Page 4 of Vabar

How hungry and thirsty am I?

Is he only giving me sustenance to fatten me up so he can feed me to the animals?

We have a stare-down. The man makes the gesture with his finger again and shakes the bottle.

My heart is racing harder. Part of me wants to dig my heels in and refuse, but something in me drives me to obey this man. It makes no sense. Why would I give in to his will? He’s treating me like an animal—one with far less freedom than the pet at his side.

As if I’m not the one in control of my body, I find myself rolling onto my back. The cage is too small for me to stretch out, and the diaper is too bulky to pull my legs together, so I’m forced to part my knees and brace my feet against the bars.

Tugging the blanket around my chest, I turn my head toward the blond.

He grins broadly and reaches through the bars with both hands. He pets my head with one and uses the other to tap my lips with the nipple.

Tentatively, I open for him.

He gently slides his hand under my head and lifts me, so I’m no longer completely flat. Next, he jiggles the nipple in my mouth.

My cheeks are hot as I give a tiny suck. I’m grateful to find that the substance tastes good. I suck again, pulling more of it into my mouth. After I swallow, I greedily go after the bottle, starving for nutrition and fluid.

I moan around the nipple, so relieved. Either I’m so hungry that I don’t care what I eat, or the creamy white liquid is delicious. If it’s laced with poison, I don’t even care. At least I will die feeling less miserable.

When it’s empty, I whimper. I’m not full; I want more.

The man lowers my head and sets the bottle outside the cage before he brings his other arm in and pats my tummy over the blanket, shaking his head. Is he afraid I’ll get sick if I eat more?

My breath hitches when he slides his palm between my legs and grips the front of my diaper. The pressure against my private parts makes me cry out.

Instinctively, out of self-preservation, I jerk my hand down to shove at his. I don’t want him to touch me there. The action causes the blanket to fall away and expose one of my breasts, but stopping this man from palming me between my legs is more important than maintaining my dignity.

The blond frowns and swats my fingers, shaking his head.

At the reprimand, I yank my hand up to grip the blanket around me. My knuckles sting. He slapped them hard. He’s strong and perfectly capable of making a point.

Chastised, I grit my teeth to keep from crying.

Why am I here?

What’s going to happen to me?

FOUR

I’m surprised when the blond pushes something through the slats of my cage, lifts my head, and slips it underneath. A pillow. So soft. Luxurious. But why must I stay in this small jail?

“Thank you,” I murmur, even though he can’t understand me. Maybe my tone will convey my gratitude. I’m still frustrated, but the pillow is a kind gesture.

The blond stands, lifts my entire cage by a handle in the center of the top slats, and carries my prison to another spot in the room.

I sit and look around at my surroundings from this new angle. My head is still heavy, but I can hold it up longer than I could earlier. And it’s no longer pounding. The drugs must be moving out of my system.

I’m shocked to find dozens of cages in the room. Each of them is filled with an animal. Some look like the dog. Some look similar to cats I’ve seen pictures of. Many are unidentifiable. All are furry. I don’t understand why I’m being treated like these other animals that are obviously pets. I’m human. I’m far more intelligent. Does he not know that?

I think this might be a pet store or a shelter for unwanted animals. I’ve read about such places on Earth. Is this man planning on selling me or putting me up for adoption?

Now I know why this room is so loud. The sounds of all these animals morph together. I can’t identify any of them, nor can I differentiate, with the exception of the large dog and the smaller one. Both are freely roaming around the room. They’re also intrigued by me and keep visiting, dropping down next to my cage to stare at me.

The man calls out, and the two dogs jump up and trot over to him. He makes a gesture with his hand as they approach, his palm up, his fingers opening and closing. It’s obviously a signal for “come,” which means the accompanying word is Venkorian for “come.” I’d never be able to repeat it or make any of the sounds coming out of his mouth.

When the dogs reach him, he makes a different gesture—hand held out flat, palm down. He swings his hand downward a few inches and says another unintelligible word. The dogs drop to their haunches.