathroom and spare room doors were open – it didn't look like he was in either one. You assumed he was in there and continued. "I'm assuming you don't want me to make you one, so… the food's in the fridge and freezer if you want it." You paused. "You can use the stove if you need it."

No response.

Okay. Still doesn't feel like talking. You pick up the bags and carry them into the kitchen. Jeez, monster food is expensive. At least, anything actually edible – there was this really cheap and easily mass-produced slop stuff for sale. You didn't go anywhere near it. You'd also bought buns, lettuce and pickles, onions, condiments, and a few other toppings. That had been all you bought on one trip – all you could buy. The frozen patties alone had cost thirty bucks. You picked up the receipt and winced. Is this sustainable? You'd have to work overtime for sure. You sighed and sat on the couch, rubbing your forehead.

You had no idea what you'd gotten into today.

Normally, you'd decompress by going on your computer and surfing the web but, well… he'd been using it. He probably still was. It's probably worth asking, though. Right?

You remembered the look he'd had on his face earlier and decided it wasn't worth asking.

I'll just wait for him to do whatever he needs to do in there. Right now, his needs were more important than yours. In the meantime… You picked up the remote and turned on the TV, setting the volume to low. You weren't a huge TV watcher most of the time, but you knew there was probably something good on.

All you had to do was wait.

It was nine o' clock, and you were getting concerned.

He hadn't come out of there yet.

You'd been watching TV the whole time, and you'd been lucky enough to catch up on some shows you really liked. You had made a meal soon after, and you had offered again – he still hadn't responded. You had gone back to watching - it distracted you enough that you lost track of time. Once you saw what time it was, however, you did a double take. He's been in there a while. It was enough to make you worried that maybe he wasn't in there anymore. I think I'd better check. You got up and went over to the door, but instead of knocking you simply pressed your ear to it and listened.

It was completely silent. You couldn't hear anything, not even the sound of breathing.

You realized that you hadn't heard him when you came back with the groceries. Is he in there? Did he actually leave this time? He might have left while you were out. Or worse… Anxiety filled your chest, and you knocked on the door again. "Hello?"

No response.

You took a shuddering breath. "Look, I need to know you're still alive. If you… could you knock twice if you're still there?" You paused. "Please?"

No response.

You tried not to panic. Either he had left and ran away, or there was a dead skeleton in your room. Who do I call to help me deal with this? The police would probably call Conviction Enforcement Services, so that wasn't a good idea. Maybe you could call a locksmith… but they wouldn't be open this late at night. Shit, I don't want to call anyone. You had Social Anxiety Disorder, you weren't prepared for any of this, you were losing your mind-

Suddenly, from inside the room, you heard three knocks.

Slowly, the muscles in your body started releasing. You exhaled, relieved. "Okay. Okay. You're still in there." Then you frowned. Wait, three knocks? What does that mean? You shook your head – it didn't matter that much. "So, how much longer did you need my bedroom? Because I, uh, need to sleep soon."

No response.

Is he… planning to sleep in there? Come to think of it, this would probably be the first time that he'd slept in a bed for a long time. In that case… "If you're going to sleep in there, could you hand me some pajamas? They're, uh, in the second highest drawer. Of my dresser." You didn't exactly want to sleep in a sweaty shirt and jeans.

A minute or so passed, and you had resigned yourself to sleeping in your clothes anyway when suddenly you heard fabric brush against wood, and you felt something push against your foot. You looked down.

A pair of muffin-print pajamas were being shoved under the door.

Oh. You took a step back and waited for it to be pushed all the way through, then picked them up and shook the dust off of them. This is why I should sweep more. "Thanks. Um, good night. Wake me up if you need anything." You went into the bathroom, changed, and emerged to consider your sleep options.

The spare bedroom indeed had a bed, but it hadn't been made yet. And I'm too tired to make it right now. You could also sleep on the sofa. But if he comes out of his room…You looked at your bedroom door. You didn't want to put extra pressure on him to be quiet to avoid waking you. You know what, I'll just wrap myself in one of the extra blankets and sleep in the spare bedroom. You rummaged through your closet until you found one that seemed suitably light, then you entered the spare bedroom, closing the door behind you.

This had been your room, back when you had a roommate. Come to think of it, she was pretty quiet as well. Of course, it was a completely different situation. Back then, I had asked her which room she wanted, and she picked the bigger one. Made sense, but it had still made you sad – it was also the one with the bigger window. Of course, I ended up getting that room anyway, since she left. Things had worked out, in the end.

After a moment's thought, you locked the door, then you spread the blanket out over the bed. You lay on top of it and pulled one of the edges over yourself, creating a cocoon of fabric. You closed your eyes and tried to sleep.

It was difficult – thoughts and worries swam through your mind.

God, what have I gotten myself into?

Eventually, however, you dozed off into slumber, your mind escaping the dilemma you were in.

Warning section:

This chapter contains implications of abuse, fear of sexual assault or harrassment, social anxiety, mentions of "euthanasia", cages, muzzles, and bindings. Also really, really creepy Southern hospitality.