Fix You

Three.

Warnings: discussion of physical abuse; brief, non-specific discussion of sexual assault

Weeks passed, and slowly, you learned more about your cat hybrid. You still had no idea what his name was, and were still referring to him as 'kitty,' to both of your annoyance. But he was skittish. Loud noises made him nervous, and he was constantly looking to you to gauge your reaction. For the most part, he wandered your apartment freely, although he still had his nest under the TV stand. You had found that he dragged several other things into it, including one of your hoodies and a pair of fuzzy socks. You didn't care about the socks--they were slippery on the wooden floors, and they weren't comfortable to wear--but the hoodie he had stolen was one of your favorites.

You didn't dare take it from him.

Steadily, he had become a permanent fixture in your daily routine. Waking up and heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for him--you had returned the cat food you had bought and resigned yourself to preparing raw chicken for him every morning. You made coffee for yourself, always leaving a little extra on the warming tray just in case. He started to follow you into your office when you worked, bumping into your legs when he wanted a little extra affection. At night, you'd watch TV or a movie, and more often than not, he would hop onto the couch to sit with you, and sometimes, he would let you pet him. Almost every night, you fell asleep to his copper eyes staring at you from the other side of your bed.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you would hear him moving around, not as a cat, but as himself. You never dared to get up. He was on his way to trusting you. You didn't want to break that.

But even with all the gains he was making, he was still jumpy and nervous. When someone knocked at the door, he would bolt for the safety of the TV stand, no matter where he was in the house. When you moved too suddenly, he would flinch and hiss, and it would take him a long while to approach you after being scared. He would run and hide at certain sounds, and he got scared when you would move your foot in his direction.

You were concerned about his health, despite the fact that his injury from the dog attack had healed entirely. You had cancelled the follow-up with Dr. Jung to protect the cat's secret, but now, you were kind of regretting it. No matter how much chicken you gave him, the cat never seemed to gain weight, and it was starting to worry you how skinny he was.

You were contemplating what to do about his weight on the way home one afternoon. You had had a meeting with your clients to discuss the proofs for their menus, so you had left your cat home alone for a few hours. They were hybrids, and you were tempted to ask them about their diets, but you had resisted. Hopefully you could figure something out.

"I'm home!" you called out as kicked off your shoes. You had learned that your cat freaked out a lot less if you announced your presence. It made it less of a surprise for him when you showed up in a room.

A crash in your kitchen drew your attention from hanging up your bag, and you let it fall to the floor in your hurry to see what had happened. You skidded to a stop on the wooden flooring, your eyes wide.

There was a man in your kitchen.

Immediately, his attention fell to the floor, head hanging low in shame. He clutched the handle of your coffee carafe, the glass in shards on the counter and the floor around him. He was covered in coffee.

"Don't move," you said, trying to stay calm. There was a strange man in your kitchen, and he had apparently broken your coffee pot. You had every right to be freaking out at that moment. But the last thing you needed was a bleeding strange man in your kitchen, so you approached him in an attempt to clean up the glass.