Ropes and Lace | MM Romance

Chapter 20 - Lure Me

Chloe was gone when I got home.

She made sure to leave a note to let me know that Spaghetti had her breakfast and that I'd find her locked in her cage, which I acquired for unforeseen occasions like this one, but I passionately hate. She's not used to such limited spaces; ever since my parents gave her to me when she was just a baby, she's been free to roam wherever she wants. At first, it was a nightmare, because she wasn't trained and had a bad habit of chewing on any item that caught her interest. Her favorite choice? My precious books. For many weeks, the first scene that greeted me in the mornings was my living room filled with little bits of torn pages and scratched or peed on covers.

I mourned the passing of each treasure, but at the time, I was blessed with a secure job and could afford to buy them back. However, even though I would freak out when she did it, when I had to chase her through tight, unpleasant, and sometimes inaccessible places for a guy my size, because she knew that what she had done was wrong and that if I caught her she would be subjected to an endless lecture and a tedious behavior correction session, I never forbade her autonomy. So, before even emptying my bag, drinking a delicious cup of coffee, or making a simple snack, I rush to the kitchen to put an end to her torment... and mine.

"Hello, little miss," I greet her as soon as I see her, smiling when she lets out a jubilant squeal. I want to imagine it's because she missed me as much as I missed her, and not because her bladder is full and she's demanding that I let her out to take care of the problem.

With animals, you can't be one hundred percent certain.

I unlock the latch, open the door and she immediately snakes up my leg and into my arms. Well, I guess she did miss me. I tenderly stroke her snow-white, silky soft fur until her excited yelps and enthusiastic flips cease, so I can cuddle her without the danger of her tiny claws scratching my eyeballs or digging into my nostrils. Yes, those kinds of accidents have happened and they are not pleasant. Not at all.

I gently put her on the floor and she instantly wraps herself like a shackle around my ankle, fearing that I might disappear if we aren't in direct physical contact. I laugh, cautiously limping to avoid tripping over anything that might hurt her, and walk up the stairs to my room. It's in that familiar territory that she feels confident enough to detach herself, climbing with enviable agility onto my bed to roll into a ball in the center of my pillow, where she sighs with delight.

"I'll allow it this time, but remember that's mine, and that one..." I reproach without much strength, pointing to her mountain of colorful, fluffy blankets. "It's yours," she snorts and proceeds to ignore me.

I roll my eyes and give up, aware that this is a battle I cannot win. Instead, I focus on unpacking and organizing my belongings in their designated positions. And, of course, thinking about Elliot. Because there's no exercise, activity, or task that can successfully expel him from my mind. He's often here, with me; a spiritual entity who, no matter the distance, has left his ghostly imprint on every surface. Since I first met him, he has been present in every aspect of my life.

First, representing the grand hypothetical golden ticket, my salvation after catastrophic months of uncertainty and fear for a future without economic stability, thanks to the sudden pandemic that unexpectedly hit the planet without a plan b. Or c, or d.

Then, as the tyrant. That disconcerting stranger that all he showed me was inflexibility, that kept me constantly on the edge of a nervous breakdown with his twisted games, malicious hints, passive-aggressive comments, and unyielding arrogance. It didn't take me long to deduce that this was his defense mechanism, one that he had been painstakingly and resolutely building up over the years, due to his traumatic past experiences.