I had them drag a nice big bed into the office that evening, one of the modern monsters with thick posts for a headboard. I've used it before, so I know the joints are all reinforced in case I need to tie her to it to keep her in there with me.

I also had them bring her a dog bowl full of literal dog chow. It's not the best nutrition for humans, but she can eat it for a little while without too many issues. She threw it at me, which I expected. It's all the food she's getting until she learns to eat it without whining, though, so she'll end up having to clean it all up.

She led me a merry chase around the office before I reeled her in using the chain, spitting and screaming. I pulled her into a hug and she bit me, which made me have to give her a good swat on the head, but she'll learn.

When she stopped struggling, I carried her to bed and tossed her in it. She lay there, stiff and staring, and tried to hop out again when I got in. I think the thing that started me laughing was how dedicated she's being to escaping. She has to know it's futile, but damned if she isn't going to try anything and everything anyway.

The futility is funny, but so is the energy she's pouring into it, the manic hopping and tugging and pulling, like a dog in a too small yard or a hamster in its wheel. Round and round, going nowhere but too driven by panic to stop. I grabbed the chain and wrapped it around my arm, then let her run little circles by the bed for awhile, watching her wear herself out tugging on the same things, trying the same doors over and over but finding no escape.

No doubt this is new territory for her, this animal panic. Academics tend to practically be brains attached to a meat life support—all analysis, no balls, complete or apparent ignorance of anything happening below their ears. The whole normal world is conducted up there for the most part, in rituals of obeisance and pleasantry that are significant only if you don't do them right.

She's spent her whole life memorizing them and performing them on command, working hard as she can to blend right in. I'd be surprised if there was anything in her background that could prepare her for this dumb panic, for how useless all that training to be an intellectual is in this situation. I'm going to let her find that out, let her beat herself up against it so she can't hide from me inside her medical training.

Saves me having to exert myself over it.

I reeled her in when she finally sat down on the floor. She whimpered and dragged her heels, but wasn't much good at resisting me. It's as much will as it is physical. All that panic has exhausted her muscles, but it also exhausted her willingness to resist, at least for now.

It's time for a bit more confusion. I spent the odd hour before she finally passed out petting her head, the chain securely wrapped around my arm.

Obviously, I can't sleep deeply until I'm sure she won't stab my ass with a pen, but I can nap lightly with her. It's a more effective lie than anything I could tell her about feelings, the lie that I trust her that much.

And it's a lie she won't be able to help herself from echoing, given enough time.

I keep throwing things at him. I can't seem to stop myself.

They bought in kibble. I don't know what else I expected, but it still shocked me. He's really going to go through with this, to treat me like some kind of animal.

I did expect the bed, though. He's made it really clear that he expects to be able to… to use me.

I don't know how to describe the panic. It's like I'm not even really here anymore, everything that is me boiled down to out.

Out.

I knew, foggily, that I was just going in circles. That I'd already tried that door and it was locked, but I couldn't stop myself. I tripped and fell, but couldn't stop myself from scrabbling at the door knob. Somewhere, distantly, I hurt. Fingers bruised. The chain pinched little blue dots around my waist. A scrape on my knee.

I knew they were there, I just… Like a voice screaming in my ears, over and over. Out.

I could hear myself whimpering and panting.

I could hear him. He barked at me, and then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed. High-pitched, cruel gut laughs, shaking that fucking bed and making it creak just a little.

I kept trying until I was made out of lead, until I couldn't move and hit the concrete floor with a flat smack.

And then he pulled me to the bed with that chain and I couldn't keep us apart.

I knew, dully, that he was going to use me again and I couldn't do anything about it, and I just… let go. I let go and things went fuzzy and empty and I went limp.

He petted me like a dog, over and over, and I couldn't stop him. I couldn't do anything but lay there, and it was so soothing. It was so soothing and gentle and I am not a dog.

I will not let him.

It's a lie. I have to remember that it's a lie, but I couldn't keep myself awake.