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Sunday, December 25
Merry Christmas! I love you two!
That's what I said to Boo and Pumpkin when I woke up today.
And I got the same reaction out of the both of them: a grunt and a roll over, making their backs face me.
So, I got up and sat in the living room, deciding to wait on them to wake up; I was excited to give them their presents.
They woke up around nine, and Boo jumped right up to sit beside me on the couch, and Pumpkin plopped down on the floor by the small Christmas tree I had put up a few days ago.
I gave Boo her present—a pretty collar with a bell and a ball filled with catnip. She took it to the corner of the room and started playing with it. I watched her for a few moments before turning my attention to Pumpkin, who had started to fall asleep again.
I thrust their present in their chest and waited for a reaction. I wanted them to be happy about it, because I did spend quite a bit money on it, and it made me think of them.
It was a guitar—a nice, sleek white one.
Pumpkin stared at it for a few moments. I couldn't really be sure if they were happy about it or not, so I lightly poked them in the shoulder and asked them if they liked it.
They only responded with a small nod.
I bit my lip and asked if they got me anything, and I gave them a big smile, but something happened, and it all descended downward from there.
Pumpkin started yelling, and they smacked me around a bit. They told me all I did was treat them like shit and not appreciate anything in my life that they gave to me, which was totally wrong, because I was the one who put the extra mile in everything I do to make them happy, and I told them that, but they were set on what they had said, and what I tried to say was the exact opposite, and I was lying.
So, of course, at the mention of me lying when I knew I wasn't, I started yelling at them back, and I even hit them a few times, which was returned by the receiver in a more violent way than I have ever seen before.
It wasn't just hits. There were kicks, bites, scrapes, scratches, bruises.
Basically, if Boo was human and was able to give a damn about my health, she would have had every right to report this as domestic abuse.
But she's not human, and she continued playing with her little ball, rubbing her face into it as her little bell chimed with every jump she planned, every step she took, every swipe at the ball she timed correctly.
And I continued being beat.
It didn't stop, and when I tried to fight back, they had grabbed at my wrists and shoved me aside, got on my lap, and started fucking up my face with their hands, their nails digging into my cheekbones and making long pink scratches that were sure to bleed for several hours.
I pushed them away, but their nails were dug in deeper, and they stayed hooked on even when I pushed and pushed and pushed them off with all the force I could muster.
But eventually, I became weak, and Pumpkin took this to their advantage and started to bite some more— mostly on my neck, on my throat. And these bites weren't the types that make your eyes roll in the back of your head and moan and fucking orgasm, no, they were the type that animals produce out of an unrequited hatred toward their owner that had cared for them for a very long time.
Pumpkin had became weak after doing the painful bites, and they jumped off me and decided to do the worst possible thing they could do at that moment: break the guitar I had given them.
They smashed it against the walls, the floor, sending shards of everything off the wall, piercing me in the arms and stomach. Some had even hit Boo, but it was only in a small region, like her tail.
After the chaos had stopped, Pumpkin turned to me, heavily breathing.
They looked at me with narrowed eyes that read I don't give a fuck about you anymore before running off to the bedroom.
And I stayed there, hearing Boo return back to her toy, the little bell on her collar ringing—the only happiness striking this day for me.
This may have been the worst Christmas ever.
Word Count: 782.
Merry Christmas! I love you two!
That's what I said to Boo and Pumpkin when I woke up today.
And I got the same reaction out of the both of them: a grunt and a roll over, making their backs face me.
So, I got up and sat in the living room, deciding to wait on them to wake up; I was excited to give them their presents.
They woke up around nine, and Boo jumped right up to sit beside me on the couch, and Pumpkin plopped down on the floor by the small Christmas tree I had put up a few days ago.
I gave Boo her present—a pretty collar with a bell and a ball filled with catnip. She took it to the corner of the room and started playing with it. I watched her for a few moments before turning my attention to Pumpkin, who had started to fall asleep again.
I thrust their present in their chest and waited for a reaction. I wanted them to be happy about it, because I did spend quite a bit money on it, and it made me think of them.
It was a guitar—a nice, sleek white one.
Pumpkin stared at it for a few moments. I couldn't really be sure if they were happy about it or not, so I lightly poked them in the shoulder and asked them if they liked it.
They only responded with a small nod.
I bit my lip and asked if they got me anything, and I gave them a big smile, but something happened, and it all descended downward from there.
Pumpkin started yelling, and they smacked me around a bit. They told me all I did was treat them like shit and not appreciate anything in my life that they gave to me, which was totally wrong, because I was the one who put the extra mile in everything I do to make them happy, and I told them that, but they were set on what they had said, and what I tried to say was the exact opposite, and I was lying.
So, of course, at the mention of me lying when I knew I wasn't, I started yelling at them back, and I even hit them a few times, which was returned by the receiver in a more violent way than I have ever seen before.
It wasn't just hits. There were kicks, bites, scrapes, scratches, bruises.
Basically, if Boo was human and was able to give a damn about my health, she would have had every right to report this as domestic abuse.
But she's not human, and she continued playing with her little ball, rubbing her face into it as her little bell chimed with every jump she planned, every step she took, every swipe at the ball she timed correctly.
And I continued being beat.
It didn't stop, and when I tried to fight back, they had grabbed at my wrists and shoved me aside, got on my lap, and started fucking up my face with their hands, their nails digging into my cheekbones and making long pink scratches that were sure to bleed for several hours.
I pushed them away, but their nails were dug in deeper, and they stayed hooked on even when I pushed and pushed and pushed them off with all the force I could muster.
But eventually, I became weak, and Pumpkin took this to their advantage and started to bite some more— mostly on my neck, on my throat. And these bites weren't the types that make your eyes roll in the back of your head and moan and fucking orgasm, no, they were the type that animals produce out of an unrequited hatred toward their owner that had cared for them for a very long time.
Pumpkin had became weak after doing the painful bites, and they jumped off me and decided to do the worst possible thing they could do at that moment: break the guitar I had given them.
They smashed it against the walls, the floor, sending shards of everything off the wall, piercing me in the arms and stomach. Some had even hit Boo, but it was only in a small region, like her tail.
After the chaos had stopped, Pumpkin turned to me, heavily breathing.
They looked at me with narrowed eyes that read I don't give a fuck about you anymore before running off to the bedroom.
And I stayed there, hearing Boo return back to her toy, the little bell on her collar ringing—the only happiness striking this day for me.
This may have been the worst Christmas ever.
Word Count: 782.
Frank.
I always thought you hated this thing—the journal, I mean. You always had a look of disgust or loathing whenever you dragged this thing out. Well, you did that when I was locked in your room, when, um, the dragon (was that what you called Dr. Miller?) first got you one. I didn't really know how difficult it was for you to express your feelings then, but I began to realize when you yelled at me when I told you it was going to be okay.
Ah, yes, good times.
You're probably wondering—well, if you can wonder, I'm not sure—how I exactly knew you called Miller the dragon. I walked into the bedroom after our little dispute we had Christmas day—I'm
a letter.
It took me a while to think up of how to write this, because... well, the words wouldn't come to me as easily as they used to, but I guess that's just my fault. I, I, never mind.
I, no. I wanted to say that these past three years were the worst ones of my entire life, and I don't say that that often. I used to think my childhood was hard, because of my parents divorcing, and my brother and I getting into situations brothers shouldn't be under my bed, but, but... I can honestly say those times were pleasant compared to what I've experienced recently.
I know I probably sound like a pussy and a wimp and all this stuff, but, but I just can't do
day forty-eight.
Saturday, December 24
Pumpkin was a total ass. I thought it would have been a good idea, since it's our first place together, to throw a Christmas party with a few of our close friends.
Well, it wasn't.
Pumpkin drank a lot, much to my disappointment. They didn't even seem to care that people were talking about them while they thundered around without a care in the world. It ticked me off. How could Pumpkin act like that?
I don't know what I'm gonna do with them! I'll just have to punish them tonight.
They were acting like a whore earlier. Well, if they like acting like a whore, then I'll punish them like one.
Word Count: 112.
(OOC: Co
day forty-seven.
Friday, December 23
I noticed Pumpkin was limping this morning. And with every other step they took, they had begun to whimper.
I went over to them when they had lay down on my bed and hugged them, my arms wrapped around their small body as I stroked their sore body, kissing their face.
I remember that Pumpkin was also wailing last night, like they were in pain.
I feel horrible.
I hope everything will be okay tomorrow, on Christmas Eve.
Word Count: 78.
(OOC: Co-written with: sfregiato (https://www.deviantart.com/sfregiato).)
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Comments10
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i knew it! pumpkin is a cat on steriodssss people. only way that makes sense.