I Unintentionally Became Her Kitten

The warm breeze pushed at my hair but didn’t manage to move the dirty mats. The sidewalk was firm beneath me, but my butt had gone numb to it so long ago it barely registered in my brain that I was sitting on the ground. This was it, I thought. Darkness was falling, a dusky light painting the city building in oranges and browns and people either went home or started to stir. Such a bad neighborhood had a lot of people getting up to get into their work now rather than during normal hours. Usually I’d have retreated back to the camera-monitored laundromat or deep behind a dumpster by now to avoid all of those dangerous people. But today was the day. I was done.

There was no reason to keep fighting like this. Maybe an officer would throw me in jail where I’d at least get some meals every day. Or maybe they’d treat me worse than the strangers on the street did. Maybe I’d get murdered. I didn’t know, and I was embracing not caring anymore.

That was when I met her. She scowled as she started to pass by me on the sidewalk. I pulled my toes in out of habit, clearing the way for the better people. My tattered shoes flexed with the movement and the quiet scuffle made her turn her head and glare at me from the corner of her eye.

She stopped, a step past me and she fully looked at me. It felt like her eyes were physically crawling on me like some kind of insect. The man behind her looked down at her. He, too, scowled.

“Is something wrong, miss?” he asked. His eyes rested on me, picking me over in an even less pleasant way.

I should’ve gone and holed up somewhere, I realized.

This was going to be trouble.

The young woman turned to me, giving the man a dismissive wave of her hand. He broke eye contact with me and stared off ahead as the woman stepped to me and crouched down to look at my face. 

I turned my head away so the mess of hair would block her view of my face.

“You look like you want to die,” she stated.

I swallowed. I didn’t really want to die, no. But I didn’t really feel like living at this point. If this was all life had in store, there wasn’t much point.

The woman gave me a lopsided smile and pushed some of her bleached hair from her face and looked behind her.

“Could you bring the car around?” she asked the man who had been doing his best to stare off into the distance. His stature and mannerisms reminded me strongly of a body guard, but he was dressed in jeans and a dark t-shirt and stood too casually to be a professional.

“Yes, miss,” he agreed, but there was an edge to it.

The young woman turned back to me and gently lowered herself fully to the ground and leaned closer.

Surely if I ignored them they’d go away.

She reached out and gently picked up a clump of my hair. I flinched away, staring at her. 

“Leave me alone,” I managed. My voice was hoarse from disuse and it had been a while since I’d drank water. I’d spent the better part of today in my little corner.

“You’re in bad shape,” she stated. Her long fingers gently pushed past my hair to run under my chin and turned my face toward her. Her eyes were a sharp gray-blue and chilled me to the bone. Some instinctive part of me knew she was mentally picking apart the muscles and bone structure of my face, gauging all the different parts working together.

Behind her, a large black van pulled up to the curb making surprisingly little sound for a vehicle that size. It was too glossy to be owned by any lowlife roaming this neighborhood. Actually, with another look at her, she was too wealthy to belong here either. Every inch of her was clean and neat. Her hair fell in pin straight, bleached white strands to her waist. The roots were left a very dark brown and were definitely handled by a professional. Nobody could get their hair that color using a standard bathroom sink. The clothes she was in were fitted, most likely tailored and the brands were unrecognizable to me. Probably rich-people clothing.

The bodyguard-man from before stepped out of the van and came around the side to open the door for her. She only gave him a quick glance before standing, towering over me as she was a rather tall girl, and reaching a hand down to me.

I stared at it. I didn’t want to take it, but this was a rich girl. She even had some kind of bodyguard with her. If I didn't go willingly, they’d probably just force me into the car. My “life” would be easier if I just went with them without fighting. 

At least I didn’t take her hand. I had some dignity. Very little, but some.

---

The van was uncomfortably quiet. It was another subtle reminder that these people were rich. Vehicles weren’t meant to be this quiet or ride this smooth. If it wasn’t for the occasional turns, I wouldn’t be able to tell we were moving at all. 

The woman sat in the passenger seat, her light hair glistening golden hues whenever the sun caught it at the right angle. It was mesmerizing.

Meanwhile, the bodyguard drove, easily gliding through the city and then out of it. The windows were tinted pretty dark giving everything a gray-blue tint as the buildings changed to trees. It felt like forever that it was just trees moving by before he pulled off the interstate and followed a winding road deeper into the suburban wilderness. Neither the man or woman spoke at all on this journey, the woman simply staring out the windshield with her fingers folded together.

I looked outside trying to keep track of where we were so I could find my way back when the time came. I didn’t know this area well, though. I’d need internet access to navigate back.

The van finally eased to a stop at the top of a long driveway. I glanced back where we’d come from but trees and brush obscured the main road. Surely this was going to be the end. Rich people were into really weird stuff. Maybe this woman had a particular kink for murder. The way she glared at everything in her vicinity definitely made her unfriendly looking.

She slid out of the car with grace and opened the back door. Her hand extended, patiently waiting for me to take it.

I took it, finding her skin soft but surprisingly strong while she was supporting my weight. She released me, her fingers trailing against my skin. A weird feeling settled in my gut. How long had it been since I’d touched another human being? Weeks? Months? Too long, for sure.

The woman led me to the front door of a large house. The walls had been smoothed and painted a very light gray with slate-gray details. The windows lacked frames. The walls just cut out and a panel of glass filled the void. The front door was similarly a panel of glass, but it was framed and sealed tightly. The vacuum formed by it made a gentle sucking sound when pushed open. The woman held the door for me as her bodyguard scowled behind me, shuffling impatiently.

I took a few steps inside. The floor showed my reflection back at me, revealing the gray-brown mats that had once been blonde hair. My face was similarly stained with the grayish-brown of filth and dark circles under my eyes peeked out from the grime. I didn’t need to look closely to know my clothes were stained, torn, and smelled awful.

The woman pulled her shoes off behind me.

“Watch the door,” she told her guard and then looked at me. “Come with me,” she ordered.

I shuffled behind. She passed through the living room, past clean surfaces that glistened, past several shut doors and turned into another large room. This one sparkled even more so than all the others. It was a bathroom, with white marble floors that flowed into marble sinks and a marble jacuzzi in the back. Several glass panels separated a complicated looking shower and an excessive second bathtub from the rest of the bathroom.

“Sit,” she ordered as we passed the sinks. Between the two was a comfy chair in front of a mirror. With nowhere else to sit, I started to fold my legs beneath me to sit on the floor. She heard me and snapped her gaze up from her phone. “In the chair,” she ordered, pointing at the cushioned furniture.

I didn’t understand. Did she want to slit my throat from a comfy position? Or was it the mirror? Anxiety prickled along my hairs as I got up and sat in the plush chair. This wasn’t right.

She finished a message on her phone and set it down on the edge of one of the sinks.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

I stared at her. What did she want to know that for? No matter what her reason, I didn’t answer her and instead tried to look away, just to catch my own reflection in the mirror and ended up staring down at the white marble. Bits of crystal sparkled in it.

The woman moved around the bathroom. I heard things getting set down on the counters and dared a glance. Washcloths, towels, a pristine hairbrush (probably never used before). Not long after, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” the woman said.

The door opened and another, older, woman poked her head in. “Hello,” she said cheerily. The rest of her body followed. A large black bag was thrown over one of her shoulders. “Is this the darling?” she asked and came to stand in front of me. Her hands came out. I leaned away too fast and the entire chair started to tip.

The young woman caught me, forcing me to blink as I hadn’t expected somebody so willowy to have such strength. She tipped me and the chair back into an upright position.

“Sorry,” the older woman apologized to me. My eyes were saucers by then. I wanted out of this strange situation.

“My name’s Stella,” the older woman explained and held a hand out to shake mine, rather than reaching for my face. “I’m going to be doing your hair today.”

My hair?

Her hand hung in the air between us. My fingers only curled into tighter fists on the arm rests.

“She’s been a bit skittish,” the younger woman explained. “You may need help handling her.” 

My eyes darted between them as they both examined me thoroughly.

“I think she’ll need a cut before I can do much with the mess,” Stella said. Her perfume was sweet and rolled off her curls as they bounced with every slight movement of her head. “May I examine your hair?” she asked me directly.

They wanted to clean my hair? But why?

Stella was slow this time as her fingers gently picked up some of the matts and pulled them gently. “If I cut this a bit short, she can have a very cute pixie cut.” Her hands retreated and went to her phone where her nails clacked against the screen here and there before she turned the screen toward me. “Does this suit you?” she asked.

The style was very… stylish, I supposed. I had never put much effort into my hair. Too much to do, too little money. And strangers touching my hair was not something I wanted.

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Just some air.

The young woman came around. “May we fix your hair?” she asked plainly.

I nodded, lost. What did these people want with me?

“How about you just cut out what you have to and detangle the rest?” the young woman asked Stella. “We can work on styling later.”

Stella’s mouth curved downward distastefully but she nodded. “I guess something is better than nothing.”

Within a few moments she had taken out a bunch of other equipment and started to try working a comb through the mess. I didn’t like the feeling. Her tugging was aggressive and hurt at times, but what else was I going to do? I heard the snipping of scissors, and felt a fresh wave of anxiety crawling over my skin like ants. A large clump that looked a lot like roadkill fell to the floor and rolled past my feet. It was dead, for sure. The dirty colors were even more ugly against the clean stone and several others joined it.

I swallowed and looked at the young woman who had brought me here. She was leaning against the sink’s far counter, on her phone, typing, reading, typing again, scrolling. The text reflected in her eyes. They were text messages. Lots of them. From lots of different people based on how many times she swapped conversations. 

Stella reached for a spray bottle on the counter and started to spray down my hair. A smell I hadn’t smelled in a while but definitely recognized immediately filled the room. The young woman looked up to see what was going on and saw the clumps of hair on the ground and all the tugging Stella was currently doing to free the tangles and knots. The musty smell only got worse as my hair was tugged and pulled and untangled. But not long after, Stella directed me to stand and she guided my head to over the sink. She wore gloves. I didn’t blame her for that but she scrubbed my scalp and every inch of my hair until the suds stopped coming out and then she added more soap and started over. My hair had never been more thoroughly cleaned. She conditioned the hair, rinsed it and toweled it off until it was only damp.

The young woman gave me yet another look over as she finished, brushing through the dampness. Her eyes were harsh and calculating as she observed my hair and then my skin and clothes.

“I think that’s all clean,” Stella announced. She folded her arms looking proud of herself. I found myself staring at my reflection. My skin was still gross but now it was offset by clean, dark blonde hair. When it was dry, I was sure it would be back to my natural medium blonde.

Surprisingly it laid flat against my scalp. The cutting was very uneven, but it showed no signs of the damage it had sustained over the years. It also felt so light on my head. I looked at the chunks and tumble-hairs on the floor. She’d taken a good length off, but not enough to make my head feel so light. I looked at the sink and found the reason. Dark gray gunk was still stuck to the sides and wasn’t budging even as Stella attempted to rinse it down with hot water. That was gross. But it was just what I had picked up from my environment.

“Okay,” the young woman said and pushed away from the counter. “You’re free to go whenever you’re ready then, I’ll pay you the usual.” She gave her a dismissive wave and was immediately engrossed in my face. “What should we do about this now?” she asked. One of her manicured nails drew across my skin, taking with it a clump of oily residue.

She turned back to the sink and grabbed one of the washcloths she’d gotten out earlier, and began running the hot water and squirted soap in the middle. She rubbed and rubbed ‘till it was sudded up and began scrubbing at the dirt on my face. The dirt came away. My face felt raw by the end and she grabbed a clean cloth to get all the soap off and out of my eyes. She was thorough, scrubbing out all the gritty goop from the inner corners of my eyes and pulling the dark bags downward to get into the wrinkled areas. The warm water felt good against my skin, but by the time she finished I was pink from all of the scrubbing. Maybe that was for the better, because as she leaned in to examine the bridge of my nose, her shirt was a bit too loose and fell open so I could look in and see right into her bra. Her breasts were still cradled close to her body but I could see their perky curve and pale skin.

I averted my eyes to stare at the far wall, pretending I didn’t just see that and even if I had I wouldn’t’ve liked it.

Stella left sometime between the young woman finishing scrubbing my face and getting started on every bit of exposed skin she could platonically clean. She even went as far as to yank my shoes off and soaked my feet in some kind of pink water that smelled like flowers until my filth contaminated it.

“I guess I can’t blame you for not telling me your name,” she said after a while. By then she was using a toothbrush to clean under my nails. “I never did tell you mine.” She pulled my hand up to scrutinize it for any more tiny bits of dirt. “I’m Alisha,” she introduced herself. “This is my home, and I wish for you to make yourself comfortable here for now.”

I questioned the motives. But a sinking feeling was starting to take over me. Ever since she seemed to care about my appearance a suspicion was brewing. Surely not. Surely one woman wouldn’t sell another into sex slavery. But I didn’t know. Humans were fucked up creatures.