Page 34 of Caged

“You can’t pee in here,” I tell him in my sternest voice, as if he’ll actually understand the nuances of my tone. “I don’t have a litter box.”

He looks up, cocks his head, and gives me a slow blink before refocusing on his bath.

I shrug. Good enough.

Situating myself at the head of my bed and trying to ignore the burst of pain as I move, I mentally replay the evening.

Maybe it was the lingering tension of knowing Alexander was in my home, but swear I could feel someone’s eyes on me yesterday evening. Part of me knew I was probably being ridiculous. While my father is absolutely the kind of mane to allow a monster inside our home, there’s no way he’d suffer some random person sulking around outside.

It didn’t matter how often I tried to tell myself there was no one out there, the feeling only intensified as the night wore on.

Weirdly, I wasn’t afraid. Only curious. There was a weight attached to the invisible eyes, like being wrapped in a soft blanket on a story night.

Secure. Protected.

It took me a minute to recognize that, for the first time in years, I felt safe.

Memories of lazy days in a fort made of blankets and pillows, surrounded by my mother’s scent of lilies and vanilla, slammed into me. I closed my eyes, basking in the memory of those long afternoons.

Hours full of love and safety, stories and songs, and freshly baked cookies.

Days without Father. When it was just the two of us in our own world.

Blinking away tears, I gathered what little courage I’d held onto and crept to the balcony doors.

You can do this, I told myself. You face what’s out there. Surely something that invoked memories of safety couldn’t be dangerous.

Taking a fortifying breath, I turned the handles and stepped outside, ready to face what awaited in the night.

The cool breeze wrapped itself around me, the scent of spring wrapping around my senses in the dark. I squinted, searching the shadows beyond.

My mother’s garden was in full bloom. The groundskeepers always made sure to keep it immaculate. Every hedge in the maze was perfectly trimmed, and every flower climbing the trellis looked like something out of a picture book.

Mother used to let the flowers grow wild, only pruning them back when they reached too far.

“It makes no sense to tame something that’s meant to be free,” she’d say, “just to make it fit the way we think it should look.”

Outside of the colorful blooms and soft gurgle of the fountain, there was nothing there.

Of course, there wasn’t. I wanted to laugh at my stupidity, but I was too relieved to do more than lift my face to the moon and exhale my remaining fear.

I loved being outside. I’d live on this balcony if I could. Father kept strict rules, though, and just like everything else, they existed specifically to remind me that I was a captive in this house.

“You are to be inside after dark. No exceptions.”

I decided I wouldn’t stay long. Just long enough to take a breath of fresh air and get my nerves back under control. Father was in a meeting, so the likelihood he’d catch me was slim.

A soft mewling cut through the silence of the night, and I smiled, recognizing the familiar sound. I leaned over the railing, searching for the cat I knew was under the balcony.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He scurried up the trellis, and the moment his paws hit the ground, I picked him up and buried my face in his fur.

I stayed outside for a while, letting myself relax in the one part of the house I felt closest to my mother, watching her flowers glow in the moonlight.

It hit me that for a few seconds before I’d opened those doors, I’d been anticipating the idea of someone being out here. At some moment I couldn’t quite pinpoint, fear had turned into something else.

Excitement, maybe. Or hope.

The idea that someone could be outside my room felt less like a threat and more like an opportunity.