The Pets (Prologue)
Tw right off the bat, addiction, self harm, mild alcoholism, alcohol rehab, withdrawal, harm, suicide mention, suicide thoughts, rape mention, past sexual assault, insomnia, breakdowns, etc
He found it right after waking up in a dumpster, three in the afternoon with a bottle of some drink or other still in his hand. He wasn't wearing a shirt, all he remembered from the night before was a lot of laughing and stumbling. His eyes were bleary and only half focussed, the smell of garbage was on him and made him feel absolutely disgusted.
He'd gotten out only half sucfessfully, sort of half falling half jumping out and landing in a weird crouched heap. He'd checked the bottle for anymore drops, but there was none. He'd drank it all the night before.
He'd made his way out of the alley, rubbing his eyes and stretching as he dropped the bottle and let it crack on the concrete beside his feet. He looked around the sidewalk, it was barely familiar to him. He figured if he walked around enough he'd find the way home. His phone was still on him and no one had stolen his wallet so he figured he could call a taxi if he needed.
It was a shitty shelter slash pet store, with sad looking animals in cages and half falling sign. He didn't know what made him decide to walk in, but he did. He was greeted by a bored cashier, a teenager who didn't care of his existence or otherwise. He barely looked up from his phone.
"How much?" He asked, looking around at the sad animals and even sadder cages. At least they looked clean.
"How much for what?" Asked the teenager.
"Any of them," He responded. The teenager shrugged.
"They're all over thirty dollars," He responded with a small edge to his voice. "Owner is trying to sell them fast before his building is run to hell by safety inspectors or whatever in a month."
"Owner?" He looked at the teenager in curiousity. "Where is he?"
"Probably upstairs," the teenager responded, getting up and knocking loudly on the half broken door behind him. A man ran down, he wasn't particularly noticeable in anyway other then the fact that he held the look of a man who you would hate on sight. He did not care for the lives of any but his own, and it was clear.
"What? You wanna buy this place?" The man asked, and he wasn't sure how to respond. The man held out his hand. "Five bucks and it's yours, you homeless maggot."
He blinked in surprise. Sure, he was missing a shirt and reeked of garbage and booze, but he was relatively clean shaven and didn't look that bad. He fished around in his pockets for his wallet and handed five dollars over. He figured, why the hell not?
He didn't really realize what he'd done until he'd done it. The man grinned. "Didn't think you'd actually do it, here's all the shit you need for the rights, I'm out of this fucking rat hole."
The man kicked a box into view, filled with a couple papers before leaving, right then and there.
He blinked, looking down at the box before looking up at the teenager. He wasn't sure what he'd done, but in all honesty it probably didn't matter. He had nothing to lose and not much to gain, what did it matter if he had a couple pets now?
He opened his mouth. "Got any booze?"
