Kitten Ch. 01

"Don't be embarrassed," the Patron said, as if that would stop Micah burning with shame. "I know what he's like. Would you like a shower?"

Micah was still so mortified he barely heard the question, and when it sunk in he couldn't force out a single word. So he just nodded, once. It was enough for the Patron to turn around and lead him past the kitchen, to the opposite side of the main room. When he opened a door Micah saw an impossibly white bathroom with a large tub and a shower. The porcelain was cracked here and there and the paint peeled in the corners, but it was immaculately cleaned. But he didn't have much eye for his surroundings. He stood dazed, not quite hearing what the man was saying, until he left and Micah got into the shower on automatic pilot. But even through the haze he realized how nice it was to peel off his filthy clothes. The water was hot and there was no timer. He could stand there for as long as he wanted, trying to get a grip on what had possessed him.

He'd dreaded getting back in his dirty clothes, but there was no need. On a shelf he found a stack of clean shirts and jeans. Leaving his dirty clothes on the floor seemed like a mistake, but he didn't knew what else to do. For a while he sat on the edge of the bath tub, trying to center himself and come to terms with what was happening. He wasn't going home. He knew that. Shelter 42 was in the past. It sounded simple, and it was, but wrapping his mind around it seemed to daunting to ever accomplish.

He was startled by a knock on the door. There was no way of knowing how long he'd been in there, but it felt like hours since he'd stepped out of the elevator. He went to open the door, a knot of anxiety in his stomach, and found the Patron standing on the other side.

"I thought you'd like to join me for dinner," he said, and in the clear light Micah could see he was still amused. But he didn't mention the incident again, and Micah couldn't bring himself to either.

Kitten was setting the table. He'd gotten dressed too, in pajama pants and a shirt, and seeing him like that made Micah very uncomfortable. In the dark shadows of that small room the boy had looked like something out of a dream, something that wasn't quite real, he had looked the way a dream felt. The fact that he was just a boy hit Micah hard, and the shame rose again. But he was still wearing the collar, a reminder that what he had seen and done really had happened.

The table was set with only two settings. For a moment Lars was confused, until Kitten finished up and kneeled down on a cushion in the corner. But it was hard to pay attention to anything but the food on the table. For years Micah had eaten nothing but the dry, yeasty bricks of food that made up the rations, maybe a piece of fruit to share as a reward for meeting their quotas. On the table he saw two big steaks, roasted potatoes and carrots, and he was overwhelmed by the idea of not just eating so much and so well, but doing it every day. This was a normal meal for them, on a normal day, but all of it felt so alien Micah felt like a visitor from another world.

"Sit, please," the Patron said, pointing at the furthest chair and sitting down himself. Kitten remained in his corner. The smell of the food alone was enough to make Micah sit and load his plate. Everything else could wait.

"You haven't said two words since you got here," the Patron said, cutting into his steak and filling two glasses with red wine. "I told you, there's no need to be embarrassed. Kitten can be very persuasive when he wants to be."

"Is that what I'm here for?"

For a moment, the Patron seemed genuinely confused, until he noticed Micah glancing at Kitten.

"I thought I was clear about what I wanted from you," he said, returning to his meal. "My duties keep me away from the tower more and more these last couple of months. The board has put four more shelters in my care and each one of them is uniquely troubled. If I leave Kitten alone for too long he gets lonely and bored. And very naughty."

Kitten giggled, at least until his master playfully threw a carrot chunk at him to shut him up. It shocked Micah. He had never seen anyone waste food like that. But his shock turned to deep discomfort when the boy picked the carrot off the carpet and put it in his mouth.

"I could just keep punishing him every time he misbehaves," the Patron said as he watched his pet scramble back to his corner. "But that doesn't fix the problem. He needs care and companionship. That's all. Keep him company and keep him out of trouble."

Micah had to wonder what kind of trouble the boy could get into in a locked apartment in a sealed tower, but he stayed quiet. The knot in his stomach was loosening somewhat, The man seemed sincere. If he was a sadistic maniac, he hid it well. Kitten had looked nothing but happy. It was very hard to ignore their strange dynamic, but when Micah tried, he was surprised to find it all seemed very reasonable. But he could only ignore it for a few moments. The Patron put down his knife and fork. There was still food on the plate. The knot tightened again when the man put the plate on the floor and Kitten crawled over to eat the leftovers with his fingers. Micah looked at his own empty plate with a pang of guilt.

"Is that all he gets?" he asked while the man walked to the sink to wash his hands.

"He gets enough," was the answer, with some terseness. It was clear he didn't appreciate having his methods called into question. "I'll tell you how to take care of him tomorrow. Don't worry, it's not complicated. He's a good boy. He just gets difficult when he's bored."

Apparently that was all that needed to be said, and nobody but Micah thought it was weird. The man dried his hands and snapped his fingers. Kitten stood up and started clearing the table, heaping the dirty dishes in the same dumbwaiter they'd come up in. His master playfully slapped his ass when he passed, and Kitten's eyes shone. It took a moment for Micah to realize he was smiling. He didn't remember much about life before the cataclysm, but he remembered what it was like to have room to breathe, room to be playful, to have a private moment. Despite everything, it seemed sweet. So his discomfort seemed unnecessary even to him, until he allowed himself to stop comforting himself and snapped back to reality as he knew it. He'd been bought like cattle for a few spare parts. He'd been taken from his home and told to do a job he never signed up for. The Patron could claim it wasn't a sex thing all he wanted, but that was such an obvious lie Micah was shocked at himself for having tried to believe it.

His thought were only interrupted when the smell of cigarette smoke crawled up his nose. The Patron was smoking at the kitchen island while Kitten served him a drink. The man beckoned Micah over and told Kitten to get a second glass. Micah was glad for something to do. The whole day had been a psychotic nightmare and a drink was just what he needed. The smell hit him like turpentine. He must have made a face, because the man laughed.

"I suppose you didn't have whiskey in the shelter?" he said, ashing his cigarette in the sink.

"No, but Gina made vodka once," he said, taking a sip and feeling his tongue dry up in his mouth. "It was awful. Sir, no offense, but you just want me to have sex with him, right?"

To Micah' great surprise the man laughed and held out his empty glass for Kitten to refill. The way he was knocking it back Micah was mystified as to how he wasn't hopelessly plastered by now.

"And why would that be a problem?" he said, in a way that set every last one of Micah' nerves on edge. "You're fretting over nothing. I don't expect you to understand just yet, but in a lot of ways this tower is just another shelter."

Micah felt himself make a face. Kitten saw, and his eyes grew wide at Micah' obvious disdain. But the man hadn't noticed anything. He was staring out the tall windows at the darkening smog, dragging on his cigarette.

"You and all the people in the shelters seem to think we lead some sort of blessed life. We don't. Far from it. The weight of the task we've been given is crushing. People get bored of parties and dinners and booze, and we're all under immense pressure. We have a lot of lives in our care. You wouldn't understand. Not completely. But you must know that comfort and diversion are a rare treat, and sex passes the time quite pleasantly. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But I give it a week before you very much want to."

Again Micah wanted to feel reassured. The man seemed very sincere. Micah watched Kitten fill his glass again and tried to hang on to that feeling of comfort, but it dissipated like a puff of smoke when he grasped at it. Nothing the man had said made sense. He clearly had no idea what life in the shelter had been like, how little time and energy anyone had for boredom. There hadn't been any parties and dinners and booze. Certainly not sex. It took weeks or months to find a stolen moment. Eight bunk beds to a room didn't leave much opportunity for intimacy, and those who grasped at it anyway were not well-liked. His claim that Micah wouldn't have to do anything he didn't want sounded comforting on the face of it, but earlier that same day he'd had sex he still wasn't sure he had wanted. And he wanted to say that out loud, all of it. What little alcohol had made it to his brain certainly made it feel like a really good idea. But he bit his tongue. He remembered the scars and bruises on Kitten's skin.

The Patron stood up, putting his empty glass on the table.

"Come with me."

It wasn't clear who he had spoken to, but Kitten didn't respond to the command at all, instead cleaning up the glasses and the ashes that had spilled on the table. So Micah followed the man through the living area by the windows, to a door he hadn't noticed before. The man unlocked it and held the door open.

It was a bedroom, but nothing like he had ever seen before. There was enough room to cram in at least six of the narrow shelter bunk beds and probably some lockers too, but instead there was only one bed and it was large enough for at least two people. There was a nice clean carpet on the hardwood floor. There were curtains. The wall lights bathed the room in a pleasant glow that even the dreary light in the smog couldn't taint. There were flowers on the dresser. When Micah realized how many years it had been since he'd seen a living flower he was choked by despair so deep he could have cried.

"Well?" the Patron said, a little terse at Micah' apparent lack of reaction. But there was nothing he could say. In the back of his mind he knew why he was being shown this room, but he didn't dare hope.

"Is it mine?" he asked carefully, still lingering in the doorway.

"No, it's mine. But you can use it while you're here. The bathroom is through there," he added, pointing at another door. "I'll have more clothes sent up for you. And I expect you to keep it clean. This is a privilege, not a right."

Remembering the cold, tiny room he'd found Kitten in made Micah' skin crawl. He couldn't quite put his finger on how, but he knew that had been a threat.

"Thank you, sir," Micah managed to stammer, and the man rolled his eyes.

"Finally. You're welcome," he said, walking back to the main space with Micah following behind. "The alarm is at eight in the morning. I'll expect you at breakfast showered and dressed at eight thirty. We'll talk more then. Come here."

For a moment Micah was confused, but this time the command was definitely meant for Kitten. How the boy knew which commands to follow and which to ignore was a complete mystery to Micah, but the boy was over in a second. He grinned like an imp when his master hooked his finger in the ring on his collar. Without another word the man lead him away like a pet on a leash, to another room Micah hadn't seen yet.

"What should I do?" he asked when he realized they were leaving him alone, and the man barely turned to answer.

"Whatever you like. Have a drink, watch a movie, just don't disturb me. I'll see you in the morning."

And that was all he got. The door closed behind them and Micah was alone.

The apartment was quiet, so quiet it unnerved him down to the pit of his stomach. He had no idea what to do. He didn't even know what time it was. As delicious as it had been, the food sat heavy in a stomach unaccustomed to so much, so quick. And he was so tired. He still didn't understand what was happening to him, whether he was a prisoner or a guest, or even whether he should be scared. No emotion felt entirely right, so his mind elected to have all of them. On instinct he went around the apartment just to get his bearings in the place that was now apparently his home for the foreseeable future. Well, not his. It was the Patron's home. He was just permitted to temporarily exist in it.

He tried to open the kitchen cabinets, but they were all locked. The only thing out on the counters were the dozens of bottles of alcohol, each of them older than Micah was. He'd seen the bathroom and he assumed the door they'd left through lead to the master bedroom. There was one more door, but it was locked as well. Out of curiosity he pushed the elevator button, but nothing happened. He thought he had a good idea of just how big the apartment was, but more than that he noticed a lot of small things as he wandered around. Everything smelled so nice. Apart from the fading smell of cigarettes all the fabrics smelled fresh and clean. The wall of ivy turned out to be fake on closer inspection, but he discovered it was there to cover up the oxygen vents. The air quietly seeping out of them was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He couldn't resist gently pressing his cheek against the fake ivy and breathing in deeply. It was nothing like the recycled air in the shelter. It was fresh somehow, crisp and clean and it made his mind swim and his body tingle. He could have stood there all night, eyes closed and greedily breathing in that air for the rest of the night if he hadn't realized how silly it must have looked.

But there was no one there. No one could see him. It was at once liberating and terrifying. He could truly do whatever he pleased and no one would ever know. He tried to think back to the last time he'd been truly alone, but he couldn't remember. The silence was so heavy it choked even the crisp fresh air.

He started walking again just to have some sounds around him. The Patron had said something about movies. There was a large TV with a VCR player like they'd had in the shelter, but if there were any tapes around Micah couldn't find them. And of course the cupboard in the TV stand was locked too.

Without anything else to do, he went back to the bedroom. If he was honest with himself, he was really worried he would hear whatever was going on in the master bedroom. He still didn't know what to make of Kitten and his master, but he knew that he wanted as little to do with it as possible, even as he realized that wouldn't be an option. He still didn't trust that man, he didn't believe Kitten was perfectly content and both of them could just decide to leave whenever they wanted to. Even if they could, there was nowhere to go and that man knew it perfectly well. He may not be a prisoner, but he was starting to feel more and more like a hostage.

He went through the dresser drawers, but they were empty. The man had said he'd send up clothes later, and Micah wondered what exactly that meant. The food had come up from somewhere. Someone was doing maintenance on this building, someone was cooking and doing laundry and keeping the rogues away from the tower. For a moment he assumed the Patrons must be taking turns doing those things, but it only took a moment of thought before he realized how ridiculous that was. They were only busy saving the entire world. He doubted that left much room for chore wheels. He'd become so used to the shelter life, everyone pitching in despite the stress, despite the anger and the creeping despair. Every day they worked to live. Maybe the man had been right. Maybe this tower was just another shelter after all.

He lay down on the fresh white sheets. There was no telling what time it was, but he had expected to fall asleep in seconds after the day he'd had. But he couldn't. The silence was a presence in the room, looming and unsettling. No babies crying, no machines thumping, no arguments, no laughter, nothing. He had quietly longed for such deep silence for so long, never realizing how deeply wrong it was to hear no signs of human life around him. He was truly alone.