Page 15 of Milk & Malice: Vadik
Clean myself after the bathroom?
Eat?
Drink?
“Shhhh,” he said and music played.
Classical music from my dreams.
He put his phone down and pulled the cloth out of my mouth.
“Do you have any questions, my sweet?”
I have half my limbs left, horns in my skull and whatever else he said. Did I have questions?
“Why me?” I croaked out.
I stared at him.
Really stared at him.
He was well-spoken and he had surgeon’s hands—well taken care of. He was middle aged maybe thirty-nine to forty-two. His dark hair had a little grey through it. A sharp nose, slim lips, medium build. I was confused.
He looked so—normal.
I stared at his eyes.
They were the problem.
He observed. Calm all the time.
Walking away when I was crying and came back as if what he did to me was an everyday occurrence.
Fear bloomed in the pit of my belly, quickly stifling me.
He suddenly smiled widely.
“That’s easy. Your bone dimensions and your breasts. Well, your hair as well. You were the ideal candidate for my project.”
Project?
He sipped his coffee. I could smell it.
I was scared to look at my legs because I couldn’t feel my feet. My ankles. Only a heaviness in my thighs.
He chose me because I fit his project.
It could have been anyone.
No. It was me. A real life Frankenstein.
Part human and part cow.
I wanted to die.
I closed my eyes.
No longer able to look at his excitement or contented glee.
