by S Bolanos
Walking in on Michael had not been my intent. Yet, I found myself staring transfixed, soaking in the vision of a tanned, naked Michael.
“Now, where on earth did I put… Aha, there you are,” he exclaimed triumphantly as he snatched a pair of sweats and turned to find me sitting like a total peeping Jane in his doorway. “Oh, hey,” he said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle. I cocked my head to the side. “Didn’t want to be out there by yourself, I take it?” he asked, standing there with the sweats in his hand.
I glanced behind me down the hall and back at him. That was a solid nope.
He continued to stare at me and my tail gradually began wagging of its own accord, swishing lightly along the wood. All of a sudden, his eyes went wide and he quickly pulled on the pants promptly followed by a fresh tee that seemed to materialize out of thin air.
“So.” He paused to clear his throat. “We should probably see about getting you cleaned up as well,” he added, then promptly disappeared into what I assumed was the en suite bath. I leaned forward curious what he was up to, especially when I heard running water.
If he thinks he’s giving me a bath, he’s out of his damn mind. Animal or not, that’s not happening.
The sound of water vanished and Michael reappeared holding two towels: one wet, one dry.
“This will probably be easier in the living room,” he said and walked towards me.
I quickly stood up and backed out of the way until my tail rudely met the opposite wall. I gave a small yip and he chuckled quietly.
“Come on. Dried blood is harder to get out of fur.” I narrowed my eyes at his receding form and stayed where I was. “I’m not cooking anything until you’re clean.” The threat drifted down the hall.
That got my feet moving. Besides, how dangerous could the office flirt really be? I’d technically worked in the same office as the man for two years and never heard anything truly untoward. With Charline as my friend, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind I would’ve heard even the tiniest rumor of him being less than savory with any of his conquests.
Despite my conclusion, I hesitated at the edge of the hallway. I peered around the wall to sneak a peek into the room. Michael sat on the area rug between the overstuffed navy couch and the glass coffee table, wet towel in hand, dry one placed across his lap.
“You coming or not?” he encouraged me. I scowled at him. But either that expression didn’t translate to canine faces or he chose to ignore it, because he waved me over impatiently. “You’re not the only one that’s hungry and that blood isn’t going to clean itself.”
I took the last few fateful steps into the room and plopped down in front of him with a huff, prompting yet another chuckle.
“It really won’t be that bad,” he said, holding up the damp towel. I eyed it and wrinkled my nose. “If I may?” He met my eyes and for a brief second, it seemed like he knew me.
I dismissed the ridiculous fancy and dipped my head in what I hoped conveyed permission. My side flinched as the pressure of the warm towel passed over it.
“I really am sorry,” he whispered as he methodically removed all evidence of the chaos that had consumed my reality the last two nights. “The last thing I expected was for you to come haring out of the woods. I’m glad I was able to slow down enough not to do more damage. This could’ve been much worse.”
I let out a grateful sigh as he gently removed the dust from my face.
“Almost done.” The words were more depressing than reassuring. Having someone take care of me was a welcome change from constantly being terrified for my life. “There. And I don’t even think we need this.” He gestured to the unused towel in his lap. “See, not so bad. There wasn’t near as much blood as I feared. Must have gotten most of it on me.” He smiled and slowly stood up. “Now, I believe I promised you something to eat. How does steak sound?”
My stomach growled as I tracked him to the kitchen. I drifted after him with only the faintest tick of nails to betray my presence. Once more I heard the sound of water, then he turned and placed a large bowl full of the stuff on the floor in front of me.
The last of my trepidation evaporated as I greedily lapped up the liquid, making a terrible mess. By the time I’d quenched my thirst, water soaked my face and droplets covered a radius of at least two feet around the bowl. I let out a whine and backed away, embarrassed at the spectacle I’d made.
“Hey, it’s alright. No damage done.” He walked back into the living room. When he returned, he had the dry towel. He held it up as if he was going to dry my face, but once again waited for permission.
I pushed my face into the waiting cloth and allowed him to clean me up yet again. Once I was dry, he mopped up the floor, refilled the bowl, and replaced it, this time, with the towel beneath it. Then without any other comment, he returned to the task of making dinner.
I took a seat on the cool floor as he adjusted a knob on the stove that already held a pan. Beside the burner sat a plate with two exceptionally large steaks. My stomach gave a savage growl.
"What do you think? On the fly?” he asked, turning to look at me. I cocked my head to the side, not sure what he meant. The image must have been amusing, because he let out his heartiest laugh yet. "Well, I think on the fly sounds perfect."
The steak sizzled deliciously when it hit the hot pan. My nose lifted into the air of its own accord to sample the irresistible smell wafting up. He waited awhile then flipped it. I whined impatiently.
“Give me a minute.”
After a couple more minutes, he slid a plate in front of me. I eyed the pre-cut steak quizzically and looked back at him.
"What? I thought it would make it a little easier. I'll give you a minute to get acquainted,” he said before walking past me.
Steam curled in my nostrils, tempting and teasing with promise while my mouth filled with saliva in eager anticipation. Without an ounce more of hesitation, I scarfed down the tender meat. Apparently, ‘on the fly’ meant bloody-but-seared. Rare had never been my preference, but I suspected, like many things, that had changed. Distantly, I heard a door open and a few seconds later close. My ear twitched, but I didn’t pause to investigate.
I licked the plate clean and checked around it to make sure I hadn't dropped anything. Satisfied that the porcelain wasn’t getting any cleaner, I stepped back in time to see Michael emerge from the hallway.
“All done?” My tail wagged appreciatively. "Excellent. If it’s alright with you, I’m going to polish off my dinner as well. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable." He walked over to the peninsula where his own steak had cooled in his absence and took a seat on one of the bar stools.
Unsure what to do with myself, I remained seated where I was. In a time that rivaled mine, his plate clattered on the granite counter empty. Then he made his way back into the living room and plopped onto the couch with a loud whoosh of air.
Undecided about what to do with this unusual position I’d found myself in, I followed after. He glanced at me when I walked into his field of vision.
“It’s kind of strange having someone else here. Especially a…” He trailed off, shaking his head. I took a nervous step towards him. “Don’t mind me. Just the ramblings of a man who’s been on his own for too long.” He stared at me a moment. “I’m really glad you’re okay. It would’ve been awful to maim you with my jeep.”
I snorted.
“I said I’m sorry. Look, you’re warm, clean, safe, and fed. What more do you want?” he asked, holding his arms out dramatically. I eyed the open cushion next to him, then steeled myself and jumped up. “Well, hello,” he said, sounding surprised.
Thoroughly pleased with myself, I turned to face him. There was really only thing I wanted more than anything else, but was I brave enough to ask for it? Before I could second-guess myself, I took a shaky step towards him. The cushion sank beneath my paw and I stumbled forward slamming with all the grace of a new born giraffe into his chest. His arms wrapped around my back to steady me,
careful of my side.
“You alright?”
In response, I let out a sigh and sank into the impromptu embrace. His hand faltered a moment then began rubbing my back. I tried to hum in appreciation, but it came out a soft whimper.
“Shh, everything is going to be okay. You’re safe now.”
The position wasn’t the most comfortable, but I didn’t care. This was all I wanted, someone to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay, even though I knew it wouldn’t be. Just for a little while, I wanted to believe the lie. I needed to believe, even if it was only for one night, that nothing was chasing me, that I hadn’t almost died a million different ways, and that someday I would be able to hold someone the way Michael was holding me now.
While I lay in delusional bliss he talked about work, but I wasn't paying attention. I was finally at peace. I was safe.
7
Rumor Has It
I yawned wide enough to crack my jaw and blinked open eyes crusted shut with sand. Warm sunlight poured through the glass doors lending the space a dreamlike quality. I looked around bleary eyed in search of my host before vaguely recalling hearing him getting ready for work.
Wonder if he left any food out.
My paws reached out before me as I stretched back. Incredibly, the pain in my side was completely gone. My bottom landed back on the cushion with an audible poof and I glanced around at the quiet, empty house. No obnoxious geese honking away, no monster chasing me until I collapsed. I sighed contentedly.
I could get used to this.
Partway through another indulgent yawn, my middle jerked. I stood and shook off the peculiar sensation. Mid shake, my body spasmed violently. My foot lost its purchase on the cushion and I tumbled to the floor where I landed with a thud. Pain blossomed in my hip to join the waves of agony washing over me, followed by a ripple that ran up my spine like someone forcing my fur the wrong way. My face crunched as if I'd run into a brick wall and something was horribly wrong with my tail. Sickening pops echoed in my ears and turned my stomach.
A memory of teeth scraping bone sparked. I pushed it away as I registered a different sharp pain in my side. The edge of the coffee table pressed mercilessly into the tender flesh, but my body refused to obey any commands to move. Hair fell all around my head and my toenails clenched in the center rug.
I lay panting in a pool of my own sweat as the pain finally began to ebb, every inch of my tortured body raw. Even the necessary act of breathing brought its own searing agony that threatened to send me back into convulsions. After a couple shakier breaths, I pushed myself back to all fours and tried to get my bearings. When I unclenched my eyes, I barked out a laugh at the sight of two hands complete with five normal fingers and nails to match.
“I can't believe it,” I said in wonder as I proceeded to do a full pat-down inventory. “I'm all here and I'm all normal.” Then another thought struck home. “And I'm all naked.” I became obsessed with trying to remember if Michael had left. But in order to check, I needed to move.
Standing upright proved to be a challenge, but I managed. I stumbled around the couch, clinging to it for dear life to get a better look at the peninsula. His phone, keys, and wallet were gone or at least not readily visible. I glanced at the door and frowned. The distance seemed to stretch out before me.
I gritted my teeth, then began the arduous process of shuffling over, clinging to furniture, then walls in lieu of real balance. Cautiously, I peeked through the blinds. No jeep. The blinds snapped closed.
“He’s gone. For now, at least.” I leaned against the wall and let out a sigh of relief, then glanced around at the empty room. “What do I do now?”
With a human body came very real human problems. At the top of that growing list was the fact that I was standing naked in the middle of Michael Howell’s living room.
First things first: clothes.
The house was familiar, though my perspective was off. Upon closer inspection the guest room and bath scarcely looked used. I dismissed them as not helpful and kept going until I reached Michael’s room, my balance increasing with each step.
I quickly made my way to the bureau he’d been digging through the night before and did some digging of my own until I found a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring. I pulled it as tight as it would go and rolled up the legs so that I could walk. A worn t-shirt that smelled excessively like Michael completed the oversized ensemble. Decently clothed, I padded back to the kitchen where I promptly began raiding the fridge.
My stomach grumbled loudly. “I know, I know. I’m working on it.” My gaze fell on a packaged ham steak. “Perfect.”
I snatched it out of the fridge and tore into the plastic, eager to reach the contents. Watery juice spilled out of the ripped packaging to drip on the floor as I bit into the meat. Cold lanced through my teeth and I nearly spit out my bite.
Yeah, that’s not gonna work.
I snagged the skillet Michael had used the night before. The meat barely had a chance to warm, before I flipped it to sear the other side. Confident that it was at least warm enough not to give me another toothache, I removed the thick piece of ham with my bare fingers not even bothering with a plate.
In less time than it took to get out the ham, it was gone. I shamelessly licked my fingers clean and looked down in search of the water bowl. It was still sitting on top of the towel filled to the brim with crystal clear water at the entrance to the kitchen. I took a step towards it then stopped.
“Way to go, dummy. You have hands again, use a glass.” I rolled my eyes at myself and retrieved a glass from the cabinet. Meal devoured and thirst quenched, I cleaned the dishes and the rest of the mess I’d made. The dish towel flopped onto the counter and I placed my hands on my hips as I surveyed the room once more.
“Now what? I can’t stay here. Speaking of which, where exactly is here?” I wandered over to a table that looked to be a sort of catch-all, covered in stacks of mail and other oddities. I held up a plastic bag with a scrap of filthy fabric in it. I promptly redeposited it on the table and picked up a stack of envelopes addressed to Michael Howell.
Surely just looking at the envelope isn’t a felony.
To my amazement, behind the stack was an old phone. I quickly dropped the mail which scattered on the floor in favor of my new prize.
“I can’t believe he has a landline!” My parents were the only people I knew who had one and that had more to do with the terrible reception where we lived than anything else.
Why does Michael have one? I quickly dismissed the trivial thought as a more pressing one took its place. Does it work?
I couldn’t believe my luck as I followed the cord at the back of the phone to where it disappeared into the wall. Choking back a sob of joy, I quickly dialed one of the few numbers I knew by heart.
Beeps replaced the dial tone and then the most angelic voice I’d ever heard said, “Hello?”
"Charline—”
"Sara? Where have you been? I've been worried sick. Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve left like a million voicemails. You were supposed to call and tell me you made it home okay.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry my ass. Where have you been? Are you alright? You haven’t been at your house. Ted and I have been scouring the city looking for you. I called hospitals, Sara!”
I pulled the phone away from my ear at the ungodly screech coming out of it.
“Look, I’m sorry I made you worry, Charline, but I need your help,” I finally managed to get in. The last thing I needed was for Michael to come home to check on his new pet and find me instead.
The request effectively silenced her tide of worry. “What do you need?”
Now for the tricky part. “I need a ride.”
“A ride?” she echoed. “Sure, doll. But where are you?”
“About that…how soon can you pick me up?” I asked, chewing on my bottom lip.
“I can leave now. I'll get Janice to co
ver for me."
"You're a life-saver, Charline."
"I know. But, Sara, where are you?" She repeated once more.
"Oh, I'm at…" I searched the mail fanned out on the floor. "One-eighty, Willow Way."
"What are you doing there?"
"I'll explain when you get here," I said and prayed she wouldn’t press for details now.
“Okay, whatever you say. There, I've got the directions. Give me twenty minutes."
"Thanks again.”
“It's nothing, but I better get a juicy explanation."
“Sure thing.” The juicy part would be easy, it was the explanation that would be the problem.
The line went dead and I replaced it in the receiver.
Oh God, what am I going to tell her?
I took my time reorganizing the mail and making sure it was exactly the way I’d found it or as close to the same as I could manage. A final glance around Michael’s house showed nothing out of place. With a resigned breath, I made my way out the back and looped around to the front to await my godsend of a friend.
It seemed my luck was finally on an upswing, because fifteen minutes later I was sitting in the front seat of Charline’s crossover headed back to my house. I should have known it wouldn’t last.
"Alright, spill. Where have you been and what have you been doing?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye. Considering the screech of concern from before, this note of mischief was unsettling.
"Well, um, that was Michael's house."
"I know."
"What? How?" Already my best explanations were ruined.
"I looked up the address, remember? So, what were you doing there?" Another sinister smile. I barely held back a groan of despair, because of course she didn’t just look up directions, she’d checked the company database.
“Well, you see, um…” I faltered.
We stopped at a red light and she turned to me, all flippancy replaced with seriousness. “I know I give you a hard time about it, but I was really worried about you. If you’re really interested in Michael that’s okay, you can talk to me. Promise, mum’s the word. Hell, even if it was a one-off, that’s cool too. Just tell me it was all consensual.”
