His Pet

Chapter 2 - Rules

           While she cried her eyes out, she stumbled into the bathroom. Aggressively undressing herself she went into the shower. Too much of an emotional mess she just sat on the ground, letting the hot water pour over her. The shower had one of those rain shower heads in the ceiling. If she wasn't so upset she would have immensely enjoyed it.
           Eventually, she calmed and slipped the bandages off her arms. There were various needle marks and her arms were covered in yellowing bruises.  As she looked over her naked body, she wanted to note any marks she found. There were a few very faint yellow bruises on her legs. She guessed they were from them moving her; at least that's what she wanted to think. Taking a washcloth and a generous amount of liquid soap she scrubbed her body hard, tougher than she probably should have. Wincing, when she went over delicate parts of her body, like her very sore arms. Then she washed her hair twice, untangling it. After her shower, she unfortunately puked into the toilet, she was that upset. There goes the toast.
           Feeling psychically terrible she pulled on a large white robe that was hanging in the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. There were saltine crackers and ginger ale on the counter. There was a note next to them. Picking it up, it read:

                     I'm assuming you will throw up anyway when I'm gone, so these are for you. Eat and drink, slowly! There's water in the fridge. Also, cheese in the fridge if the crackers are too bland for you.
                      - J

           Putting the note back on the counter, sighing. For a second, she felt affection toward him. Though, it got swept away just as quickly.
           "Just making sure he gets his money's worth," she mumbled, opening the cold glass bottle of ginger ale. Taking a sip, she winced a little. She wasn't used to a caffeinated drink, so it felt weird going down her throat. Nibbling on the crackers she heard movement to her left. The orange cat from earlier had jumped onto the counter and rubbed against her arm, purring. She was glad someone was nice to her. Giving the cat a good scratch on top of its head, she looked at the tag on its collar. It read, Isis.
           Klaire then decided to look for a knife; she would hide and use it if she had to. The thing was she couldn't find anything but butter knives. There was a locked drawer in the kitchen; she suspected that's where they were.
           She took a butter knife instead and hid it in a drawer in her closet. Better than nothing.
           "Asshole," she mumbled as she closed the drawer.
           She then went on the hunt for a phone. There wasn't one in the living room, kitchen, his bedroom, his bathroom, her bedroom, the office room, and the laundry room. Though there was a locked door in his bedroom. She assumed it was his closet and that he hid anything she could use to get out, in that room. There was a computer in the office but it was locked and needed a password. Too bad she's not a hacker.
           She sighed and walked back to the living room. The window wall spread on the right side of the living room as well. The TV sat in front of the normal wall connected to the window one. If she was completely honest with herself, the apartment was big, yes. Though, she found it odd that it wasn't bigger. It was really small and homey for a billionaire.
           Sitting on the very plush and surprisingly non-leather sofa. Picking up the remote, she turned on the TV. She soon realized that there was internet connected to the TV but she only had access to Netflix, Amazon prime, and other internet movie and TV providers. She tried connecting to something like YouTube but it needed a password to even open it. Sighing she turned the TV off.
           The papers on her dresser were itching at her. Getting up she walked back to the kitchen, grabbing the crackers and the ginger ale. She wandered back to the dresser and against her better judgment picked up the papers and climbed up into the bed.