Xenomorph

Abused - Heartache

Tiny grunted miserably as he lay on his stomach in the middle of the entrance hall. He was staring at the door. The same door Gavin had walked out three weeks ago. The exact spot he'd sat on as he'd watched him leave with a hurried goodbye. During the first week, Tiny had left his place and wandered around the mansion as usual, only returning around the times Gavin usually came back. The first afternoon, he'd thought perhaps work had been busy. Gavin didn't come every lunchtime, and he'd been coming less often for weeks before that. He'd felt the same when evening came. It wasn't unusual for Gavin not to visit. He'd gone four days without stopping by before. Tiny could wait.

By the fifth day, he'd started to worry. On the sixth day, he'd remained closer to the entrance hall. On the seventh day, he'd returned to that very spot. The spot where Gavin had left him. Perhaps if he waited exactly where he'd been left, Gavin would somehow remember and come back. It made no logical sense. His processors had told him that much, but still he'd stayed. Chloe had tried to coax him from his place at first, bringing him books and toys, or playing music in her parlour. Nothing could get him to move. She'd taken to sitting with him sometimes, bringing blankets and cushions. Teasing him with toys. Pouring him glasses of thirium that would often be left untouched.

Perhaps there was something he could have done sooner to stop Gavin from leaving. Around four months ago, Gavin's mood had suddenly improved. He'd met someone. Someone he called a boyfriend. Tiny hadn't liked the idea, but this boyfriend had made him happy. Gavin was usually happy when he visited anyway, but he'd had a new sparkle in his eyes with every mention of this boyfriend. He'd shown him a picture once. The man looked like a normal human. Larger than Gavin. Strong. He supposed he would make a pleasing mate. Good for protection and security. Tiny was unsure how to catalogue his looks. He found Gavin pleasing to the eye. This other human was not Gavin. He was different. He had no scars on his face. No prickly hairs on his chin. His hair was lighter than Gavin's and kept it a little longer. Where Gavin's eyes were a dirty mixture of green, grey, and hazel, this other man's eyes were a clear blue. He was not Gavin. Tiny had clicked and grunted at the picture before pushing the phone away. Gavin had laughed and called him jealous. Was he jealous? What did jealousy look like?

After the first two happy weeks, Gavin had started to look different. A bad sort of different. It was small things at first. Dark rings had formed beneath his eyes. He'd always looked a little tired, but the rings seemed suddenly more obvious. He also seemed tired. Lethargic. His voice would often sound hoarse or rough, as if he'd been screaming or shouting. Sometimes his eyes would look red and irritated, and his smile would seem forced. He'd often seemed somewhat sad and would spend more time sitting at the piano, playing idly with the keys, than out walking on the mountainside. Tiny missed their walks, but he was always pleased to sit with Gavin. Sometimes his phone would ring and he'd talk in quiet tones. He'd often seemed happier after these calls and left soon after.

During the next month, Tiny had noticed other things. Gavin was less energetic, but also less open to physical contact. He would wince or hiss in discomfort as Tiny climbed to his usual perch on his shoulders. He'd always say he was fine, but he was clearly in some discomfort. Tiny was unsure what had happened. Had he hurt himself at work? It happened sometimes, but at those times Gavin would usually tell him why. Sometimes he'd even show him the injuries and tell him fantastical stories about street fights and shootouts. This time Gavin hadn't told him. He'd tugged his sweater lower to cover himself more.

As time wore on, Gavin was always covered. He didn't spend the night anymore, so he didn't change his clothes. They didn't go walking, so he didn't take baths. Even when the mansion was quite warm, Gavin would wear his heavy hoodies or sweaters. One day, Gavin had come over with a support strap on his wrist. Tiny had been concerned. He'd chittered and clicked, laying his clawed hand on top of Gavin's. Gavin had looked strange. A sad sort of strange. Perhaps embarrassed. He'd tugged the sleeve of his hoodie lower to cover the splint without comment and pulled his hood up. Tiny had trilled in question, troubled to hear Gavin sniffling. Curling up in his lap had seemed to comfort him somewhat. He hadn't drawn attention to the injury again after that.