The Beginning of Hate
1435 Words
Morning came slowly. Gray light through the window. The same crack in the ceiling. The bird with one wing. I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard that voice.
"Please."
I sat up. The house was quiet.
I found the bathroom down the hall. Take a shower. The water was hot. Almost too hot. I stood under it until my skin turned pink. When I got back to my room, someone had been there. The white dress was gone. On the chair was a pile of clothes. Black leggings. A gray sweater. Underwear. Socks. All my size.
No note.
I put them on. Looked at myself in the small mirror above the dresser. Dark circles. Wet hair. Pale lips.
I found the stairs. Went down. The house was bigger in daylight. Marble floors. Art on the walls. A chandelier that belonged in a museum.
And no pictures. Not one.
The kitchen was in the back. White cabinets. To long island. Adrian stood by the stove, drinking coffee. He didn't look up.
"You're awake."
"Yes."
"There are rules. One of them is not talking to the staff."
"I didn't."
"Good."
I should have stayed quiet. But Buster's face kept flashing in my mind. His tail. His wet nose.
"Adrian."
His jaw tightened.
"Let me get my dog."
No response.
"He's old. He sleeps all day. He won't bother you. You won't even know he's here."
Still nothing.
"I'll do whatever you want. I'll follow your rules. I'll be quiet. I won't ask for anything else. Just let me have my dog."
He studied me.
"Why?"
"Because he's mine. He's the only thing in that house that ever was."
Something flickered in his eyes. Curiosity, maybe.
"I'll be back before noon."
Another long silence.
Then: "Fine. But you owe me."
I grabbed the keys from the counter and left before he could change his mind.
The drive back felt lighter. The roads got rougher. The houses got smaller.
I pulled into the driveway. Peeling paint. Dead grass. A mailbox hanging off its hinge.
I ran up the steps. Didn't knock. Just opened the door.
"Buster?"
The house was quiet.
Mr. Vandeen sat at the kitchen table. He wasn't wearing his uniform. Just an old sweater and pants I'd never seen before. His hands were wrapped around a cup of coffee. He wasn't drinking it.
"Mr. Vandeen? Where's Buster? Where's my dad?"
He looked up at me. Defeat.
"Your father let me go, Miss Aria. Last night. After you left."
"What?"
"He said he couldn't afford me anymore. He gave me until this morning to clear out."
I looked around. The counters were bare. The magnets were gone from the fridge. The little ceramic gnome by the sink? Gone.
"Where's Buster?"
Mr. Vandeen reached into his coat pocket. Pulled out a leash. Buster's leash.
"He took the dog this morning. Before I could stop him."
The room tilted
"Where?"
"The shelter on Miller Road."
I grabbed the leash. Ran out.
The shelter was a gray building with a chain-link fence. Dogs barked from somewhere in the back. Loud. Desperate.
I parked badly. Almost hit a trash can.
Inside, the air smelled like bleach and wet fur. A woman sat behind a desk. Tired eyes. Name tag said Janet.
"I'm looking for my dog. Brown. Old. His name is Buster."
Janet turned to her computer. Typed. Clicked.
"What's your name, hon?"
"Aria. Aria Cross."
She typed again. Clicked. Then she looked at me.
"Someone brought him this morning."
"That was my father. I'm here to take him back."
She paused.
"The person who surrendered him signed the papers. The dog isn't yours anymore. It belongs to the county now."
"He's my dog. I've had him since I was twelve."
Janet looked at her computer. Then at me. Then at the leash in my hand.
"There's a seventy-two hour hold period. In case the owner comes back."
"I'm the owner. I'm here."
"Your name isn't on the surrender form. The person who brought him in is listed as the owner."
I stared at her.
"When can I take him?"
"After seventy-two hours, he goes up for adoption."
"Adoption."
"Or euthanasia, if he doesn't get picked. He's old. Old dogs don't get picked often."
My throat closed up.
"Can I see him?"
Janet stood up. "Follow me."
The back room was loud. Dogs in cages. Some barking. Some just sitting. Staring.
Janet stopped in front of a cage near the end.
Buster was inside. Lying on concrete. No blanket. Just gray floor and a metal bowl with a little water.
He looked smaller.
"Buster."
His ears perked up. He lifted his head. Then he saw me.
His tail started wagging. Slow. Then faster. He tried to stand but his legs were stiff. I have hobbled to the front of the cage. Pressed his nose against the bars.
I knelt down. Stuck my fingers through. I have licked them. Warm. Rough. Familiar.
"I'm going to get you out," I whispered.
I have wagged his tail. Thumped it against the concrete.
Janet stood behind me. "Seventy-two hours."
I stood up. Walked out. Didn't look back.
Behind me, Buster started barking.
I drove to my father's house.
Buster's leash was on the passenger seat. I kept looking at it.
The house looked worse. I walked up the steps. Open the door.
My father was in the living room. Sitting in his old chair. A glass in his hand. A bottle on the floor next to him. Half empty.
He didn't look up.
"Dad."
Nothing.
"Dad."
I have blinked. Slow. His eyes were red. His shirt was wrinkled. He hadn't shaved.
"Aria. You're supposed to be at your husband's house."
"You took Buster to the shelter."
He didn't answer. Just took a sip.
"You signed the papers. You gave him away."
"He was just a dog."
"He was mine."
My father looked at me then. His eyes were wet.
"I couldn't afford him anymore. The food. The vet. I can barely afford the electricity."
"You didn't call me."
"You're married now. You have a new life."
"I don't have anything. He was all I had."
My father set his glass down. His hands were shaking.
"You think I wanted to?"
"I don't care."
"Adrian called me this morning."
I froze.
"He said you weren't allowed to have the dog in his house. Said if I didn't get rid of Buster, he'd..." My father stopped. Looked at the bottle.
"He'd what?"
He didn't answer.
I stared at him. The man in the chair. The glass in his hand.
"You're a coward."
He didn't deny it.
"You sold me. You sold my dog. You sold yourself."
His jaw tightened. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. For a second, I thought he might fight back.
He didn't. He just picked up his glass. Took another yep.
I walked out.
The drive back to Adrian's house felt longer.
Buster's leash was still on the passenger seat.
The gate opened. The driveway stretched out. I parked. Sat in the car for a minute. Two minutes.
Then I got out. Walked inside.
The key turned in the lock. I climbed the stairs. I walked down the hall to my room.
I tried the knob.
Locked.
I tried again. Nothing.
I stood there. Stared at the door. My door. Locked. Like I was the one who couldn't be trusted.
I went back downstairs. Looked for Adrian. Not in the kitchen. Not in the living room. Not in the dining room.
The hallway on the first floor had a door at the end. Partially open. Light coming through.
I walked toward it. Knocked.
"Come in."
Adrian sat on a leather chair by a window. His suit jacket was off. His sleeves were rolled up. He was reading something on his phone. Didn't look up when I entered.
"My room is locked."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He set his phone down. Looked at me.
"Because you left."
"You said I could go."
"I said you could get your dog. Not disappear for hours."
"I went to my father's house. Then the shelter."
"Did you get the dog?"
I didn't answer.
He already knew. The empty leash. My face. He knew.
"You owe me," he said. "Whether you got the dog or not."
"I didn't get anything."
"That's not my problem."
He stood up. Walked toward me. Stopped close. Too close.
"You left. You broke a rule. There's a consequence."
"What consequence?"
Adrian didn't answer right away. He just looked at me. Like he was deciding something.
Then he said it.
"Strip."
- Writer
