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Knees collapsing onto the hard, wooden flooring of the stage, I scrambled to clutch the body in front of me. It was cold… long dead before I had even woken up. I should have assumed as much; it shouldn’t have upset me as much as it did. But I cried. I wailed into the corpse’s chest—into my old chest—running my gloved fingers through his tangled head of hair. What was once soft and curly was now flattened and damped with gloppy ink, clinging to his scalp like a parasite. His clothing was wrinkled and tattered, with claw marks all over it from the Ink Monster’s grasp.
That was my last dress shirt. Now torn to shreds.
I never got to buy a new one. I never got to use my own money to get something I truly wanted. I never got to give Ma an entire paycheck of mine—just the scraps of one that I selfishly spent on myself.
As I sobbed into my body, guilt and shame mixing in my stomach, someone materialized behind me. Towering over me. I wasn’t alone anymore, but I wished I was. The looming shadow seemed to stretch on for miles, engulfing me and my own corpse in its greedy maw. He was silent, but not in solidarity. There was no capacity for empathy left in his soul, no comforting presence left to give. He was just waiting for me to face him. To talk to him.
I didn’t want to. I just wanted to cry more. I pulled my cold body closer to my inky one, burying my newly formed muzzle into the crook of my old neck. A part of me dreamed, deep down, that if I got close enough… if I dug my fingers into the human flesh enough… that we would become one again. That I could return to my old body. Everything could go back to how things were. I could go home to Ma and hand her the final few bucks I had made at the studio. I could go shopping with my grandfather. A few children's books for him to read, and some proper art supplies for me. I could hug Dot again, promising never to let her go.
Mister Drew wouldn’t let that happen, though. His dream had come true, and he would never let that go. Even if his dreams override the dreams of people like me.
“Buddy,” He started. He stood firm in his place, not making a single move to support me. His voice was calculated and razor-sharp. My shoulders tensed more as I cradled myself. “Listen to me, Buddy.”
Shut up. I just wanted him to shut up.
This new body wasn’t me. I don’t care what he said. Mister Drew did nothing but lie and steal from others. First, it was the devil darling himself… the catalyst for everything. Then it was the ink machine. He stole it from Tom because he knew it would slip under the radar. Mister Drew, famous and beloved Mister Drew, could claim it was of his own making, and people would believe him. Because he was the rich, adored Mister Drew. And now, it was my own life. My autonomy. He would call it my purpose, but it never was, and never would be. My purpose rested with the others in the studio. To protect them. To protect Dot.
“It’ll be wonderful.” I could just hear the grin in his voice. That evil, evil grin that I can’t help but be ashamed I once trusted. And I still did. At the bottom of my cold, unbeating heart, I wanted to believe him. I wished we could go back in time, reverse the clock to when I could give my heart away to him and smile knowing he would take good care of it. “You will come to see that. You will come to see that I saved you.”
I breathed. He hovered over me. Watching my every move. I was the wolf now, but I felt much more like a sheep.
For the first time in what felt like ages, he reached out for me. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, and it felt like it was molded just for him. Just for this. His thumb caressed me, running back and forth in a soothing motion. He wanted me tamed. Domesticated. To bend to his will.
And I let him do it. Because I trusted him.
I startled awake in a frenzy, immediately reaching up to my chest and clenching it hard. Cartoonish fingers dug into my fur as I continued to claw frantically at my chest. My body began to drip from head to paw in sweat, and I quickly grew clammy and sticky underneath my gloves. It reminded me a bit of home, with how hot it would get in the summers. That could have given me a sense of ease if I weren’t so panicked.
I squirmed in my seat as the world around me twisted and turned into unnerving spirals. I felt helpless. My head pounded. A ringing sound howled in my ears, insistently screeching for all of my attention. The corners of my vision grew blurry and dark, tunneling in on just whatever was directly in front of my pie-cut eyes. Everything reminded me of the inky puddles—the dark depths of that dripping tunnel. The whispers and hands, clawing at my legs as I dragged myself through, closer and closer to the only light—
“Boris…?”
Scratching free from my spiraling mind, pulling myself out and through the thick ink, my head snapped to the other man in the room. He began to sit up in the cot I had gifted him, trying and failing to rub the sleep out of his eyes.
Mister Stein had arrived not too long ago—probably a week or so, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep track in this place. While I was on a supply run, I stumbled across him, battered and bruised as he clutched his right arm. His clothes were rugged and soaked with sepia-toned blood, especially where he was holding onto. An obvious encounter with The Ink Demon, I had assumed.
He staggered toward me, knuckles turning pale as his entire body tensed. Just as he managed to heave out a gasp of a word, his body collapsed onto the floor with pure exhaustion. I remember staring down at him with a mixture of utter shock and pity. Even in his sleep, his frame shook with pain and fatigue, like a shrivelled leaf in the harsh autumn wind. It reminded me of my first couple of days living on my own in the studio.
So I took him in. He seemed friendly enough. You’d probably scold me for trusting him so easily, Dot. You’d be right, too. You always were.
“Are you okay?”
I whined pathetically from my spot in the hammock as my floppy ears flattened against my head. I hated not being able to talk properly. I could make noises, sure, but it's hard to ask for something when all you can do is squeak and bark. Though it kept me from accidentally making too much noise in more dangerous corners of the studio, allowing me to slip under the demon’s radar on multiple occasions, so I suppose that was a plus. The only plus, really, but Ma always told me to look on the bright side.
Thankfully, Mister Stein was pretty good at getting a feel for my internal thoughts, strictly off my body language alone.
“I know, I know,” he cooed, frowning in solidarity. “Did you have a nightmare?”
I didn’t reply at first. Maybe I didn’t have the right way to convey my thoughts, or maybe I just had too many to voice them coherently. But with the way my tail was tucked between my legs, and the way my ears were pinned back, arms wrapped around my fragile self… Apparently, it was obvious enough.
Mister Stein offered a warm smile, just barely visible in the darkness of our shared room. It reminded me of something, but I wasn’t sure what yet. “C’mere.”
Hesitantly crawling out of my hammock, I shuffled my way onto the cot to sit beside Mister Stein. It was tiny and cramped, hardly big enough for just one person to sleep on comfortably—let alone two—but he didn’t seem to mind all that much. Neither did I. I was used to it. He flashed another smile before patting the pillow, a soundless invitation for him to get more comfortable.
To be honest, it was all a bit humiliating. I wasn’t really a kid; I didn’t need comfort for a bad dream. Heck, I had been through countless encounters with the darkest monsters in this place—the last thing I should be scared of was a little dream.
My stomach twisted around itself, jagged and thorned. Dreams. Dreams, dreams, dreams.
A hushed voice whispered into my ear, the same voice from that memory. Despite how faded it seemed, lost in the depths of my mind, the voice itself was somehow still as clear and boisterous as it was all those years ago, all too confident in itself… Perhaps that's why it was able to have such a grip on me. On everyone.
“Boris?” Mister Stein’s voice broke me out of my quickly spiraling pool of thoughts. My ears perked up. Right. I should probably lie down now.
A dull pain immediately blossomed in my ribs, spreading fast throughout my chest as I rested against the stiff cot. This is why I hated sleeping on this thing, though, with Mister Stein's age, it probably wasn’t doing wonders for his back either. Guilt then wriggled around inside of me, and I attempted to move in a way to give Mister Stein as much of the mattress as possible. Now, if I moved too much in my constricted spot, I would probably end up falling off. Mister Stein saw this, though, noting it insufficient, before wrapping his arms around me to pull me closer. I was surprised at first, even letting out a bark of alarm before melting and shielding myself in embarrassment. As shy as I felt, I couldn’t help but reciprocate the affection, hiding my snout in the crook of his neck.
The room was dead silent outside of our shared breathing, but that’s really all we needed. I relished the comforting warmth from his body, snuggling impossibly closer. It felt like so long ago since I had felt this kind of shelter from someone. The most I could get was the heat of the kitchenette stove, or the feeling of piping hot bacon soup reaching the back of my throat, but none of that even compared to the real embrace. The feeling of arms surrounding you, weighing you down. Reminding you that you were breathing.
Reminding you that you were alive.
I inhaled deeply, the scent of Mister Stein filling my nose. After his time in the studio, he had adopted the distinct scent of ink, but behind that mask was something faint, something only I would be able to pick up on with my enhanced smell. It was like a campfire, pleasant and woodsy. Like a cabin in the middle of the mountains. I could imagine us sitting together, each holding a stick with a marshmallow on the end of it. Roasting them together as he sat in a shared, but welcoming silence.
I never got to go camping. Unlike most things, we actually had the money for it as long as we were thrifty about it, but it was the time that tricked Ma. We couldn’t be away from home too long, because Ma would definitely get an earful from Mr. Schwartz. Every moment she wasn’t working, she was either sleeping or getting yelled at by him. It broke my heart. He wouldn’t ever fire her; he wouldn’t dare. She was too talented, and while he was stupid, he was smart enough to know that. But I didn’t want to put Ma through that strain, so I never asked that of her.
Taking another deep breath, I let the saddening thoughts fall into the depths of my mind, as the scent of nature tickled my—
Achoo!
Spooked by the sudden loud noise, I scrambled around and collapsed onto the floor in an entanglement of my own limbs. A mix of mortification and shame coursed through my system. I wanted to punch myself in the face. I couldn’t even understand why I felt so ashamed, but I guess with this, on top of already feeling pathetic about being so upset over a nightmare, it just caused the pot to boil over. Covering my pie-cut eyes with my hands, I childishly attempted to hide myself from the other.
But when I moved a finger away to peek through, he didn’t seem angry at all. If anything, he seemed… amused. But not like he was making fun of me. Not like how Mister Drew always laughed at me.
Mister Drew took pleasure in seeing me squirm, as much as I hated to admit it. He enjoyed seeing others cower underneath him, writhing around like bugs. We probably were bugs to him. Something dirty. Something to be squished under his expensive dress shoes. He had no regard for the people not as fortunate as he was. As long as he was on top, that’s all that mattered.
Mister Stein wasn’t like that, though. He was kind. Warm. Even as he laughed heartily, it wasn’t ever at my expense or humiliation. If anything, it made me want to laugh along.
Whipping the tears that had prickled in his eyes, Mister Stein extended a hand out to me. And in that moment, I realized what he reminded me of… Or, I guess, who he reminded me of. When I looked at him, into those tired, but caring brown eyes, I saw my pa—a man that I never quite knew enough; I only had so many memories of him before he was drafted into the war, leaving Ma and me behind. It's not like he had much of a choice, but it still stung.
He was supposed to be there to support us. To support his child. He should have been there to protect me when the other kids in school picked on me. For who I was. For how I looked.
My hand reached up to accept his, and he pulled me right back into bed. Mister Stein wasted no time hugging me closer, and I didn’t waste time snuggling into his chest.
“I’ve got you, buddy.”
And I knew he did. I knew I could trust him.
I could trust one more person. Just one more time.