Page 11 of Plaything

Dinner was over quickly. We spent the rest of the short time eating, and Niko got my cell phone number for emergencies.

After putting my dishes in the washer, I went upstairs to put my now clean sheets on the bed, fresh out of the laundry room.

Much to my surprise, Cat was already in my room, waiting for me to crawl into bed.

Freezing.

Freezing was the only way to describe this place. When I showered a few hours ago, the water was warm long enough to get my hair wet before it turned bone cold. That was the quickest shower I’d ever had, the freezing temperature forcing me out.

When I breathed, I could see my breath in the air around me. My room—this house, was an igloo. I was shivering, even dressed in thick sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt with a thick comforter over my entire body. My body was shaking violently, to the point where even Cat was getting annoyed with me.

It was late at night, and I hadn’t slept a wink. I couldn’t. Not only was I suffering from hypothermia, I was nervous. It was my first night here, and I felt anxious. Even after my melatonin, the exhausting day, and my need to shut down for a few hours, I couldn’t sleep.

Cat was curled up by my stomach, providing some warmth but not enough to make this bearable.

The fireplace stays on 24/7. I heard Dominic’s cold tone in my head, replaying his earlier statement. I turned, looking up at the ceiling now. I liked his voice. It was gritty, raspy, and rough. His tone was ice cold, and he showed no emotion when he spoke. For some reason, I found myself drawn to it. I wanted to hear what his voice sounded like when he was pleased. Perhaps, pleased by me.

I shifted uncomfortably, letting my imagination run wild. I couldn’t picture the stern man with a smile, but I could imagine his voice. In my mind, it wasn’t much different, just softer, less harsh. I’d like to hear that one day. My mind was made up, wrapped around the false fantasy of Dominic Owens being anything but cold towards me. I would try to get him to use that praising tone I desperately wanted to hear.

Much to Cat’s dismay, I lifted the blanket off myself. “Sorry,” I whispered, shrugging at him. Spoiled little thing. Throwing a smaller blanket over myself, I tried to quietly exit my room. I glanced back at my three stuffed bears I’d had since I was young. “If I’m not back in an hour, I’ve been possessed... or eaten by rats,” I whispered.

I knew it was ridiculous of me to speak to inanimate objects, but since I could remember, they were all I had. Those three bears have absorbed tears, worries, and any thought I couldn’t keep to myself.

Once I turned twelve, my father got rid of all my toys, even the three bears. He’d thrown them away, and with tears streaming down my cheeks, I rescued them from the trash. The man had made me shoot my own puppy, holding his hand over mine, and somehow, when he decided to throw my stuffed toys away, that was when I realized he was cruel.

When he made me fire that gun, he convinced me it was a learning experience. That I had to pay for the conciseness of my own actions. He said if I couldn’t pull a small trigger, I wouldn’t be able to handle the tough challenges in life. He had a way with words, manipulating and convincing.

I remember my hands shaking, unable to hold the gun. I didn’t want to do it—I couldn’t. I knew my puppy didn’t deserve that harsh of a punishment. I was sobbing, begging on my knees, doing anything I could to convince him not to make me do it. My eyes squeezed shut, feeling his big hand over mine, pulling the trigger. The loud gunshot made my ears ring, and when I opened my eyes, my puppy was...

Anyways. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized Charles was downright, utterly cruel. He put on a good show for the media, business partners, and outsiders. But I knew him. I’d seen his cruelty firsthand; I was the one he often taught those life lessons to, justifying them by saying they would prepare me for my adult life.

I never told my father that I saved my bears. I hid them in my closet until I moved away for college. It was childish, but I believed they made terrible things disappear. Whether it was tears, sadness, fear, anxiety, rats, monsters, or fathers. My bears have always been there for me like no human ever had.

The door and floors creaked loudly, and I cringed. Niko was right. This house wasn’t ideal, no matter how big it was. Especially when it came to being quiet at two in the morning.

The stairs creaked loudly with each step I took. Even with my movements slow and light, I made an uncomfortable amount of noise. But I was desperate to get to the fire.

Finally, downstairs, I crept, following the soft flickering light coming from the fireplace. Just as I suspected, no one was down here, thank goodness. They were all sane and probably asleep like they should be during this hour.

There was a large rug in front of the fireplace, and I happily sat on it a few feet away from the metal gate that went around the fire.

The heat reached my freezing body immediately, slowly defrosting me. I sighed in relief, hugging my legs to my chest and resting my chin on my knees.

My blanket shifted, and I flinched, my mind racing at the thought of a million rats crawling all over me. Seeing Cat curl up in the excess blanket next to me, my shoulders relaxed.

Gently petting him, I watched the flames dance and contort. The wood crackled and popped, sounding like a lullaby.

Warm, calm, and cozy, I could have fallen asleep on the spot. But I couldn’t do that. How awkward would it be if they woke up before I did and saw me lying on the floor like a slob? Not to mention that I’d be embarrassed if my professors saw me in my pajamas. It was brown sweatpants and a tight tan shirt, but I didn’t sleep in a bra. And it was very cold... I’d just stay here until I was tired enough to sleep in my own bed. My freezing cold bed.

For now, I was just thankful for the fire.

It was half an hour before my back started to ache. Maybe I could just lie down until I get tired?

Listening to my inner monologue, I gently lay on my side, facing the fire. The blanket was over my body, and Cat was once again curled by my stomach. My head rested against my arm.

Don’t fall asleep.

My eyes got heavy, and I fought to keep them open. Don’t fall asleep.

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