Page 5 of Pucking Feral: Part Two
He even took the single blanket I had.
The water upstairs shuts off.
She's leaving again.
If I don't have water, I will die.
Sometimes I want to die.
But I'm scared dying will hurt.
And who's going to protect Mom from James if I die? Sometimes he hits her, too. I've heard him, and no matter how much I roar and snarl from down here, he doesn't stop.
I grab the cold copper doorknob and drag myself up. Brace my shoulder against the door and push, testing.
It's locked, but maybe I'm big enough now to break it.
I've been down here for a long time, I think. Long enough my teacher came looking for me, and I heard her talking to Mom. Heard Mom tell her I don't come out anymore because of how I look, and how I might not come back to school ever again.
It doesn't take much to break the door.
I have gotten stronger.
Much stronger.
There's muscle over the bone, now. A lot of it. Too much.
The light coming in through the hallway windows is too bright and it burns my eyes, makes me growl, makes me feel like a wild animal that wants to go back in the cave.
But when I can see again, it's snowing.
There's a Christmas tree by the crackling fireplace in the living room. It's warm. So warm.
And there's a cat on the back of a new sofa.
Is it Christmas?
When did we get a cat?
I've always wanted a cat. But James hates animals.
Maybe I've been in the basement for longer than I thought. It was barely summer when I lost my face.
Or maybe I'm dreaming.
The cat stretches when she sees me. Fur white as the snow outside, with big marble eyes. She yawns, showing a tiny pink tongue and sharp teeth that are nothing compared to mine.
I reach out to her.
She sniffs my hand and rubs her cheek on it, scars and all. A purr starts up, a rumbling motor sound that vibrates through her whole body and into my messed up hand.
She's purring.
She doesn't care what I look like.
To her, all humans are probably ugly anyway.
I sink onto the carpet in front of the warm fireplace, and the cat immediately climbs into my lap.
