Page 111 of Played By Design

“It is happening.”

“No.” My shoulders curl inward. “You’re doing it.”

Kain’s expression shifts, and he sets down the spatula.

My breathing quickens. “I have a plan, and you’re not following the plan.”

“Bunny, the plan was a temporary measure.” The toaster pops, and I flinch at the sound, but Kain ignores it, fully focused on me now. “The restrictions are over. My ribs hurt, but I’m not an invalid, and you’ve been hovering for three days.”

The pressure starts to hurt, and I clamp my palms over my ears.

It helps, but not enough. Not when the refrigerator hum keeps drilling into my skull and the film of hot oil is too thick in the air and the alarm never went off, and Luca’s car is still sitting at the curb because someone tried to kill Kain, and now he’s saying he doesn’t need me.

I rock forward onto the balls of my feet, then back. “I left my phone in my room, and breakfast is late, and now you’ve been standing here when you’re supposed to be resting, and you’ve missed your morning medication⁠—”

Kain crosses the kitchen and crouches to my level. “Bunny, take a deep breath.”

My rocking intensifies. “I had a plan.”

“Okay.” He reaches over to open the junk drawer and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen. “Okay. Let’s revise the plan. What do you need right now?”

I clench my jaw so hard my molars ache.

This.

This is the problem.

Kain always has a solution. Kain steps in. Kain reads the room and adjusts and finds the right frequency and the right words and the right distance, and I stand here with my hands over my ears because everything is wrong and the schedule is broken, and I still need him to tell me how to fix it.

Even when I’m supposed to be taking care of Kain, Kain is taking care of me.

If I can’t even manage Kain without Kain managing me, then what am I?

A high-pitched whine fills the air.

“Hey.” Kain sets the pen down. “Bunny, look at me.”

I shake my head, pressing my hands tighter to my head. I can’t.

His hand closes around my wrist, thumb rubbing over my pulse the way he always does when I get like this. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

The whine climbs higher.

Of course he does.

He always does.

The workbook wasn’t lying.

I’m the pet.

The bunny.

Except I don’t want to be his pet.

Kain’s thumb stops moving. “Fuck.”

Pets don’t take care of their Players. Players feed them and exercise them and clean up after them. They sleep in their Player’s bed when they’re allowed and wait for attention when they’re not.