Page 10 of My Wild Pet

Big is punching my head making my it move, side to side, but it doesn’t matter. I’m resolved not to let go.

Tiny starts beating on my legs, but I’m beyond pain. I only grind my teeth to sink deeper into his organ. My mouth fills with hot coppery blood, his or mine, I don’t know.

I don’t care.

I thrash my head back and forth in rhythm with his shrieks. I’m taking him down to the pit of hell with me. His hot blood is oozing down the sides of my mouth, tickling my throat.

I am the gator.

Suddenly, I’m hit with lightning sharp pain. Again and again, the electricity runs through my body.

My jaw is forced open and his organ is pried off my teeth. Then I’m shocked again and I close my eyes. Maybe for the last time.

When I wake, I’m alone. I can see my former cell mates in the cell next to mine and now the blonde women are diagonal. I stand as close to the men’s cell as possible, to see if I managed to bite off Big’s penis.

I can’t see anything from this angle, but when he sees me and we make eye contact he starts yelling like a madman. Thankfully,there’s a forcefield separating us. He looks furious as he moves to the edge of the cell and begins banging against the orange forcefield that just ripples in more static orange waves. My eyes immediately go to between his legs. I can’t tell if my teeth marks are still there, but what’s left of his penis is maybe a half an inch at best and hardly peeks out over his unruly dark pubic hair.

“Fuck around and find out,” I say loudly, even though he can’t hear me.

The women in the cell diagonal to mine catch my eye and I turn my attention to them. They’re all smiling and giving me a thumbs up. I fake humbleness and take a bow like an actor at the end of a play. This makes Big even more enraged and he starts shouting at the women too.

I watch wondering what leads people to become so detached from society they’d hurt others, even in situations like this, when we clearly have a common enemy. It makes no sense.

But I have to reflect on my own behavior too. I was only here a day, two at the most, and I went from being a normal person to a full-on savage.

I didn’t start it, I think, trying to reconcile my actions as I watch Big still shouting at the other women,But I did fucking finish it.

The days blend together silently. There’s nothing to hold on to, no distractions, except the occasional clatter of food being delivered breaking the monotony. Every eight hours, like clockwork.

I wonder if anyone on Earth is looking for me.

People go missing all the time. And it’s very easy to make it look like someone decided to go somewhere else or evendisappear off the grid. A few fake texts or social media posts, and in a matter of minutes, the world moves on. Goldfish memories.

I think about my own life. I have no one who would demand answers if I didn’t show up for work except my boss, but I’m replaceable and despite being the model employee, I’ve never been close with him or anyone else. I have acquaintances who might make one phone call to the police, but then never follow up.

I own my own apartment. The bills are paid automatically. I don’t have a doorman. I’m not a member of any clubs. There’s no one.

I have no family to speak of. My mother died when I was four. Her death is one of my earliest memories. I still remember asking her, while visiting her in the hospital, her body connected to wires and machines, “Are you going up to the sky now, Mommy?”

“Yes, baby girl,” she had said, her voice breaking. “I’m going up to the sky now. Be a good girl for Daddy. We both love you.”

“Your mommy is going to become a star, Briar,” my dad added.

My father became a star himself not long after, leaving me alone with only a sky full of distant, untouchable lights as my only parental guidance from the age of eight. Even now, when I look up at the night sky, I imagine my parents are watching me. I know it’s childish, but it’s a reassuring habit. It’s ironic then, if I’ve been abducted by aliens and am in a spaceship among those same stars that always comforted me.

After my father died, I bounced between foster homes. Some girls turn rebellious or self-destructive. Me? I built walls. I learned to rely only on myself, to focus on success and money. And the world rewarded me for it. The mayor even gave me an award a few years ago—a foster child turned commodities trader, the poster girl for success.The irony still burns. I didn’tdo anything to inspire others. I did it because that’s how I coped with the card I was dealt with in life.

My ex. boyfriend’s voice echoes in my mind, as sharp and cutting as ever.“You treat me like I’m going to turn my back on you at the drop of a hat. I can’t live like this anymore, Briar.”

It still stings. He wasn’t the first to feel that way, but he was the only one to say it out loud. No other boyfriend lasted long enough to put it into words, but the signs were always there. I’m not easy to love. I don’t know how to trust others.

My eyes drift to the men in the cage next to mine. Maybe this is all some twisted experiment. A study orchestrated by psychologists who wanted to see what would happen if they threw people like us—loners, overachievers, outliers—into this hell. Or maybe it’s just a game, some dystopian reality show for a higher species.

Whatever it is, I didn’t sign up for this.

The same woman from before catches my eye from the female cage across from me. She’s mouthing something again.

I squint, trying to make sense of the word, but it’s impossible.

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