Just One Night

Jackson opened the door across the hall from his room, then stepped aside and gestured for Wren to step in ahead of him. Wren hesitated, then stepped forward. The room was dark and smelled faintly of disuse. Jackson stepped in behind him and Wren forced himself not to whip around. He didn’t like people at his back.

“Light is here,” Jackson said and the lights came on. Wren turned around at a normal, sedate pace, in direct odds to the pounding of his heart. Jackson had his hand on a panel at the door. “Bed, couch, bathroom.” Jackson pointed at each thing in turn. “Just come to my room when you wake up in the morning. Kia’s bringing breakfast up.”

Wren stared over Jackson’s shoulder. The words Jackson said were all normal, easy words… They just didn’t make any sense. Why was he leaving Wren in this room? Where was his cage? The bars with the slot so food could be pushed in to him. The flat pillow and thin blanket.

“Oh, actually just wait for me and I’ll knock in the morning. Good night, Wren.”

Jackson left and shut the door behind him. Wren glanced around the room. The bed was large and covered with a thick quilt. The couch was only large enough for two people, but the cushions look fit to burst with all the stuffing in them. Forgettable artwork hung on the walls, random faces of people Wren didn’t know. A small vase with a couple flowers sat on the nightstand.

Wren breathed in deep. The room obviously wasn’t used often, but someone had recently been in here. The entire house smelled of wolves, and he hadn’t met the wolf whose smell was strongest in this room.

He glanced back at the closed door then took a hesitant step toward the bathroom. Nothing happened. He made it all the way to the door and let his hand rest on the handle. It was quiet outside his room. Jackson’s room across the hall had the low-level humming blocking out any sounds from within.

His heart started kicking up. His palm was sweating where it rested against the metal knob. There was no sound. No noise. Jackson showed him where the bathroom was. That meant he could use the bathroom, right? His breathing shallowed out as his mind spun. Should he risk it? Open the door and face the consequences if he misunderstood?

He turned the knob.

Nothing happened. No noise. No sound. No alarm. Just a dark bathroom. He used it quickly and left the room exactly as he’d found it.

His skin was crawling and his muscles were jittery. If something was going to happen, he wanted it to happen now. Delayed punishments were always worse. Never knowing when it was going to happen. Wren stripped off his clothes and shifted.

The wolf settled over and calmed the anxiousness in this skin. He shook himself. His fur was clean. As in clean-clean. Clean in a way it hadn’t been in years. It was thick and full and there were no tangles. He shook again.

His fascination with being clean only lasted a couple minutes, then abruptly, he was exhausted. His limbs felt heavy and he let out a silent yawn. The bed was obviously off limits to sleep on, as well the comfortable looking couch. The rug was soft and plush. The only portion of floor that wasn’t covered in the thick carpeting was the small section of brick in front of the empty fireplace.

That would be his best bet. The bricks were smooth and cool, much better than the rough concrete he’d lived on before, and yet, he wanted nothing more than to return to the carpet. The soft strands beneath his paws was a level of decadence he’d never experienced before. He curled up and flopped his tail over his nose in an attempt to get warm… then realized he didn’t need to do that. The room wasn’t getting colder. Even the stones he lay on were slowly warming beneath him.

He tried to stretch out, but the feeling of wrong hit and he curled back up.

The patchy fur he’d used to have would have been enough to keep him warm here. It was a comfortable temperature. Wren forced his eyes open. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to sleep? Maybe he was just supposed to be waiting until the morning?

Except… no. Jackson’s first command was to go to his room when he woke up in the morning. Then he changed it though. He said to wait and Jackson would knock on the door in the morning.

Oh. Ok. Yeah. This was the punishment then. Surround him by all these nice things that he couldn’t touch. Deprive him of sleep. Wren almost regretted telling Jackson his name. It made the punishments just that much more bitter to hear the name his mother gave him at the end of the poisoned words. The allure of hearing it again, hearing it after all these years of being nothing more than a string of numbers, it had been too strong to resist.

Wren stood and shook out again, then sat on the stones and stared at the door. He would sit and wait for Jackson to knock.

It was probably because he ate those sweets earlier. Kia had pressured Jackson into letting him eat them and now Wren was going to pay for it. But that’s fine. A little sleep deprivation wouldn’t be too bad. If it was only one night then he’d be just fine.

The humming across the hall shut off. Wren listened to the door shut with a snick and light footsteps fade away down the hall. There was a rustling in Jackson’s room and then he could make out the gentle whooshing of Jackson’s breathing.

Wren listened to that. He would focus on Jackson’s breathing and get through the night like that. It’d be much better than staring in silence at an unchanging door.

Just one night like this wouldn’t be bad. Then tomorrow he would know better than to accept the human food. Jackson’s remark about Kia bringing up breakfast… It was probably the next bit of punishment. He was given a taste of how good the food is here so now he’ll know exactly what he’s missing out on. Just one night to get through. He’d forget the taste of the food soon.

Jackson’s breathing had evened out. Wren wanted to lay down, at the very least. But if he were to lay down, he’d fall asleep. He locked his front legs. Just one night, he repeated, just one night.

A knot grew in his throat. It was the same thing he’d tell himself when his previous owner would hook the leash onto his collar to lead him to his next fight. Just one more fight. Just one more and then he’d let Wren be done. He’d let Wren go home. Just one more fight.

There was always one more fight. There would always be one more night.

He couldn’t cry as a wolf, but it didn’t stop his eyes from burning. It didn’t stop his throat from aching or his sides from shuddering as he tried to keep his breathing even.

Just one more night, he forced the thought through his mind. Tried to force himself to believe it. Just one more night.