Page 3 of Vabar

I don’t cringe this time. I don’t think the little creatures will hurt me. They don’t mean me harm. This is their home. Not mine. Right?

Why are the dog-like animals roaming free while I—the human—am sitting in a cage?

THREE

At some point, I fall asleep.

When I wake again, it’s because my head is pounding. The room is still filled with the constant sound of animals making whatever noises they make. Barking, I guess.

I need to pee so badly, too. Much worse than before. How long ago was I taken from the space station? That’s the last time I went to the bathroom.

Tears fall as I lie, curled up, unwilling to move. Everything hurts. My shoulder is screaming from bearing my weight against the hard metal tray. My legs are bent awkwardly because I couldn’t pull them together around the diaper. One is closer to my chest, and one is extended out as far as possible.

Sniffling, I give up the fight with my bladder and wet myself. The relief is tremendous. At least I’ve eliminated one problem, though I’ve probably added another. Because what am I supposed to do about the wet diaper?

The large black dog-like animal prances over and squats on his haunches, staring at me. It freaks me out. I know nothing about furry creatures. Again, I wonder whether he will bite me?

Suddenly, he slides a paw forward, reaching between the bars of my cage, inching closer as if he’s offering me friendship. I wonder how smart he is. Moving slowly, he finally touches my fingers. I think he pets me.

My heart is racing from fear of the unknown. He’s gorgeous. His dark eyes are mesmerizing. I can’t help but smile when he cocks his head to the side.

Tentatively, I lift my hand and set it on top of his paw, feeling his fur. It’s so soft.

He scoots farther forward, giving me more of his softness to touch.

When my breath hitches, he switches positions with me, tugging his paw out from under my palm and petting my knuckles.

I smile again as I grow less leery of his intentions. Leaning toward him, I slide my hand up his leg and pet him.

When he gives a little bark, I yelp and jump back.

Does he smile at me? He definitely shimmies closer on his belly until his snout reaches between the slats of my cage. His tongue hangs out as he pants. His ears perk up.

I’m afraid to touch his head. What if he bites me? Heck, maybe I was sent here to be his food. That thought makes my pulse race. After all, I’m the one in the cage. Not him. Wherever we are, his position is superior to mine. The blond man might be planning to cook me and feed me to these dog-like animals.

Or perhaps the furry guy prefers his meat raw, and he’s going to tear me apart with his jowls and eat me alive.

My imagination is going to give me a heart attack.

Fast-moving footsteps accompanied by a shadow looming over me make me lift my gaze to see the blond approaching. He’s smiling as he crouches next to the black “dog” and says something in a kind voice as he ruffles the fur on top of the creature’s head. I don’t know how else to think of this pet, so I’m going with dog.

After a few more well-placed pets to the animal’s chin and belly, the man rises and leaves.

My heart sinks for a minute until he returns. He’s shaking a bottle again. He squats in front of me, holds it up, and raises his eyebrows. Is he asking me if I want it? Yes. I definitely do. But at what cost?

The blond turns back to the dog. He makes some sort of hand signal while saying something I don’t understand. It must make sense to the dog, though, because he immediately pulls his paw and snout out of the cage and rolls onto his back.

When I think about it, his movements go with the hand gesture. The man used a finger to make a spiral in the air, like a corkscrew. He rewards the giant ball of fur with belly rubs and then reaches into his pocket to produce something small and brown. The moment he holds it to the dog’s mouth, the furry creature reaches out with his tongue to take it. He jumps onto all fours, tail wagging, as he quickly chomps down the treat.

The blond repeats the entire process: the gesture and the words prompting the dog to roll onto his back and then accept his treat. The blond does it one more time before turning his attention to me.

He uses the same words and hand signal while he looks into my eyes with his penetrating blue ones.

I gasp and jerk back a few inches.

He holds up the bottle and his brows rise again.

I start breathing heavily. I know exactly what he’s communicating. If I lie on my back, he will let me have the bottle. No—he will feed me the bottle himself.