LEARNING HOW TO BE A PET, EVE
"You're doing it wrong,"Autumn tells me in slow Imperial.
I look up from my bowl andtry to wipe all the food from my chin and fail. Eating without hands is harder than it looks. "How can I eat wrong?"
"We must be beautiful even in debasement." She demonstrates how to eat out of a bowl with grace, lowering her head elegantly. "Commander Gai values aesthetics."
"Commander Gai can?—"
"Careful,” she whispers. “The walls have ears, and defiance is…corrected."
I force down another mouthful of kibble, trying not to gag. Not from the taste; it's designed to be palatable, but from the humiliation.
"How do you stand it?" I ask later when we're settled on our sleeping mats in the dark. No proper beds for pets.
"Stand what?"
"This. Allof this. Were you ever free?"
Autumn replies, "I’ve found peace with this life."
"This doesn’t look like peace to me. It looks like surrender."
She's quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly I almost miss it, she says, "Sometimes peace and surrender are the same thing, Eve.”
That statement makes me toss and turn all night.
Will I surrender like Autumn?
Or even more frightening:
How long until I become completely compliant like Autumn?
Already since my Imperial “rebirth,” I can feel my anger only as half-muted. It’s as if my body is giving into this new life. And every day, it’s harder to remember why I don’t want to submit.
It doesn’t take me long to learn the routines in Rafe and Lorian’s childhood home. Autumn and I wake at dawn and must use the bathroom while being observed. Then we are bathed using the pet facilities, which means no privacy or dignity. Attendants wash us as if we were animals, then they comb our hair, all of it, not just the hair on our heads, trimming, polishing, even perfuming it with oils until every trace of human scent is gone. Finally, we are presented for inspection to the housekeeper.
I thought that I’d become used to the humiliation, but after weeks of the same thing every day, I still blush when my ass cheeks are pulled apart to check for feces or when she caresses me between my legs for too long and calls me a “good human.”
Afterward, we aren’t allowed to lounge like house cats; we have to serve Gai breakfast and are expected to kneel beside his chair while he eats and endure his casual touches. He strokes our hair like we're particularly well-trained animals, only breathing for his pleasure…when he remembers we exist, that is.
But it’s odd because he also talks to us, I guess in the same way some people talk to their dogs or cats on Earth. He often comments on something in the news or if someone is walking up the garden path to the main house, and it’s unexpected. It’s an odd existence, especially since he doesn’t expect a response unless he authorizes it.
For the rest of the day, we follow Gai around. Only taking bathroom breaks when we are given permission, and again they are all monitored.
When I got my period, I was hooked up to the same machine Dr. Veil used, but this time, Gai stroked my hair while it did its work. It was strange, but he told me Autumn used to have to be tied down. She hated it so much, and he didn’t want me to be scared of the machine in the same way. Again, I wasn’t allowed to answer him; he just talked to me and made all the decisions for me, like a well cared for pet. In that moment, I was happy that I had never owned a cat or dog. I couldn’t fathom how frustrating it might be to be talked to in this way and just have things done to you.
The only thing Gai does for us is take us for walks around the palace grounds. He honestly believes that Autumn and I enjoy throwing a ball back and forth to each other. Frighteningly, I do find it more exciting than sitting next to his chair watching him read the newspaper. But the worst part isn't the humiliation. It's how normal it’s all starting to feel, and every day I enjoy throwing that stupid ball more than I did the day before.
Every evening I’m made to stand in a mirrored cubicle as part of my pet training, naked except for my collar, and repeat the phrases and motions the computer tells me to do. For example, it usually begins with, “I am a good human pet,”which I have to repeat.Then other phrases like, “I enjoy my leash,” and “I want to be cared for.”
And as for the physical tasks, I must kneel, beg, stand, bow, and obey on rotation. When I first entered the mirror cubicle, Gai told me it would teach me better Imperial pronunciation and pet posture, but as far as I can see, it’s only teaching me how to disappear.
Before, my anger carried me. Now I have to decide, consciously, every day, that what was done to humans still matters—even when my body no longer insists on it. And every day, I feel the collar around my neck getting tighter, heavier, and soon, I know, I won’t have the energy to think for myself.
Gai has visitors today. Older Imperial men he served with in the fleet. Already I can tell I don’t like them as they’ve referred to me as “the terrorist-turned-pet” more than a few times while they’ve had lunch in the dining room.
Now, one of them has purposely dropped his glove. Autumn makes a move to get it, but the man stops her and says, “Fetch, Little Terrorist. Fetch,” as everyone looks at me and laughs.
