I thought I was scared to see Owen again back when it was my job to convince him to return to Isla Nublar with me. I was scared, I guess, but looking back, that fear was nowhere near the terror I felt speculating about any future encounters after having mauled his leg. See, I didn't do anything wrong by leaving him way back when- Well, okay, maybe I did a few things wrong, but we were equally responsible for that mess. Now, knowing that I had severely wounded him- physically AND emotionally- things were different. This wasn't something I was equipped to deal with. I didn't even know where to start.

How does one apologize for attempted murder? I don't think there's any normal way to go about it, especially since my condition . . . well, it's not entirely gone. In fact, one might go so far as to say that it's almost as bad as it was before, just a little less unexamined.

I still think about killing Owen, and frequently. I still imagine what could have happened if I'd been more cunning, and I still garner twisted pleasure from these savage fantasies. And having had a taste of a real-life Owen-hunt, my violent impulses became harder to resist, in many ways.

Remembering the smell of blood and fear still fills me with excitement, even now. And yes, I can smell fear, I guess. It's intoxicating, and it fuels my . . . bad habits. The effect it has on me is something like lust, but in the worst possible way. I know it sounds counterintuitive and unhealthy, but the feeling isn't too distant from the love I feel towards Owen, not that I have the guts to tell him. Part of me wants to explain that there's something positive in this sentiment, that wanting to hurt him is an expression of a desire he'd usually find flattering. But then I realize how that would come off to someone who doesn't understand my emotional logic, and I decide to keep these feelings to myself.

I'm not sure how much I should tell Owen, in general. On one hand, it feels wrong to lie or to provide half-truths, but it would be equally difficult to admit that I still want to murder him, even though I'm trying to dull those compulsions. There's really no safe way of explaining myself, much less apologizing. There isn't some obvious balancing point between being honest about my violent urges and making Owen feel as though he can trust me again. I guess he can't, can he? That's the problem. But I'm trying so hard to improve, and even though I haven't been tremendously successful thus far, I have to keep believing that progress is possible, slow as it may be, or I don't see any point in continuing this process.

I tried to formulate a series of potential Owen-apologies, but I never came close to expressing my shame and regret coherently. The perfect words were out of my reach, if they even existed at all. I spent a good few days worrying about our next encounter, but I still wasn't ready when the time finally came to see Owen. He entered the lab without much fanfare, providing me with no forewarning to prepare for his arrival. As it turns out, being in the same room as him only made my urges skyrocket, and it took me a few seconds to remember why I shouldn't pull a stunt like last time.

When I was sure that I could look at Owen without losing control, I realized that something had changed. It wasn't just the splint on his leg, though that was certainly hard to look at, but the expression on his face was like a dagger in my chest. I realized just how wrong my actions were, finally grasping the severity of my betrayal. This understanding was followed by a tidal wave of anguish, and for a moment, I was myself again.

"Owen, I'm so sorry . . ."

Without meaning to, I reached through the bars, but this time, he didn't touch my paw. He stood staring at me until I had the good sense to withdraw my extended arm, shrinking away in shame. I opened my mouth to say something, but I drew a blank. I struggled to choke out something- anything- but every script I had formulated over the past few days evaporated on the spot. I fell silent, ashamed that I couldn't offer the apology Owen was clearly waiting for. He remained stone-faced as I gave up on taking the reigns of the conversation, and after a pause, he took a deep breath.

"How are you doing?"

I didn't know how to answer that. I was definitely not doing okay at the moment, but any admission of this would seem manipulative. On the other hand, claiming that I was doing just peachy might give the impression that I was perfectly okay with my wrongdoings, which wasn't exactly flattering either.

"I'm . . . I'm surviving," I stuttered.

Not a great response by any stretch of the imagination, but not as bad as it could have been. Unable to tolerate the emptiness, I decided to continue the conversation from my side, tongue-tied though I may be.

"How are you?"

(Oh, brilliant, Claire: ask him how he's holding up after you tore his leg to shreds. I'm sure he's just fine.)

"They say I'll be able to walk normally in a week or two, as long as the wound isn't infected."

Yikes.

"How's Maisie?" I asked, digging the hole deeper.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Funny you should ask. She's been hiding in her room all week, growling whenever people walk past. She's wearing a foam tail and claws, so my best guess is that she's pretending to be a dinosaur. Not in a playful way: more like a psychologically-damaged kind of deal. She bit me this morning."

He lifted his arm, and sure enough, there was a ring of tooth-marks near his wrist. My heart dropped.

"So that's how Maisie's doing," he finished.

If I could have willed myself to die right then and there, I would have done it. I'd be inclined to say that things couldn't possibly get worse, but every time that thought occurs to me, I'm almost immediately proven wrong.

"I have to get back to her soon," Owen stated flatly, "We're going to bring in the others later today."

"The others?"

"The other dinosaurs," he clarified, "You're not the only one who had an accident. We'll be using this space to house the troublemakers. In the meantime, think of any accommodations you may need. Have they been feeding you enough?"

"I think so . . ."

It was hard to tell. My new body had been difficult to get a feel for, as far as acclimation was concerned. My urge to kill was divorced from my sense of hunger, but I hadn't been expelling much of my diet into the grated portion of my cage, so maybe I was indeed being underfed. Not that I particularly cared. It was already humiliating enough having someone clean up my smaller leavings.

"Then we won't change your schedule. Someone will deal with you shortly."

Oh, god. The way he phrased that.

I gulped.

"Are you coming b-"

"Not today. I'm spending the evening with Maisie. It's her birthday."

Ah. So that's how things could possibly get worse.

"Goodbye."

As he turned to leave, I made a desperate dash towards him, jamming my arm through the bars.

"Owen, wait!"

He stopped walking, but did not turn to face me. Understanding that this was the most I could hope for, I fought the tears pricking at my eyes, steadying my voice with a deep breath.

"I am so, so sorry."

A pause. He started moving forward.

"Owen!"

"I heard you."

"Owen, I swear I'm not lying!"

He didn't stop. I clutched the bars, pressing my face between them in desperation.

"Owen, please!"

He wheeled around.

"How am I supposed to believe you, Claire? How can I be sure that this isn't another trick?"

"Because I'd never-"

Now, THAT was a lie.

I took a deep breath.

"Because you know me."

"Do I?"

Silence. Owen continued to glare at me.

"For the past few days, I've been asking myself why you'd do this to me, what could have possibly pushed you to acting out like you have no self-control. But we're talking about the same person who left me broken-hearted until she needed me to find her nephews, who left me twisting in the wind until she needed me to save her precious dinosaurs, and who has repeatedly proven that she has zero respect for me or anybody else in her life, until she finds some use for them. So, all things considered, I think hurting me is just what you do."

My breath came out in sobs.

"Owen! . . ."

He turned, breaking his hateful glare. The doors slammed shut. I collapsed, curling into a scaly ball and weeping until sleep found me.

***TSJWFKFEW***

I didn't realize that I was dreaming until I found myself digging my talons into Owen's waist, beak tearing away chunks of flesh like he was made of popcorn. I distantly remembered that in my waking hours, I had just endured the pain of realizing why indulging this specific fantasy was a bad idea. I tried to wish away the gory tableau dancing in my semi-conscious field of vision. "But this violence is consequence-free," I thought to myself, "There's no harm in dreaming about the hunt, as long as you don't actually hurt him." Owen reappeared in my mind's eye, but I tried to bat him away like smoke. I shouldn't be doing this, even in my dreams. "Just one little bite, and you'll feel better," I contemplated, "He doesn't have to know." The dream-Owen gazed up at me with worry, igniting a flurry of conflicting emotions. God, he would be so easy to slaughter in this psychologically-damaged state, but that look of betrayal was giving me pause. I reached out, trying to hold him like I did when I was human.

"Owen, I'm scared . . ."

He backed away, fading into darkness.

"Please don't leave me!" I cried out, "Please! . . . I love you . . ."

"It's over, Claire."

I was in the mansion again. The fossil displays were bathed in pale moonlight. Everything else was pure darkness.

"Owen, where are you?" I whispered.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, virtually indistinguishable from the mannequins behind the glass. I was a monster. Reaching out to touch my mirrored paw, I felt my heart flutter.

BANG!

I screamed as an electric current coursed through my body. Owen was shooting at me. I swivelled my neck around, trying to locate him in the darkness.

"Owen, please-"

Another jolt. I screamed in pain.

"Owen, this isn't me!"

A pause.

"It is now."

My beak quivered.

"No . . ."

I turned to face the ceratopsian skull mount. It crackled with electricity, eye sockets flaming.

"It's too late, Claire. This is what a monster deserves."

The skull tilted forward, horns snapping with blue cords of light. As it fell upon me, I felt the pain of electrocution tearing me apart.

A flash of red, and I bolted upright in my cage. I sat propped up on my forearms, panting with terror. As the physical pain of the dream faded away, a new kind of distress began pulsing through my veins. My breaths became erratic, and tears slipped down my cheeks. I wept until my neck finally went limp, hanging like a swan's. It was then that I noticed something in my cage, bright pink and blurry in my tear-filled eyes. I leaned forward to sniff it, and the sweet smell of strawberries filled my nostrils.

Instead of eating the cake, I pulled it towards my chest and curled around it protectively, praying that my nightmares would not return.

***TSJWFKFEW***

I awoke to the sound of loud machinery and shrill beeps. Wondering if I had somehow warped to a construction zone, I lifted my head sharply, snapping my gaze around the changed room. New cages had been wheeled in, not too far from my own, and they were filled with the strangest assortment of dinosaurs I'd ever laid eyes upon. A metallic-teal ceratopsian was wedged in the corner of the room beside a similarly-proportioned reptile with a thick-looking hide and a maw full of sharp teeth. A bizarre dinosaur that looked like a failed Indoraptor paced back and forth in the cage behind me, tail dragging limply and belly sagging like a sack of wheat. As it turned, I was surprised to see a metal arm dragging across the floor.

My heart leapt as a fierce revving sound came from the cage on my right, and spinning around, I came face-to-face with what looked like a horned T-Rex on wheels. It scowled at me and snorted exhaust from its nostrils.

"Nice to see you again, Claire."

My eyes went wide.

"El-"

I shrieked as my cage was jostled by a new entry: some crested creature with a plush-looking dome-head was rolling in, but it didn't seem too aware of its surroundings. Sad eyes peered out at me beneath a crown of spikes. The animal gazed at my frill with confusion, and perhaps a hint of recognition, and lifted its head off of its folded arms, suddenly interested by my presence. I stared back at it, trying to place the familiar eyes, but the cage was pushed deeper into the lab, until it rested between the enclosures that housed the toothy ceratopsian and the tail-dragger. I wheeled around in panic.

"What's going on? Who are these-"

I yelped as the lab doors swung open, revealing two uncaged hybrids. The sound of claws and hooves (respectively) echoed off the walls as they approached me. When they got close enough, I identified a light blue quadruped with red fins and a long neck, and a frilled biped with raptorish features, not including its rear end, which resembled that of a horse. The blue thing grinned at me through a nut-shaped beak.

"Claire, hi! It's been a while!"

I did a double-take.

"Zia?!"

She laughed.

"Yeah, I almost didn't recognize you either. This is Franklin, in case you were wondering," she said, gesturing to her companion, "We weren't supposed to be here, but there was a mix-up, and we were shipped across the border for assessment, just like the rest of 'em. We get to go back home when this is over, along with that bumpy one over there."

When she pointed at the orange-purple ceratopsian, it touched its chest with offence. Ignoring this, Zia turned back to me.

"I'm pretty sure we're the only survivors here- wait, does it count as 'surviving' if you die and come back as a dinosaur?"

"It counts as weird," Frankling muttered.

"Work on your comebacks, kiddo," Zia retorted, knocking his glasses askew as she slapped his back, "But anyway, he's not wrong. This is all very weird. But I kind of like it, to be honest."

"I don't."

"Again, Franklin, nobody asked you," Zia snarked, "But in any case, this is only a temporary gig. We have a few weeks to enjoy the island, so it's basically a free vacation . . . with dinosaurs!"

"The island? . . ." I echoed.

"Yeah, Isla Nublar."

I cocked my head.

"Zia, you were with us when Isla Nublar melted, right? . . ."

She snorted.

"Gosh, Claire, I totally forgot about that. Yeesh, what do you take me for? Of course I don't mean our island. Don't you know that we're on another Isla Nublar, the one in a parallel universe that didn't get blown up?"

"No, I didn't know that, actually . . ."

She shook her head with disbelief.

"Man, did they tell you anything? You've been here longer than us, haven't you?"

"I . . . I haven't left this cage since I got here," I admitted.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Wow, bummer. Don't worry. They'll let you out once they realize you're not dangerous. We good guys get to roam free. The only reason they kept toothy locked up is because she bit one of them."

"In self defence!" a female voice called out from a cage behind me.

Zia rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, anyway, me and Franklin didn't do anything like that, so they're pretty sure we're safe to be around. Once your file is cleared, you can stay in the room next to ours. They have really nice shampoo- Oh, I guess you don't have hair. We both got horns, though, so that's cool. Have they said anything about letting you out yet?"

"I . . . I don't think . . . No, they haven't," I coughed.

Zia clicked her tongue.

"That's no good. I'll have to flag someone down and-"

I shook my head quickly.

"No, that's okay. My situation is . . . complicated."

She shrugged.

"Well, okay. If you say so. Listen, if you need anything, just ask. It seems like you got the short end of the stick, as far as accommodations go."

I gulped, turning my head away.

"Yeah. It seems like I did."

She smiled warmly.

"Well, that's alright. I'm sure they'll figure everything out soon, and we'll be back to normal before you know it. Hey, I saw Owen this morning. Have you two spoken yet?"

I tried to maintain my composure, but I could feel myself slipping. Noticing the grief in my mien, Zia's face softened.

"Claire? . . . Are you okay? . . ."

I couldn't stop myself from bursting into tears.