Chapter Seven:
Blue and Steve walked slowly down the halls, Blue sometimes tripping and Steve helping to steady him or help him back up. Once they had gotten to the kitchen, Blue was about ready to fall on his face. The only thing that stopped him, was the sight of the kitchen.
It was open and huge. There was a long counter top space with a huge refrigerator. The stove had eight lighters, and the cabinets were massive, probably two times as big as the ones at home.
There was no walls separating the kitchen and across from it was a long, black couch ― Blue had only seen a couch in his Master's office, and he never sat on it. There was a small table and a huge television across from it. On the side, was a open hallway, and Blue didn't have a clue where it led, and a silver elevator, if Blue was correct. Or, an escalator. He always got the two mixed up.
There was huge windows as high as the ceiling, but they were tinted black. Blue could still see out of them, and when he saw the tops of other skyscrapers, he nearly fainted.
They were so high up ― how were they so high up? It felt. . . unnatural to Blue, and it made him queasy to think about it. To think about falling from this high up. He wouldn't even have a chance.
Blue blinked, rubbing his eyes and swallowing hard. He breathed, in and out, and focused his attention on something else.
Steve was in the kitchen, pulling ingredients out of the cabinets. Blue watched silently as he began to assemble what looked like a sandwich. Blue knew what that was ― his Master would sometimes have him make him one, if he wasn't doing anything else.
Blue stood near the countertop, his body wanting to sit down in the tall chairs, but he knew better to even look at them, much less touch it. He didn't even touch the counter. That was a person thing, and he wasn't a person. If his Master even heard that he so much as breathed on something as expensive and elegant as that, he would have his tail.
Steve finally finished and pushed the plate to him. Blue blinked, why was he giving the sandwich to him? He thought he was making it for himself. "Go ahead and eat."
Blue shook his head, "No," He pushed the plate back to Steve. Maybe the man was confused ― maybe he didn't get all of the air back to his head when Blue tried to suffocate him.
Steve frowned, now they both were confused. "You need to eat, B," Steve said, pushing the plate back to him. "You said you were hungry."
"No ― eat," Blue tried to explain to the man, waving a hand at the sandwich. "People food."
"What do you mean, 'people food'? B, you are a person, and you need to eat."
Blue shook his head, he couldn't eat this. "You person. Me, no." It had been ingrained in him for nearly a decade. Blue wasn't a person. Blue could never be a person. Sandwiches were people food, kibble was Blue food. Couches were person things, cages were Blue things.
It was simple, he thought it was universal. Why would this man try to give him something he knew Blue couldn't eat. Blue wasn't a person, it was obvious. His master and the doctor had told him so explicitly. People didn't sleep in cages. People didn't fight dogs. People didn't go on missions for their Masters.
"Me no. Me no person," Blue continued, trying to explain it to Steve, who looked absolutely bewildered. "Me animal. Me dog."
"You. . . you aren't a dog, B," Steve said, carefully. "You're a person too." Blue shook his head, why didn't this man understand? He had just told him!
Steve rubbed his face, "Okay, well, then what do you eat, if you're not a person."
"Kibble." Steve inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide. Blue drew back, trying to steady himself on the crutch before he could fall again.
"Yo–You eat dog food!?" Steve practically shouted. Blue flinched, taking another hesitant step back. "Sorry," Steve said softly. He rubbed his face, turning his eyes to the ceiling. He breathed, a long in, and then out again. "Sorry," He apologized again, but Blue didn't quite know what he was apologizing for. His Master's never apologized to him ― nobody did. Why was Steve saying 'sorry' now?
"Look," Steve said after a long silence. "We, ah, don't have any. . . dog food here, so you'll just have to eat this, alright?" Blue shook his head, but Steve didn't look like he was going to change his mind on this one. "You're going to eat this ― period."
Blue swallowed hard, looking down at the innocent sandwich. "Master. . . he―"
"Your 'Master' isn't here right now," Steve said simply, his tone curling around the word, 'master'. "He can't dictate what you do. I want you to eat this sandwich, but if you don't that's up to you. Granted, you'll be hungry, but nobody's going to force you to eat. Nobody's going to feed you dog food either."
Blue looked from the sandwich and back up at Steve, who was waiting patiently. He wasn't angry, at least not from what Blue could see. He was simply watching Blue, waiting.
His stomach growled and Blue winced slightly. He was really hungry. If Steve was telling the truth and his Master wasn't here. . . he couldn't discipline him.
Blue took a shaky breath, grabbing the slice of bread off the top, and nibbling on the corner. His mouth salivated as his fangs fell out. Blue began to shove the bread in his mouth, eating it layer by layer. He never tasted anything so good before.
When Blue finished ― which was less than a minute later ― he was still ravishly hungry. If anything, the sandwich just made him hungrier than usual. Blue moved away, keeping his eyes down, he didn't know if he was allowed to ask for another one. Was it like with his Master, where he was only fed once every two weeks? Would Blue only get a sandwich every two weeks? He didn't think he'd be able to ration something that tasted so good.
Steve was moving in the kitchen again, and it took Blue a minute to realize he was making another sandwich. He waited warily, but when Steve pushed the sandwich at him, he dove in. He scrounged every last bite, his shoulders shaking in silent delight. The plate was left with just crumbs when Blue finished, and he saw Steve move around again, making him another sandwich. His eyes filled with tears, he hadn't had this much to eat in years.
Blue gave a shaky huff as Steve pushed the third sandwich towards him, and ate it just as quickly as the others. "That'll be all for now," Steve said. "I don't want to give you too much ― you might get sick." Blue blinked, frowning. You can get sick from eating too much food.
He licked his lips, tasting the remnants of meat and sauces on them. "Thank. . . Thank you," He whispered, not knowing what else to say.
Steve smiled and he took the plate, "My pleasure," He grinned. "Did that taste better than dog food?" Blue nodded quickly and Steve laughed. Steve filled up a glass of water, setting it in front of Blue. He gently nudged it forward as he did with the rest of the food.
Blue was hesitant to drink it, but remembered what Steve said earlier about the sandwich before he ate that. He grabbed the cup, making the water slosh over the sides slightly, and downed it. "B, where are you from?" Steve asked curiously.
Blue thought for a moment, he wasn't telling Steve where his Master's hideout was, if he just said the city. "Hell Kitchen," He replied, remembering the circled area on the map his Master gave him.
"This is the city we're in. Whenever you finish a mission, come back here. Do you understand?"
Steve nodded, "What's your mother's name?"
Blue blinked at him. "Mother?" He repeated, looking at his hands. He forgot about his mother. He forgot what she looked like. But, he remembered stories about pirates and big houses and brownies.
Blue blinked, what was a brownie? He remembered them being rectangular and. . . well, brown, but otherwise, he forgot.
"B?" Steve caught his attention. "You didn't answer my question."
"What brownie?" He asked suddenly, wanting to get an answer. It was important to him, but he didn't know why.
Steve rose an eyebrow at the sudden question, "Oh, well. . . brownies are a kind of dessert. Why do you ask?"
Blue looked at his hands again. "Liked brownies," He murmured. He couldn't even remember what it tasted like. How could he like it?
"Most people do," Steve replied. "Do you remember your mother's name? Or, your father's?"
"Ma. . ." Blue whispered. He remembered distant people calling his Ma's name when they she brought him over someone's house. "Ms. Nichelle," He said. He knew he was right, but the words ― the name ― sounded so foreign. Like he had just spoken another language.
"Your dad's name?" Blue shook his head, he knew he had no clue who his father was. "That's okay. Do you know how long you've been with your Master, B?"
Blue knew this one. "Ten years," he said, not having to hesitate or think. Steve's face went a bit pale.
"Ten. . . years," He repeated, shocked. Blue nodded, was Steve okay? "Jesus," he muttered, rubbing his face. "Okay, ah. . . do you know why your Master wanted to kill me?" Blue shook his head. He was getting a bit tired after eating three sandwiches. His eyes were beginning to feel heavy and he struggled to stay upright ― even with his crutch. "Did someone ask him to do it?" Blue frowned, remembering his Master pacing in his office, muttering to himself.
He nodded. "Who?" Blue shook his head. "I'm going to show you a picture, can you tell me if you recognize it?" Blue nodded and Steve pulled out a cellphone. Blue watched mesmerized as he began to type on it. He rarely got to see the practically magical device, and of course, he's never tried it himself.
Steve tapped and clicked a few times before showing Blue a strange picture of what looked like mutated snake. He had seen one, when he was with the doctor. It was three cages down from his. It only lived for a few days before they killed it.
Blue had never seen what Steve was showing him, not that he remembered. He shook his head, and Steve pursed his lips. "Okay, I'm going to show you another picture, can you tell me if you recognize that?" Blue nodded and Steve tapped his phone for a few more seconds. Then, he showed Blue a picture of a silver bird. It was simple, but didn't actually have any other features of the animal except for the wings and the head.
Blue has never seen that picture before. He shook his head. Steve nodded, biting his lip. "Hmm. . ." he murmured to himself, thinking. Blue breathed slowly through his nose, trying to keep himself awake despite his wobbly crutches. His head lolled slightly, but his eyes were alert.
Steve noticed, "Are you tired?" He asked and Blue looked away, "It's okay. You can go lie down on the couch."
Blue got a panicked look in his eyes, "Person thing!" He exclaimed, and Steve frowned.
"You're a person too, B. Remember?" Blue didn't believe him, but Steve wasn't budging. "Go lie down. We're done with questions for now, okay?"
Blue gave a hesitant look, but managed to make his way over to the leathery couch, doing as he was told. He stared at the glistening bright leather, and gave it an experimental tap. It was softer than he imagined and his hand felt like it was going to sink right through. He touched it again, letting his hand stay for a second, and watched as the couch deepened, his hand leaving a mark on its surface.
Blue heard muttering and looked up, Steve was in the kitchen still, watching him with slightly amused eyes. Blue quickly did as he was told, lying down on the couch, pulling his legs to his chest. As soon as he closed his eyes, the last few days of exhaustion took what it was due, and he was out.