As soon as I uncover the cage, Lunchbox starts crying; those big, dark brown eyes that I love so much are practically pleading for me to free him.
I pull him out and cuddle him against me. His little whimpers as he nuzzles against my neck nearly crack my heart in half.
“He’s been in there since you put him in there this morning,” Evan snaps. He pulls his headphones off and leans back on the couch, cracking open what looks to be his fourth beer of the day. Then he grabs the remote and starts flipping through streaming apps to find something to watch.
What he said is definitely true, because when I look inside the cage, I see that Lunchbox’s pad is covered in poop and pee. I pull the puppy away from me and see that his paws and legs are matted and covered in it, too. Now I see why it reeks of air freshener in here.
“You should have gotten home sooner,” he says, sounding almost amused. “This is why I don’t let you use my fucking car. You take advantage of my kindness.”
I go to stand in front of the TV and glare at Evan. “First of all, letting your girlfriend use your car isn’t about kindness, it’s about common decency,” I snap. “And second of all, how could you leave him in there for that long? His cage is covered in shitand piss—he’scovered in shit and piss—and has he even had anything to eat while I was gone? Any water?”
“Get away from the TV, Essence,” he growls, getting off the couch and stepping up to me threateningly. Lunchbox barks at him, but Evan doesn’t even notice. “I’ve had a long day, and I don’t need to deal with your fucking bitchy attitude.”
“A long day doing what? Drinking?” I snap, pushing past him to the kitchen to get Lunchbox some food and water. “It’s only two in the afternoon, your day technically hasn’t even started yet.”
Evan grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me back around to face him. I clench my teeth and stare him down with as much malice as I can muster. I don’t want him to know how good this feels, and Icertainlydon’t want to admit to myself how good it feels when he hurts me.
Despite myself, the image of a masked man fills my mind, and there’s suddenly a wet warmth between my legs.
Evan gets in my face, and I cringe from the stench of beer on his breath. “The dog doesn’t get anything until you’ve made my fucking lunch.”
To emphasize his authority, he grabs Lunchbox by the scruff of his neck, stomps back into the living room and tosses my puppy back into his cage. My heart breaks at the sound of his little cries when Evan locks the door.
I'm furious now, and all I want to do is take one of the knives in the kitchen and stab him in the throat.
Choosing my battles wisely, I wash my hands and begin making lunch, trying hard to ignore my sweet baby’s cries.
CHAPTER 2
ESSENCE
By the timeI'm done making lunch, my head hurts, Lunchbox and his cage still need to be cleaned, and the arousal I was feeling fifteen minutes ago has only gotten turned up because I keep thinking about the masked man.
I first noticed him a few months ago standing outside my bedroom window watching me get undressed. Of course, I freaked out and almost called the police, but he held up a knife and dangled it around like he was threatening me, so I put my phone down.
The sharp silver blade glistened in the moonlight, and I couldn’t help but think of all the pain and pleasure he could cause with that knife.
At first, I was creeped out, but then he’d texted me.
UNKNOWN:
Let me see that beautiful body, baby.
I shook my head and closed my curtains. That fear quickly turned into arousal when I realized just how much I liked the stranger’s attention.
So, for the past four or five months, I've been kind-of sort-of cheating on my boyfriend with a complete stranger who watches me through my bedroom window, either down in the backyard or up in the tree where he has the perfect view into my bedroom.
I haven’t told a soul about him, not even my older sister, Ebony—whom I share everything with—and I don’t plan to anytime soon.
I eat my lunch quickly in the kitchen before grabbing Lunchbox and stomping upstairs. Going straight to the bathroom, I place him in the bathtub and turn the water on. His beautiful black and white spotted fur is completely caked with poop, and I just can’t fathom why or how someone could be so cruel to such an innocent little thing.
One of these days, I'm going to find the courage to leave Evan. I'm so tired of dealing with his pathetic, abusive ass every single day. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself—I don’t know what I ever saw in him because he’s been this way since I first met him three years ago.
He left me to die in a fire after he got drunk and decided to microwave his food that was wrapped in aluminum foil. That alone should have been enough for me to finally leave him, but I'd decided to give him a second chance because, for some reason, I believe in those.
After three rounds of shampoo, I condition and rinse Lunchbox before taking him out of the tub and letting him air-dry. In the meantime, I spend the next fifteen minutes cleaning and sanitizing every surface of the bathroom until I feel like it’s clean enough. Only then do I feel okay to finally take a shower. Unfortunately, the water isn’t as hot as I would like it, but it’senough to ease some of the pain in my head and tension in my muscles.
I shower quickly, brush my teeth, wash my face,tie up my thick curls, and get into my favorite oversized t-shirt before sliding into bed, which is where I plan to spend the rest of the afternoon. Lunchbox’s cage can wait until later, but for now I'll have to line the bedroom floor with puppy pads, which Evan won’t be happy about.
