I knew it was over the moment I left her in there, with glass shards in her pussy and my heart at her feet.

Leaving the room was the move of a coward, but it was the right thing to do. I had to let them sort it out, I couldn’t be there for it.

It wasn’t supposed to happen, breaking the bottle in her pussy, and I would hate myself for it for the rest of my life. I knew I’d never be able to forgive myself.

I waited in the bathroom like a fucking coward, staring at my reflection in the mirror and wondering who the man looking back at me was. I barely recognized him anymore.

It felt like hours passed, but it must’ve been only thirty minutes. Someone banged on the bathroom door, and I forced myself to pull it together, to pretend like I did it all on purpose.

I opened the door with my eyes hazy, and my mouth set in a thin line, glaring at Stranger in front of me.

“You motherfucking sonofabitch,” he growled at me, and then he was on me.

It could’ve been the fight of a lifetime, if I’d let him make it into one.

But I didn’t.

I just let him hit me, over and over again, because I fucking deserved that and so much worse. My wound on my nose reopened, and I let the blood wash over my face as he hit my guts, my sides, everything he could. I took all of it and I welcomed the pain, because at least I felt something other than despair.

“You just fucking left her,” he spat at me once he was done, and I lay on the floor wheezing and trying to catch my breath. “You fucking jackass, she could have bled out.”

“Is she okay?” I asked, the only question that really mattered.

“Yeah,” he laughed bitterly. “No fucking thanks to you. She has cuts inside her. I barely got all the damn glass out, you fucking sadistic piece of shit.”

I could have explained it wasn’t on purpose, but it wouldn’t have done any good. I’d already lost her, anyway. I lost Pet the day I met her.

I got up from the floor on shaky feet, and I stared at Stranger, and he looked at me like he barely knew who I was. I guess he didn’t really know much more than Pet. And he wasn’t about to find out, either.

“I’m taking her with me,” he told me in a flat voice. “I’m not fucking letting her stay here with you.”

“Fine,” I bit out. I think he was surprised by my reaction, opening his mouth to fight back before he realized I’d agreed. “Take her.”

He stared at me for a while longer, then left the bathroom. I wasted several precious minutes by washing my face from the blood he’d drawn, and pulling on a dirty shirt from the hamper in the bathroom, because I didn’t want to fucking walk around shirtless for this. My last moments with Pet…

It couldn’t really be it. This couldn’t be the end. I needed her. She was the air I wanted to breathe, hers was the only mouth I wanted to taste, the only pussy I wanted to be inside, for the rest of my life, whatever it fucking took…

But really, none of it mattered. I’d fucked up, and I’d hurt her, and now it was time to finally, finally say goodbye.

Things had to happen like this. It was no use fighting it. I just had to face it and say goodbye.

It still took me a while to get out of there, but when I did, I walked out with my head held high. That is, until I saw her sprawled on the sofa, wearing an oversized shirt. Not hers. His.

He was still shirtless. I wondered if he was just going to leave the building like that, with her in his crappy old band tee. She’d be cold. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being cold.

“Take her stuff,” I told him as he ran around the room, picking up shit. “Take her clothes, she’ll be cold.”

“She doesn’t want anything from you,” he spat at me. “I’m just getting my own stuff.”

I stood there uselessly, and I watched her on the couch, facing away from me. She was holding her middle and crying so softly I could barely make out the sobs.

I wished he’d gone harder on me when he beat me. I wished he would’ve killed me right then and there.

But that wasn’t part of the plan, just like the broken bottle wasn’t. Maybe it was how it was supposed to happen.

“We’re leaving,” Stranger told me roughly, and I just gave him a blank stare. “Say your goodbyes. Fucking hurry though, and I’m watching you, remember.”

I nodded, and walked over to her. She didn’t look at me as I kneeled down next to the couch.

“Pet,” I whispered, and she raised her beautiful head to look at me. Her eyes were red and puffy, her gorgeous baby blues merely a small light in her face. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered back, and it fucking broke me.

I didn’t want to let go.

I didn’t want her to leave me.

I wanted to keep her for purely selfish reasons, and I knew I couldn’t.

I finally had to sever our ties, so she could move on with her life.

“You have to,” I told her gently. “It’s time for you to go, my pretty Pet. It’s time for you to move on.”

“I don’t wanna,” she sobbed, and my hand touched the top of her head, barely, so scared I would break her.

“You have to go with him,” I said. “I can’t have you anymore, Pet. I’m not good for you. This isn’t good… You have to leave, you have to be healthy with someone else. This isn’t good for you. This won’t end well.”

“I don’t care,” she said, her eyes on mine. “I just want you. Don’t you see that? I only ever wanted you…”

I glanced at Stranger, who’d turned his back on us. I could see how tense his shoulders were, how hard he had to fight the urge to throw me against the wall.

And then I kissed her, for the very last time.

And she tasted sweeter than ever before.

I knew that kiss would be on my mind the day I died. I would never be able to forget it.

I moved away from the couch, and let Stranger take my place.

He picked her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing, just like I used to. He looked at me one last time, and I hated every second of this goodbye that I didn’t want to happen.

“Take care of her,” I told him, and he nodded. A silent agreement passed between us. “Make sure she’s safe. Make sure no one hurts her.”

Not like I just did.

“If you need to take her to the doctor,” I added. “I can help… I have all the information, everything. Just let me know what you need. I want to help…”

“I have money,” he spat at me, and I gave his outfit a doubtful look.

Work boots, those torn jeans, and he was still fucking shirtless like some damned savage. I could practically see Pet’s pussy in that shirt of his, and I hated seeing it on her.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I told him, and I let him walk out of the room.

When they reached the door, Pet held out her hands and cried out for me, like she was still my little girl and I was still her master.

That was the last sight I had of her until they disappeared out of the apartment, out of the building.

The last sight I’d ever get of my perfect, pretty little Pet.

* * *

The rest of the night was a blur, and so was the week, the long days after that.

I fell asleep on the floor with her blood still marking the wood.

I drank myself awake at the counter, on the couch. I just kept drinking, drinking as much as I possibly fucking could.

It numbed the pain, but it didn’t do much for the memories. Those were still fresh as a newly opened wound inside my head, ready to fuck with me any chance they got.

I missed her, she was like a fucking phantom limb. I missed her on the couch, her legs on my lap, tickling her while she picked a movie.

I missed her in the bedroom, curled up next to me, needily reaching for my body while she slept, needing me so much fucking closer than I could physically get.

I missed her in the playroom, missed her tied down and helpless, missed her greedy little pussy, missed her hungry mouth.

I missed her in the bathroom, the memory of shaving her pussy until she was perfectly smooth for me too fresh in my mind.

I missed her, always.

Calling Maria didn’t help solve shit. I did find out Pet stayed in touch, and she gave me as much information as she wanted to after finding out what I’d done to her best friend. She was cold on the phone now, sweet Maria who would’ve crawled up to me given any chance she could get at one time. She hated my guts, and she had every right to do so.

I called Stranger, but he never picked up. I didn’t bother tracking him down, knowing I’d only get kicked out if I found where he was staying.

I never called Pet once.

I deleted her number off my phone and off my records so I wouldn’t tempt myself. I regretted it every fucking minute.

The place beside me where she slept remained empty, and I wanted her back. Wanted to feel the warmth of her body against mine, feel her body stir as she woke up slowly in the mornings. I couldn’t take life without her, because life with no Pet in it was no life at all.

So, I just drank it away, drop by drop, glass by glass, and then, finally, bottle by bottle. I tried to leave my problems at the bottom of it, but it never quite seemed to work out that way.

And then I was there a week later, painfully sober, and even more painfully, alone.

I missed her with every fiber of my being, missed every bit of her, every cell that made her Pet, every thought that made her my girl.

And that night, in my study, I drank to her.

I raised a glass to the city, looking down at the lights, and I drank a single glass for my perfect pretty little Pet, knowing it was the last time I’d get to call her that in my mind.

She wasn’t my Pet anymore, and she’d be happier for it. Eventually.

Goodbye, my Pet.

Thank you for playing with me.

Thank you for making me love you, even though I swore I wouldn’t.

Goodbye.