Young Writers Society

I kneel at your feet, back arched and eyes glazed over. You click a collar tightly against my neck. I can't quite breathe right, but it's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me.

And that's how I became your pet, your bitch on a leash. Any sane person would tell me that's not a place to be. But I don't think I was sane when you looked at me. You would kneel beside me, and hold my chin until I cried from the burn of contact. You picked a stray: scratched and a little lonely. You washed away the timidness with lavender shampoo and trimmed away the mats of distrust until only dependence remained.

You trace a thumb across my lips and smile. Your eyes unzip my skin so you can get to the nerves and send electricty down my spine. I hate the attention, but it's better than being alone.

I'm a sick mutt. Spent my whole life getting kicked black and blue that anything less obvious felt like heaven. Your floor was softer than my mother's scorn and your feather caresses down my stomach didn't hurt like my stepfather's hands. I craved every moment of you like a dog begging for choclate. The burn in my throat was worth the pleasure of getting what I wanted.

I try to shakily stand to my feet and sweep my legs from under me. You tug on the leash until I see spots in my vision. I simper against your thigh so you'll let go but I sleep wheezing that night.

I try to wash the mark of the collar with boiling water and mint bodywash. But you can't wash out scars and I can still feel every path your fingers traced across my body. It's the night after a full moon and I'm a werewolf ashamed of the animal in my ribcage. I want to peel myself in layers so the girl who yipped and whimpered for you isn't me. But she's still behind my eyes, begging to go back to you.

You're sleeping. I raise my human hands and undo the collar. It doesn't make a sound when it hits the floor. I wish it did for some finality. I leave without a goodbye, without rousing you and letting you know. I let you sleep through the night without telling you it's the last day to see me.

I try not to wonder what you did when you woke up to an empty dogbed and a full water dish. Did you mourn me? Did you curse my name? Did you just sigh and bring another bitch into your living room to tame? Will I ever see you again?

The tug of your leash still feels like home. I don't know how to take in a full breath. Some nights, I want to open my window and howl until you hear me and take me back in. But I keep the latch closed and sing until the sun comes up and I feel human again.