Note: "«italicized text»" indicates anything said in French.

Mathias bought me clothes at some point last night. I never expected him to go that far for me. It was mostly cold-weather clothes that could be layered. Long-sleeves, a few t-shirts, jeans, some wool socks, two wool pool-overs, and my very own pair of heavy-soled hiking books. There was also a pack of underwear, clothes I could use as pajamas, and a toothbrush. He forced me up, to get dressed, before leading me into the kitchen. I sat at the island, watching him cook eggs and pan-toast bread.

He set the plates down on the counter, garnished them with forks, a cup of coffee each. He buttered his toast, took a bite, a sip of coffee. He looked over at the clock on the wall, then settled his eyes back on me. “Someone’s coming by in ‘bout an hour or so.” He took another sip of coffee. “You be good ‘til they get here, and ‘til they leave, there might be something in it for you.”

I nodded, starting eating. After having slept, having time to think through my blunders yesterday and my first one today, I figured it was best I kept talking to a minimum. As we ate, I found the silence a little more blissful than stifling. His gaze still unnerved me, assessing my every moment, but as long as he wasn’t speaking, I felt I was better off. After we finished he cleaned the plates, silverware, mugs like he had done the night before.

The heavy-soled boots he made me wear inside served a different purpose than they were intended for. They clunked every time I walked, announcing my every movement for him. They acted like the jangling of dog tags, telling Mathias where I was in the house. He didn’t keep his eyes solely on me now that he had a marker of my presence. If I left the room while he wasn’t looking, he would know.

That hour or so seemed to take place excruciatingly slow. I took to exploring the rest of the cabin, his footsteps making a cacophony with mine. In addition to the rooms I already knew of there was a den filled with board games, puzzles, books on the first floor. The second floor was much smaller, housing a study with its door wide open. There was another door across from the study’s door, and as I reached out to turn the nob, Mathias told me I’d better not.

I paused at the one warning he gave me before I made a mistake. I brought my hands back down, walked downstairs with him following behind me. I went into the den and scoured the shelves for something to do. I found a deck of cards and sat on the floor, shuffling them to play solitaire. It seemed I was occupied enough for him to leave me unsupervised. There was a window in the den I could have escaped from, but the boots on hardwood would give me away before I’d even reach the lip. He must have an exact position in his head for every thumped sound I’d make. I started to feel as if I was a dog. The boots were his insurance to know where I was, to know that I wasn’t getting into trouble and destroying his furniture. I played a few rounds of solitaire before I laid on the cold hardwood, purposely thumping the heels of my boots on the floor. If I were to be a dog, I’d act out the jingle of dog tags. At least now he knew where I liked to lie.

Closed my eyes, folded my hands, then stared into the peak of the roof. I could hear the seconds tick by as I waited for this mysterious person, for this mysterious reward. I listened to him walk around the house, unsure of what he was doing, wishing he would just stay still. I closed my eyes once more, forcing myself to feel the weight of my dog’s head on my stomach. We laid on the floor often after I rescued her. It helped her calm down, helped her understand I wasn’t going to hurt her. There was no threat to her anymore, and I was going to spoil her rotten. I realized I missed her more than I wanted to admit to myself. Even going one day without her felt like I lost a piece of my soul.

There wasn’t much time for me to dwell on it as he called my name. Like a father calling for his child to dole out punishment. I went to him in the living room, having now added the duffel bag full of money to his ensemble. “Sit there,” he pointed to the middle of the couch, “don’t move. Don’t speak.” I sat down in the middle of the couch, feeling exposed without the arm. “You’ve been good enough so far. Don’t disappoint me.”

From my spot on the couch, I could watch him at the door. He opened after a knock sounded. His large frame blocked the person he was talking to, but I was able to make out a bit of their conversation. Mathias said something about a sister, before dropping his voice lower. At some point, it became the right moment for him to hand off the duffel bag. The visitor left with a rather loud, joyful “«Yes, thanks. Everything is good now. »” I pretended I didn’t understand the part said in French when Mathias turned back around. Whatever the money was for it seemed to be for a debt of this sister, or something along those lines.

He sat on the coffee table, crossing his arms. “I’ll grant you one wish,” he said.

“My dog,” I immediately answered.

“What about it?” He asked.

“Let me say goodbye and take her to a shelter,” I said.

“Breed?”

“Pitbull.”

He scratched at his chin. “Rescue?” I nodded. He thought about it, looking me in the eyes, assessing how much I really wanted this. “No.”

I blinked in slight surprise, but I knew it would be too good to be true. “No?”

“No,” he said once more, stern. “Pick something else.”

“Please,” I begged. He glared at me in response. “At-at least let me contact someone to take her.”

He let out a huff. “Fine.” He stood from the coffee table, told me to stay put. I listened to him walk towards the stairs, up the stairs where his clunking was too faint for me to make out clearly. It was quiet for a minute, then his footsteps resumed as he walked back down the stairs, back to the living room. He held up a flip phone for me to see. “Text only. Number?” I gave him the number and watched as he typed it in the phone. “Start talking.”

“This is Soren,” I started my dictation. “Something happened and I need you to take Jaime to a shelter. Donate her stuff somewhere. Tell her I love her and that she did nothing wrong. Give her lots of love from me.”

“Is this still ‘bout the dog?” He asked looking up from the phone.

I felt myself getting defensive, but he didn’t know her like I did. I swallowed my snippy comments, answered. “She’s a Pit. It’s hard to find them good homes, and she needs to know it’s not her fault.”

“You’re fucking weird,” he said. “That all?” I nodded. He flipped the phone closed after he sent the text. He walked off again, to put the phone away. When he came back, all he said was “It’s a dog,” as he sat in the armchair.

I knew he was baiting me. I knew he wanted me to say something that would get myself in trouble, but instead of biting it all back, of swimming away, I took the bait. “She’s not just a dog!” I squeezed my hands into fists. “You must know something if you asked if she was a rescue!”

“Really?” He asked, leaned forward slightly. Gave a smile. “I know Pits make good fighting dogs. How’m I to know she wouldn’t attack me?”

“Because she was rescued from one of those fucking rings,” I spat, standing. “I retrained her; she wouldn’t hurt a fucking fly!”

Mathias let out a chuckle and I knew I messed up somewhere. “C’mere,” he said, softly. I couldn’t bring myself to move. His words, his actions, had no malice in them, but the feeling in my gut soldered my feet to the wooden floor. It crept up my throat, my heartbeat getting faster and faster. “Now!” He barked. I moved, closing the small distance to stand in front of him. He looked up at me, as if begging. Motioned for me to lean down, and I did. “When did I ever…” he paused, grabbing the collar of my shirt, bringing my face dangerously close to his. “Give you permission to use such foul language?” I steeled myself for him to headbutt me, but it never came. Instead, he stood, showing me just how much taller than me he actually was. “I will take some responsibility. Monkey see, monkey do.”

I thought I was in the clear, only for the wave of despair to wash over me when he never let go of my shirt. He led me into the bathroom, forced my head over the sink. He pressed his body against me to keep me from moving. I could feel his chest on my back, every even breath he took. It started to dawn on me what he was going do as he tilted my head to the side. I pleaded with him to stop, that I wouldn’t swear ever again. He forced fingers into my mouth, forced it to stay open. I pushed down any temptations to bite him, that would only add to my punishment. It was terrifying being at his mercy, knowing anything I did while in this position would only fuel his anger. And I felt tears well in my eyes as I tasted the hand soap on my tongue.

He held my mouth closed. “Swallow. It.” He practically growled. I tried to change his mind through his hand while I desperately blinked back the tears. I felt something hard pressed up against my temple. “Swallow it,” he said a little calmer. I moved my eyes upwards, looking in the mirror just barely to see the butt of the gun. Tears I tried to hold back leaked down my face, I swallowed the soap, nodding against his hand.

I coughed into the sink when he removed himself from me. I turned on the tap, drank from it, trying to get the taste out of my mouth. Water, spit, dripped from my lips during my next coughing spree. I took in a heavy breath, leaning against the bathroom counter to look at him in the mirror. He caught my eyes in the mirror and I looked away. I wiped at my eyes, at my mouth, at my nose, not expecting him to say anything. But what he did say took me off guard.

I could feel his gaze on me through the mirror. “You’re cute when you cry,” he said. I didn’t respond; swallowing down everything I wanted to bite back at him. If I didn’t speak, if I didn’t do anything, I couldn’t get in trouble. “What, not talking now?” I caught his eyes once more in the mirror. He took a step towards me, and I got as close to the counter as I was able. “I’m sorry,” he softened his voice, but his eyes looked like a predator about to pounce on its prey. Once more, I adverted my gaze from him. “You want some cocoa?” Reluctantly, I nodded. I was willing to do anything to get out of this bathroom at this point.

He let me out of his sight while he made the cocoa. I folded in on myself in the armchair, resting my head on my knees. He tapped me on the shoulder, and I flinched. I brought my head up, nodded a thanks, taking the cocoa in my own hands, grazing his fingers by mistake. They were impossibly warm.