The collar around your neck no longer bothers you the same way it did three months ago. At first you hated it. Hated the man that locked it around your neck too, but it’s begun to grow on you, and so has he.

Joel is a ruthless man, and you try your hardest to stay on his good side these days. Which is why you sit obediently by the fire, curled up in a ball in the little nest of blankets and pillows you’ve made to keep warm while you wait for him to arrive home from wherever he’s gone. It’s not like you have much of a choice anyway, a now familiar chain running from its place bolted to the wall to where it’s secured tightly to your collar. He always remembers to chain you up when he leaves.

The front door of the cabin suddenly creaks open and the chain quietly clinks as you lift your head to investigate it. In the doorway stands Joel, which is no surprise. He quickly toes off his boots and hangs up his thick winter jacket, knocking the snow out of his graying hair.

He turns, and walks right past you and into the kitchen. That’s when you realize that he is absolutely coated in blood. Your eyes widen in response, a small noise escaping your throat.

“Ain’t mine,” he supplies without you even having to ask. “Finished dressing that deer I shot the other day,” he says, beginning to wash himself in the kitchen sink. “We got more than enough meat to last us couple weeks.”