Every full moon Asher requested time off work, opting to stay home and take care of himself by drugging himself into oblivion, and this night was no different; He id in his bed, a shitty old futon he had perpetually unfolded in the corner of his apartment. It was a modest home to the point of being downright depressing; the futon was the only piece of furniture he owned. He ate on a cardboard box which held some games, his clothes were stored in a suitcase, and, well, that was about it. He never stayed in one pce for long — hell, after the disastrous falling out he had with his st girlfriend, he was already in the middle of preparations to skip town — so why own more than a few things he could stand to lose?

  Not that he wanted to think of any of that right then. Instead, he was focused on the task at hand: getting so obscenely high that he wouldn't be able to hurt anybody. The st thing he needed right then was to fuck up and find himself covered in blood on the run from authorities. He forced himself to choke down a dense, bitter edible he'd gotten from the weed shop down the street, then washed it down with a sprite he'd mixed with some ‘infused syrup’ he'd found while he was there. It tasted terrible, too, but he expected that, and before he could even get close to throwing up, he downed some generic orange soda to get rid of the taste.

  Gross.

  Sighing, he took a moment to get up and toss the sprite bottle and the edible's wrapper in the trash. “Okay,” he mumbled to himself, trudging back to his futon. “Now just…rex…” The dog rubbed at his face before peeling his clothes off, dropping everything into a pile on the floor and climbing back into bed. He took his phone from his cardboard table, plugging it into the wall and pying some rexing music. He spent some time mindlessly scrolling through social media until, eventually, the drugs started to kick in. The drink hit him all at once, and he found himself zoned out staring at one post for way too long to really know. Asher couldn't help but ugh before simply closing his eyes and setting the phone down, curling up into a little ball and sighing heavily.

  He was only awake for a little bit longer before fading out of consciousness, managing to be so out of it that he didn't even stir when his body shifted into his more wolf-like form; his fur grew so thick that one could put their paw into it and keep going, his ears rounded out, and his bones stretched grotesquely to give him a much rger frame. Thankfully, by the morning, he would be back to normal — if not deeply exhausted, but that was simply life for him.

  Rachel had a routine. Once or twice — maybe three times if it was a bad week — she would spend her evenings… information gathering. Lousy euphemism for stalking, but stalking implied a certain closeness, imagined or real. Recently she'd taken a liking to a new barista at her regur cafe. He'd seemed agitated tely, stressed over what she assumed was a recent breakup? Entanglement? Romantic or not, he'd had a big blow up, and his maybe-ex-girlfriend hadn't come around to his pce since.

  She knew Asher's pns well enough now. About once a month, he spent a few days entirely inside his apartment. It was hard to get a view of him inside, since he seemed to spend most of the day sleeping, but up until that point he was very visible through the windows. The windows that she knew he forgot to lock shut. He never had any visitors, and with how prickly he could be, it wasn't likely that anyone would miss him right after a breakup.

  Rachel grinned to herself, unable to resist the expression. She keyed the engine of her old sedan, slipping it up onto the curb in front of his apartment. She dropped the keys back in her pocket and walked up to the closest window. This was one of the few risky parts, but the street was dark and mostly unused. She tried the window. No luck, but the next one wasn't as secure. She slipped it up and crawled inside, surveying the barren apartment, her eyes nding on — oh. Well. On the werewolf. That would expin a lot, and make things a bit more difficult. Though, on the other hand, wouldn't it make some things a lot simpler?

  Rachel let that grin creep across her face again. It really would. She picked up his phone, turning it off and pocketing it. Judging by the fact that the open packaging of everything he'd bought at the head shop was strewn around the pce, she figured a bit of jostling wouldn't wake him. She heaved him up, draping him over her shoulders. This part was going to be complicated.

  She hauled the werewolf's form upright, lifting him up herself. His normal form probably wouldn't've been much of an issue, but this change was a bit of a problem for her. She hauled him out the front door, making sure to pocket his keys as she went, and checking both directions on the street before stepping out. Nobody at all. She staggered a few steps towards the curb, dumping him in the backseat of her car and locking it firmly before going back to close his door. The longer it took anyone to realize that something was wrong, the better.

  The drive home was bnd and uneventful. The midnight city in winter was a dead pce, lit up only by the other passing travelers. She pulled into her home's garage, a mid-centuary addition to older house. She paused, taking in the sound of the sleeping werewolf, his occasional yips and murmurs. In the comfort of her own space, Rachel knew she could take all the time she needed to haul Asher down the narrow stairs to her basement. It was a difficult thing, but she did it and half an hour ter he was ying against the back wall of her basement, his wrists trussed to the floor. She knew she'd have to adjust everything again after he changed back, but she didn't want to leave anything to chance. She left him down there, sleeping through the night in intervals, checking in occasionally to make sure that the werewolf was still out cold. She knew it was not a thing to take lightly.

  The next morning, Rachel strolled back down the stairs to the basement. She checked on her captive as she tightened his bindings. She watched his much, much smaller form as he slept. It was hard to believe that all this had been so much bigger st night. She smiled down at him and sat down, cross legged, on a folding chair a few feet in front of him. She reached out her hand and poured out her gss of water on his bare form.

  “Good morning, dog! Did you sleep well?” Asher gasped as his slumber was rudely interrupted, eyes shooting open as he let out a loud bark and tried to bolt up — only to be caught by his wrists and fall right back down on his ass. His head immediately began to spin as his high caught right back up with him, making him nauseous and borderline catatonic. Panting quietly, he slumped against the wall, his gaze trailing over to the small deer before him. He recognized her, if only slightly, from work — but he saw so many people, and she simply hadn't stood out to him compared to his most recent ex who, up until maybe a week or two prior, had monopolized all of his attention.

  “Wh…?” Exhausted and delirious, he felt like he was simply having a vivid nightmare. That had to be it, right? After all, he couldn't think of anything he would have potentially done to end up… what, in someone's basement? It was then that he realized that, not only was he cold and wet, but he was still naked. His heart began to pound even harder as he curled his legs up to his chest to try and cover himself up, curling his tail around himself just to help that little bit more.

  “What — What's going on?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly from the ck of use over the night. His first thought was that, somehow, it didn't work this time. Maybe he'd gotten out and hurt somebody despite everything, that and he'd just wasted way too much money on drugs that didn't fully work, and now surely this person had been wronged by him — or something — and now he was paying the price… or something. How else could this happen to him, anyway? Rachel, on the other hand, looked absolutely overjoyed. Asher's reaction really was perfect. The fear, the panic, the worry. She raked her eyes up and down his body, taking in the sight. She let him stew in it for as long as she could bear that kicked-puppy expression he was putting on. Poor thing really thought he'd done something to end up here, didn't he? Well. That was almost true.

  “Good morning!” Her voice was unsettlingly sweet. It was unbancing him even more, especially in contrast to the dark, unlit, unfinished basement that he found himself in. “It's about 9. 'What's going on' is a really good question, isn't it?” She smiled at him, baring her fangs properly. "Right now, your wrists are chained to a metal staple driven into the concrete floor of my basement. Even if I had woken you up before you changed back, I doubt you would've been able to make any kind of escape." She reveled in his reaction, walking closer to him and bending down, her face inches from his. She cupped his face in her hand and smiled, her eyes coldly staring into his. Asher was thin beneath all the baggy clothing he wore. Not to the point of being life threatening, but enough to get lightheaded when he stood too fast, enough to be somewhat sickly. It was clear he didn't take good care of himself — especially now with the loss of his partner. "I'll give you some information for free. I've been watching you for months. Nobody saw you leave. Nobody saw you come here. Do you understand?"

  A low growl rumbled in the werewolf's chest as he felt the deer's hand against his face. He managed a gre, but his bloodshot eyes could hardly focus, and he couldn't even manage to actually fight then and there if he had tried. He simply couldn't put up as much of a fight as he wanted to in this form, and the weed took care of what little capability he had left. He wondered briefly if this was his ex's doing — but quickly dropped it. She would never let someone else do something like this to him. She would do it herself, just like this woman had. But at least it would make sense. He bared his teeth weakly, cws scraping against the floor.

  Rachel moved her hand underneath his chin, tilting his head up as she looked at him, her expression dropping to a calcuted bnkness. Her choice of clothing was odd for this occasion, nothing threatening, nothing tough. Pin scks and a sweater, with some buttoned down shirt under it. The water soaking into his coat was cold. The whole basement was cold now, doubly so considering his build. She smiled softly. A loud smack erupted right below Asher's ear, and his whole world spun. The pain from the sp was so deyed that it wasn’t clear at all what had even happened to him. When it finally came, it barely registered compared to how disorienting the whipsh was. She grabbed his hair and forced his head up, still expressionless as she grabbed his face with her other hand.

  "Don't bare your teeth at me. Down. And fucking stay down," she dropped him, pure ice in her voice, letting him colpse down on the floor before sitting down. Between the sp, having his hair pulled, and ultimately being dropped unceremoniously on the floor — he felt like much more and he might throw up. Panting softly, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on just grounding himself. His captor pushed a metal dog bowl topped up with cereal across the floor towards him. "Eat. You must be starving. Then you can ask me that again, if you're polite." It was an impossible task; first, he'd need his captor to even allow him the time to do so to begin with. Second, he'd probably have to stop shivering to be able to stay still enough, but his coat wasn't nearly thick enough or dry enough to allow for that.

  Fuck.

  When he heard the bowl scrape across the floor, he opened one eye to look at it. He could smell it, even if only just barely thanks to the drugs; they always did make it harder for him to breathe, and his sense of smell suffered for it every time. He didn't know what to call it. Pride? Dignity? Either one seemed like something reserved for people more confident than he was, but whatever the word for it was, it kept him from going for the food. Besides, who knew what was in it? What if she put something in it? He was already fucked up enough. Grimacing, his ears fttened back and his nose wrinkled up in almost a snarl, save for the fact that he kept his teeth hidden this time.

  "…No," he muttered, fidgeting with his hands. "Nauseous." It wasn't necessarily a lie. With the world revolving around him, his stomach felt horrible — it only happened to also align with how little he wanted to ingest anything she gave him.

  "Hm." She looked down at him, running through a half dozen possibilities as to why he wouldn’t eat. "Well." Rachel left for a moment, disappearing around a corner in the basement. Given a moment of respite and pause, Asher had time to survey his surroundings. The basement was, from what he could see, unfinished and small. He could probably stand upright in it if not for his present condition. The only light was some unseen source coming from around the corner. There was no other exit visible, except for maybe a small, dark window that was too smudged to see through, though it was unlikely that he could fit through it.

  He could hear her coming back to the entrance, and when she rounded the corner she was holding a rge bucket. She wordlessly pced it in front of him, removing the dog bowl, pcing that on her chair. She walked around him and leaned down over him, her warm body on top of his, her arms pinning him down in pce. She grabbed his hair and gathered it all up together, whispering in his ear as she forced his head down in front of the bucket, "You'll feel better once I'm done with you, I promise, it'll all be worth it, okay?"

  Her fist drove into his midsection with full force, knocking the wind out of him and forcing another wave of nausea to run through his body. "Better out than in. Go on. Must be something you ate, dog," she cooed into his ear, pulling her hand back for another punch preemptively. Asher choked out a strangled cry at the pain in his gut, wincing as his stomach churned. His breaths got heavier, his tail tucked between his legs. He felt god-awful. The basement was dark and unsettling, and the fact that he couldn't just get away made him feel more and more custrophobic by the second. The reality of his situation began to set in much more quickly with the pain. Sure, he had some vivid dreams when he drugged himself to oblivion, but this was different. He opened his mouth to retort, to say something that might get her to not treat him like a feral dog, but as soon as he opened his maw, a disconcerting amount of saliva spttered into the bucket. He broke out into a cold sweat, shuddering and retching, but nothing quite came out.

  "Wait — wait, stop!" When the next punch came, he retched again. His entire body tensed up, back arching up against Rachel as he began to vomit into the bucket. By this point, there wasn't much of anything for him to hack up — just straight acid. His eyes welled up with tears as he coughed and gagged and drooled into the bucket, gasping for air every chance he got. He felt like he was going to colpse again, and, were it not for his captor's grip on his hair, he might have. So much for getting any sort of control over that dizziness when she'd left moments prior.

  "There we go, that's better." Rachel rubbed his fnk softly as she sat back, repositioning herself and moving him into her p on the floor. "There we go, you did so well!" She fished a cloth napkin out of her pocket, holding it up to his lips and wiping them clean as she pressed her head against the crook of his neck. He felt so cold against her, she couldn’t help but wrap her arms around him and pull him close, her breath warm against the side of his head.

  "Will you eat your breakfast now? I'll get this all cleaned up, you go ahead and eat, and then we can talk why, and who, and what your pce is. Can you do that for me?" She didn't wait for a response, letting him slip off her onto the floor again as she stood up, dusting off her scks. She picked up the bucket, repcing it yet again with the food.

  “Don't take too long now, dog. I'll be back soon,” with that she turned and made her exit, a few seconds ter clearly walking up a flight of stairs. A door at the end. A click closed. And a second click locked.

  Asher wished he could fight back. The blows to his head and his belly hurt, and his hands felt tense. If only he were free, he could fight — surely he was stronger than her, right? He could do it. But no. Being bound and just about high out of his mind meant all he could really do was let her move him around as she pleased.

  Fuck.

  Back on the floor again, he felt his body grow heavy, feeling as though he'd go catatonic before long. He watched as Rachel left, listened to the door close, listened to the lock click into pce…

  And then he stared down the bowl.

  It was degrading to even think about. He wasn't a pet, after all, but Rachel was already willing to hurt him for very little reason. What would happen if he elected to starve himself? What would she do then? He stared at the dog bowl, gritting his teeth as he debated his next course of action in his addled mind. At least if he ate he could get some answers.

  Sighing, he slowly, carefully sat up and hunched over the bowl. He stared it down. Looked towards the exit. Back at the cereal. With no small degree of reluctance, he began to eat.