Chapter 9 Ryder
RYDER
The next time he put tuna and milk in front of me for lunch, I was going to scream.
The past few weeks — weeks, not days — had been full of the same meal, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to deter me from wanting to be a kitten. He had another thing coming, though, because cereal and milk wouldn’t have been a whole lot better.
But the smell was starting to get to me, and the two didn’t taste the best together.
I wanted to point out that real cats didn’t get to eat this stuff on a regular basis, but I was sort of scared he’d use something like that as an excuse to try one of those fresh pet diets.
They had those things that were supposedly what you’d feed your family, and I had no desire to find out if they tasted good.
So for now, I was stuck with… tuna and milk.
I licked my lips, trying to get the taste off of my lips and tongue, and I looked sourly up at him.
He quirked a brow. “Is something wrong with my little kitty?” he asked, reaching down to scratch behind my ears.
I leaned into his touch, liking it more than I’d ever thought I would.
It had been awkward at first, but now it was a sign that I was doing something right.
As long as I was doing things right, the threats became nearly nonexistent.
I much preferred the side of him that wanted to give me scritches than the one who got mad at me for not being enthusiastic enough about chasing a feather around.
Of course, it wasn’t just the scratches and scritches.
It went beyond that, to those kisses that had gone from infrequent and quick to more often and much slower.
I knew what came next. He’d scratch behind my ears, then he’d crouch down and kiss me while the flavor of tuna still lingered on my lips.
I didn’t have to wait long. He settled in front of me, cupping my chin and lifting my face so he could meet my eyes without me looking away.
Each time he did it, I felt like I was falling into twin pits of Hell, like I was tumbling into some abyss there was no way out of.
His eyes were dark and relentless, just like him, and I could see the beast lurking just behind them.
It would never go away. It might subside, and it might lay dormant beneath his skin, but I knew it was always there. It was only a few wrong words away from surfacing, a half-hearted kiss, a protest or a denial.
He kissed me, and I kissed him back like I wanted it, the way he wanted it.
It was easier now that I’d gotten used to the idea of kissing a man — and harder, because I was becoming desensitized.
Every time that happened, every time I gave in to him, it was like my soul fractured just a little more and left me utterly at his mercy.
He was breaking me, even if it was slower than when I’d been his pup.
Even if I’d started to like it sometimes.
Or maybe it was because I’d started to like it.
It wasn’t something I was comfortable admitting to myself. Hell, it wasn’t something I admitted to myself often at all. But I couldn’t deny that the feeling of his lips on mine had started to become a sign that everything was okay. As long as he wanted to dole out kisses and affection, it was safe.
“You’re such a good kitten for me,” he whispered against my mouth.
Those words were good, too. As long as I was a good kitten, I didn’t have to sleep in the kennel. I didn’t have to worry about seeing the darkness manifest.
His tongue flicked against my lips, tasting me, tasting the tuna I’d tried to lick away. I didn’t know how he never seemed to tire of the facade, relentlessly pushing it on me until I had no choice but to surrender — or break that much more quickly.
It was only a matter of time until he got what he wanted.
Would there be anything left of me when he did?
Or would I end up really being his pet Toby?
Ryder didn’t exactly live here anymore.
“What’s the matter?” he asked me. He drew back, fingers lightly tracing my cheekbone before his hand fell away.
What wasn’t the matter?
“Nothing,” I said even though I knew he wouldn’t believe me.
The thing was, it was telling him what he wanted to hear, and sometimes I didn’t think the truth mattered as much if I did that.
He studied me for another long moment then leaned in to kiss my forehead. “It’ll all be okay, Toby,” he murmured, tweaking one of the cat ears as though I could feel it — but then, I sort of could.
I was painfully aware of what he was doing, and it was almost like they were an extension of me.
“Yeah,” I replied. There was no conviction in my voice, though.
He frowned at me. “Toby…”
“I know,” I said more forcefully than I’d meant to. Any lack of conviction before poured into those few words, and I shook my head.
“Isn’t it getting better?” he asked, that terrible pleading in his voice.
It meant he wanted to be reassured, and so fucking help me, I hated being the person to tell him it would all be okay. Every time I said it, it might as well have reinforced the lie in my own mind.
Would I start believing it one day from telling him so much?
Sometimes I wondered if he knew that was what was happening. Maybe I was giving him too much credit, but I wouldn’t have put it past him to set me up to repeat that it was okay until it tricked my mind into believing it.
Assuming I could ever believe it.
Then again, I didn’t think it was that bad anymore…
“Yeah,” I lied — no, said, because it wasn’t even that much of a lie anymore.
Things were getting better, which was both a blessing and a curse.
I didn’t want to be miserable, but I didn’t want to surrender any more than I already had.
It was a slippery slope, and I was already tumbling down, closer and closer to the edge.
I didn’t know what would happen when I finally fell off.
“I’ve been trying to make things good for you,” he said.
Like locking me away in a kennel was good. Like feeding me tuna and milk to satisfy his own perversions was good. Like kissing me when I didn’t want it was good.
Like any of this was fucking good!
But it could’ve been worse. I could’ve still been in the cell downstairs, forced to give myself painful enemas. I could’ve been freezing, drinking water out of a dildo, and locked away from even the slightest bit of daylight.
Being up here was better, and if I had to do what he wanted to stay in his good graces, so help me, I’d fucking do it even though it was killing me inside.
Then again, what was worse? Clinging to who I wanted to be and being tortured for it? Or letting myself become what he wanted me to be instead?
When had his priorities get put ahead of mine, and why were they staying there?
I exhaled slowly, looking up at him, unsure of what to say. What could I possibly say to that? “I know,” I said. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was all I could offer. Even that pained me to say, and I didn’t know where to go from there.
He sighed. “I don’t get the feeling that you’re grateful.”
Dangerous. Fuck. Warning bells were going off in droves, and I knew I needed to do something to salvage the situation before he started to get ideas.
I had the sudden visual of being trapped behind those bars again, and I shuddered.
I leaned in and kissed him, and he let out a surprised sound before kissing me back. It was something. It had to be enough.
He smiled as he drew back, his thumb sliding along my cheekbone. “Good kitten,” he praised me. “And to think, that used to be hard for you.”
Something wrenched in my gut, and I wanted to violently jerk away from him. I didn’t want to be near him in that moment, not with the reminder of how things had been. It had been callous of him to mention it in the first place.
“Please don’t,” I whispered, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
“It’s true,” he said, being downright cruel. “Now you know it can be better, don’t you? If you just surrender to me.”
I hated him in that moment. I absolutely fucking hated him.
He sighed, brushing at the tears. “I just want you to be happy here,” he said, his voice gentle.
I looked at him, knowing my expression was bleak.
Instead of speaking, he kissed me again, softly and carefully. I could feel the stubble on his chin, and it felt so wrong. At the same time, I really was getting used to it, and it was a comfort.
Kisses meant he was happy with me, after all.
At the same time, kisses reminded me that he wanted more from me, more than I was willing to give.
But he was going to take it all the same, slowly, bit by bit, until there were only pieces…
And there my thoughts went again, in the same circular pattern they’d gone in countless times before. I just couldn’t stop wondering how long it would be until I became Toby in truth.
“What can I do?” he asked abruptly, cupping my face in his hands. “I don’t want to see you cry, Toby.”
“Can I not eat tuna every single lunchtime?” I asked, aware that it was such a tiny request in the grand scheme of things. Yet it was something I thought I had the best chance of getting. Everything else was already written in stone, but this was new enough to where I thought I had a shot.
He blinked at me. “I thought you liked it,” he told me.
“I’m not a real cat,” I said as gently as I could.
“I know that,” he told me, looking a little offended as he drew back away from me. “But it’s still a treat, isn’t it?”
I wordlessly shook my head, bracing myself for a negative reaction.
Instead, he sighed. “All right. I’ll find something else for you to eat.” He sounded a little defeated, even, and I didn’t know if that had something to do with failing to make me happy or me not being properly grateful for what he was giving me.
I had to hope it was the former. As long as he wanted to make me happy, we’d be on the same page, and I’d have a chance of getting through this. He’d still do what he wanted, obviously, but if he wanted me to want him, he’d have to give in to me.
It felt… cheap somehow, wrong, but at the same time, there weren’t any other options. I had to make him happy, so wasn’t it only fair that he had to make me happy?
Fuck, how was it possible that I could even find happiness here with him?
Accepting what was happening had been the first step, and now here we were, in some weird sort of… relationship, almost.
The thought of that sent a chill through me because I never should’ve thought of it that way.
But it wasn’t one-sided anymore. He’d only cared about what he’d wanted at first, and now… Now he actually seemed to give a fuck what I wanted, at least a little. Maybe he did want to see me happy there.
“Thank you,” I told him, and I rested my forehead against his in an act of intimacy that felt like it was almost a little too much. Yet it was better than a kiss, and it felt right.
He clutched my upper arms, staying close to me, and for a moment, we stayed there like that.
I could almost accept this, in that particular moment. I was so far removed from my reality, but this was a moment of real affection. Strange as it was, it was still there, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Would anyone?
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, and there we were in a moment that should’ve been reserved for lovers. We weren’t that, no matter how much he wanted us to be. But in that moment, I could almost pretend I wanted to be there with him.
I could almost pretend it wasn’t that bad.
I could almost pretend I was really Toby.