So sorry everyone. hope you had great holidays and all-I was stuck in a snowdrift with my hub and the kid, in the course of freeing the car I almost lost a finger. There was also a car accident, a guy thought speeding on icy roads was alright and used my friend's car to brake, that had me bedridden for four days, I could move nothing but my fingers. Germans just can't drive in these weather conditions! We're not used to winter up here. I am longing to move back to Canada every freaking day. Anyway, since I am technically still not supposed to sit up so long… I will not thank everyone individually-I'll do it next time, I promise^^
A hot chocolate (with marsmallows or whipped cream) and a feral (with marshmallows and/orwhipped cream) to all the reviewers! Back on track, next update Monday!
I still don't want to hear anything. Victor grins and Rick shakes. I wonder if he will kill him. I hope not. He has been the one who fed me the pills all those years but the real evil guy here is, as usual, my father. Should I ask Victor not to kill him? It wouldn't make any difference. Maybe he would kill him the second after I asked, just to see me squirm. And scream. And hurl all over him. And… I would definitely try to at least get to one of his eyes.
"Come on pet, let's get you out of here. Wouldn't want you to be traumatized."
Instead of an answer all I do is scream and try to get to him. He grabs me by the collar and carries me out of the room, arm outstretched as if I was something really smelly. As soon as we have left the cell he drops me to the floor and closes the door before turning around to me, huge grin in place. Do his fangs get longer or am I just imagining things?
"That was a very nice show in there, pet. Now he will run back to your daddy and tell him how mean I am treating you."
"You say that like it's a good thing."
"Of course it is."
He grins and I would like him to elaborate further, but he is dragging me up the stairs. Somehow I get the impression that he doesn't want to talk about this. Pity. I enjoy knowing what's going on.
"Maybe I'm still suffering from the hits to my head or the huge set of issues that was just added to my list but… how the fuck is that good?"
I would also like to know why he doesn't just kill him since that seems to be his usual way of dealing with everything, but I'm guessing I will get that explanation in a moment. If he doesn't make up his mind and just sees how often he can push me down the stairs until I die.
"He tells your dad, he'll get mad. He'll also know that you know how he fucked with you. And the fact that you're here with me will piss him off even more."
Yeah, I bet that. Rick will tell him all about it. Me naked, wearing a collar, badly bruised. Though Victor didn't cause any of them, I have to be fair in that. For some reason he hasn't hurt me too much ever since that first cutting. Wonder what's up with that.
"And why would you…"
He drops me on the kitchen floor and I scream a string of colourful curses. He needs to stop doing that, it hurts.
"Did I say we could play 20 fucking questions?"
"Excuse me fuckhead, this happens to be something I am very interested in since it is about my god damn father!"
"Be patient, pet. And since you have nothing else to do make something to eat, will ya."
I can't believe him. I really can't. Before I know it I am standing in front of him, hands on my hips and really, really angry. Too bad that I'm not tall enough to look directly into his eyes. If I looked straight ahead I would look at his chest. So I need to tilt my head back, which absolutely takes away from the pissed off and dangerous feeling.
"Why don't you cook your own food you fucking asshole!"
He leans down so that his face is about half an inch away from mine. And damn are those eyes creeping me out again. How can they look so intense and so angry? And amused at the same time? It's confusing me!
"You better watch it, pet. You might heal quicker than the usual pathetic lump of flesh but that doesn't mean you'd like to see your guts being spread on the kitchen floor."
Now he's just kidding, that big clown.
"If you wanted to kill me you would have done that days ago."
I admit it: I am absolutely lost here. Murky waters and all that. Maybe he will still kill me. With Victor there is only one thing that is for certain: nothing is absolutely certain.
"Just because I haven't killed you yet doesn't mean I can't do it now."
It's annoying how I have to stand on my tiptoes now to get even closer to his face.
"Go ahead."
It sounded just as taunting as I wanted it to. He keeps staring into my eyes though he's definitely more amused than angry now. I feel one of his hands on my stomach. What the fuck is he doing… His claws lengthen against my skin and he lightly scratches them across my stomach, enough to draw blood. I will not flinch I will not flinch I will not…
"Bastard!"
He chuckles. Of course he does. As if to heighten the fun he has his claws dig in deeper.
"There's steak in the fridge. Get cookin'."
And off he goes. Wonder if he has an apron somewhere, I don't feel like hot oil on my nipples today. Something that says "Kill the Cook" or something. Maybe even one of those with the bodybuilder body on them, you know what I mean. I am having fun degrading him in my head; it doesn't seem to work too well in reality.
"Rare."
He grumbled that somewhere down the hall. I'm guessing he's in another room. Not the living room, I can see that from here and he sounded further away. I also hear a computer I guess. This hearing still freaks me out. I can also smell the steak in the fridge. It is uncooked but it smells great already.
So I guess he likes his meat not quite dead then. To each their own, I have always preferred medium. He strolls back in, I could hear him down the hall of course, even heard the chair creak slightly.
"No spices. And there's some marrow bone too, read it was safe for pets."
He looms around somewhere behind me while my top half is stuck in the fridge. There are some nice sirloin steaks, five to be precise. I'm wondering if he wants to eat them all at once…
"Four for me, one for you. If you want to mess around with spices on yours use another pan."
I guess his taste buds are as sensitive as his ears. Wonder if mine will get like that too, I mean after all… all I got was some disgusting leftovers and that glorious pizza. With my burned mouth I could hardly taste anything.
"I don't suppose you have anything green in the house?"
"I can let you out in the garden to pick some grass and leaves."
"Why, aren't you funny."
I think his talent for sarcasm is slowly rubbing off.
"Be glad that the entertainment factor still outweighs the annoyance."
Oh I am so grateful, master. I really am. Haha. Wonder if he won't try to kill me now that he knows I'm a feral, too. Still is weird to think about that. Me. A mutant. Did he know that when he kidnapped me?
"Did you know what I was when you kidnapped me?"
"Does that make any difference?"
So no. The oil is hot enough and, after finding at least salt and pepper, without his help might I add, I throw my steak in. After all it will need a lot longer than his. Preparing another pan I mull this over, I can't find any other reason why he would have picked me. Well…
"Do you hate cashmere?"
I turn around to look at him. He is leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer, watching me. It is kind of tempting to take that hot pan and hit him in the head with it. Though with his reflexes that seems nearly impossible. His eyebrow raises and I know if I don't say anything he will come up with something that hurts again.
"The night you caught me I wore that purple cashmere sweater. I have ruled out pretty much everything else so I thought it might have been the sweater."
"You really are stupid. Don't burn my steak."
And gone he is again. My steak is nearly done and I throw two steaks into the pan, quickly turn them over and put them on a plate, then I repeat that with the other two. A quick glance into the fridge shows me that I am lucky. There is some iceberg lettuce. Better than nothing. I cut a bit off, shred it and put it on my plate, I don't think he would appreciate that.
He probably smelled that his steak was ready, he walks around the corner and grabs his plate. I even managed to find forks and knives. Go me.
"Not too bad, pet."
Out he walks again, into the living room. I guess I am supposed to follow him, so I take my stuff and do so. He sits on the gigantic black leather couch, the TV is on, some sort of sports program. He points towards the floor and grins.
"Sit, pet."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No pets on the couch. Yesterday was an exception."
I growl, but obey for once. I have food on my plate that needs to be eaten. I can talk back right after this. And it really is close to orgasmic, as ashamed as I am to admit that. I have never tasted anything this good. Though it is slightly overcooked-seems like rare is the latest rage for ferals. Halfway satisfied I lean back against the couch and ignore the TV. The volume is set really low; I can still hear everything perfectly fine. Sleep would be great now. Would he mind if I curled up on the rug and dozed off? It is what pets do, right.
"So, what now. Want me to lie down on your feet? I'm not crawling into your lap."
Instead of going for the collar again he yanks me up by the hair. I should learn to shut my big mouth. But it would be so DULL around here without that added excitement.
Again his face is really close. And he is, surprise, angry. His fangs are bared and I am still not really impressed by that. Can he smell that on me? I hope he can. Hope it pisses him off even more.
"You are definitely begging to be muzzled."
"Oh, kinky. Just make up your mind already if I'm a dog or a cat. And don't get any weird ideas about peanut butter, I'm not licking that off anywhere."
He comes closer again and inhales. That is slightly unnerving so close to my ear.
"Well, you certainly smell like pussy…cat."