To prove some unknown point.
To some unknown person.
And I don’t even have an answer as to why.
The mutt nuzzles at my hand.
“Get away from me, you idiot,” I sigh. I push his nose away from me.
He doesn’t take it personally. His tail wags, thumping against the floor. Those eyes haven’t changed. No matter how much I shove him aside or curse at him, he still looks at me like his savior.
It makes me sick. I’m no one’s savior.
Not anymore.
I get up abruptly. The chair screeches back on the floor.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce. To the dog or the empty room or no one at all—I’m not entirely sure who the intended audience is.
Thump-thump-thump.
The mutt chases after me.
“No, you’re not coming,” I snap. I point back to the living room.
He doesn’t move.
Thump-thump-thump. His tail thwacking against the wooden floorboards. His tongue is lolling out now eagerly. And those eyes. Still liquid amber and hopeful.
With an angry growl, I charge back into the kitchen.
I fill a bowl with water and another with some leftover deer meat, then set both down on the floor where the mutt can get to them.
“Eat,” I instruct.
I point at the bowls.
He just stares at me.
“Eat, you fleabag.”
When he still doesn’t move, I growl and clench my fists.
“Fine!” I shout. “You don’t wanna eat? Then don’t eat! I don’t fucking care.”
I stomp into the bedroom and slam the door shut.
He watches me the whole way.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.