Bitterness coiling in his heart, Peter was fairly certain that most first-time models, even, didn’t feel quite as violated as he was feeling now. He likely would have cried more if he didn’t also feel absurdly ridiculous, and also wasn’t certain the tears might start to freeze on his neck in the November air.

                For twenty minutes now, he’d lain obediently on his side upon the hard, frigid earth amongst the bowed grass, totally naked save for the customized fabric fairy wings looped over his shoulders. Beyond, layered against the backdrop of the night sky, his titanic tormentor and the rubbery altars of her Converse shoes occasionally came back into view via the blinding flare of her camera flash. And she certainly had taken a lot of pictures.

                “That’s it, little guy,” Mandy giggled, and at the odd interval, her vindictiveness was actually laced with genuine, selfish joy at the scene she’d designed. Her eyes glowed with the triumph of recreating her unfortunately lifelike drawing of a naked fairy that looked remarkably like Peter. “Work it. That’s what they say to models, right? Well, since you’re mine now, that’s what you have to do. So work it for me.”

                Peter didn’t dare verbally answer. Not just because Mandy might not take kindly to commentary from her fairy subject, but also because he was so cold now, any words would just clam up into teeth-chattering, and then instead of a dialogue with his unfeeling captor, he’d just be made the subject of yet more raucous laughter. He bit so hard on his tongue he nearly drew blood and, remembering the last piece of repeated advice from the auburn demoness, he did his best to strike a pose.

                Again and again the light flashed, illuminating his bare body amongst the grass. The time for the photo shoot crawled to half an hour. As he relentlessly shivered, feeling his blood cooled faster by the minute, Peter was at least comforted by the far-fetched fantasy of being rescued at this exact instant. Though the boy had never been one to advocate violence or senseless vengeance, it was a little satisfying to imagine the reaction which might ensue if, say, his family, Lisa, and the police were to appear here and witness what was undoubtedly the worst thing he’d ever been made to do.

                Then he took another look down at himself, remembered just how absolutely exposed he was, in fairy wings to boot, and decided again that he was much happier keeping this zenith of disgrace hidden away. Well, “happier” was a strong word.

                Ghostly green shapes floated at the corners of Peter’s eyes, after all the cornea abused he’d suffered. At some point, he stopped keeping his eyes open when Mandy took another picture, and she didn’t seem to mind. It was too bad the shame of this warming his cheeks wasn’t even enough to defend his head against the cold.

                “Mandy,” Peter blurted, careful not to let his first word be interrupted by chattering.

                “Peter?” Mandy snorted cutely. She paused in her trigger-happy photo shoot, and lowered herself fully into the grass, lying on her stomach. For an instant while Peter gathered his thoughts, she ravenously looked his five-inch body up and down, a special sparkle in her irises.

                The boy had to guess that, simultaneously with the lowest point of his own life, Mandy was reaching her highest. Hopefully that gratitude would buy him some mercy later. Gingerly, afraid of being flicked back into a model-pose by giant fingers, he rolled onto his feet. Keeping hunched to conceal his junk as much as possible, Peter tried to effect the most serious voice he could muster while naked and dressed in little fairy wings.

                “How long are we going to do this?” Incredibly, he made it through the sentence without a chatter, or even the hum of a whine.

                “Awww… is my sweet fairy getting sleepy?”
                “The sweet fairy’s getting cold, actually,” Peter retorted. It was amazing what hitting rock bottom did for his self-confidence. He didn’t even feel frightened now talking to her like that.

                Mandy frowned, processing the sudden re-emergence of Peter’s hardiness. She set down the digital camera in the dirt and reached out a hand. In a display uncommon for the grabby girl, her palm extended carefully, fingers outstretched. Rather than grabbing the tiny boy, however, she instead pinched a thumb and forefinger around one of his fairy wings. By lifting them just two inches higher, she effectively forced Peter to stand up straighter, making it harder to hide his valuables. Mandy’s eyes glowed again.

                “You don’t like this, do you, my little pet?”

                “No. I don’t.”

                “Well, sometimes we all have to do things we don’t like,” Mandy sighed. She let her wrist hang limply, thus causing Peter to be staggered off balance, but she kept him standing by retaining her long fingers around his wings.

                “I’m getting that now,” Peter said, fighting to keep from sounding so sarcastic that he earned himself a fairy flight into the middle distance. He was well aware of the girl’s fingertips noosed around his wings, threatening him in much the same way as a loaded handgun pointed at his temple. “But the thing is, if we keep doing this, I think I’m going to pass out. And I might not wake up, if I stay this cold.”

                “Oooh, somebody’s all business, aren’t they?” Mandy taunted.

                “Yes. And you should be, too. If you’re going to keep me as a… pet… then you’re probably going to have to make sure I’m not unconscious or dead. Seriously, what good am I to you if I’m either of those things?” Peter felt disconnected from the very words coming from his mouth, which may have been a good thing, because he didn’t disagree with the ultimatum his subconscious was laying out. He pondered whether this is what it felt like to go for literal broke over a high stakes table in Vegas. Since, assuredly, this was likely the biggest gamble he could possibly make in Mandy’s presence.

                Especially because he was probably vastly underestimating the number of things Mandy could and would do with his unconscious or dead body.

                The hazel in Mandy’s eyes seemed to revolve. Her lower lip bucked as she clicked her tongue against her palate. Her fingers were rising from the ground, and with them, her human toy like a hand puppet. Still, if Peter didn’t know any better, she was actually considering the logic in his words. But by this point, of course, he did know better. Even as the boy held firm, straight-faced and unblinking, he tensed his musculature in case Mandy answered by simply flinging him off into the darkness.

                “Okay, Mr. Lawyer. We’ll do what you want for a little bit, since you probably understand the lesson now,” Mandy said. “You do understand the lesson, right?”

                “That… I’m your pet.”

                “Bingo-bingo-bingo. Good boy.” Her hand closed around Peter’s body, and while he was repulsed at the sensation of his foe’s exploratory fingers closed over his bare back and front, euphoric warmth from her smooth skin rippled over his body. Guiltily, he smiled like a Stockholm victim. Currently he was feeling the creamy flesh of Mandy’s soft palm squeezed over every surface of his body, and he didn’t care at all. He’d bought himself a little more life, which, at his lowest point, was an undeniable victory.

                “It’s getting kinda late, and I want to get up early and keep playing with you,” Mandy said to the naked fairy in her fist. “So maybe we should go find you a place to sleep.”

                Peter’s heart thumped with fresh zeal, owing mostly to the feeling restored to his numb body, but also the fleeting anonymity of his fate for the evening. Were they actually returning to Mandy’s house for bed? Surely there’d be someone waiting for her to come back, after they discovered she was gone? If they’d even thought to check her house at all?

                In no particular hurry, Mandy turned her rusty bike back upright, swung her leg over, and began the journey back across the unkempt grass. Peter’s bones rattled again as he gripped inside her hoodie pocket again, but he didn’t complain, as the girl had the “courtesy” to keep him locked in her warm hand for a thorough return to average human body temperature. In almost no time at all, the terrain flattened out when Mandy’s bike tires reached the asphalt again. Peter was almost embarrassed to realize they’d crossed the distance of his initial fake-out escape route in less than a minute.

                A quarter of an hour passed. The terrain went bumpy, then smooth again. Peter didn’t bother trying to learn the route. It just made him feel foolish to latently believe, should the nonexistent opportunity to flee arise, he could use the geographic information learned while inside Mandy pocket. Especially after that humiliating reminder of just how insignificant his footprint was in comparison to the girl’s bike tires. So, he waited.

                When Mandy’s fist next withdrew her prisoner from her pocket, there was much more light than the clearing by the woods, but it was definitely not from the lamp outside her modest home. Peter blinked, readjusting to the glow, and found he was looking up at an undersized street light. Though his movement was restricted in the girl’s closed fist, by craning his neck he could make out a trail, some rundown picket fencing, and the overhang of a stone arch above their heads.

                They were under a bridge in a park. Very nearby to the high school, in fact. Closer to it than Mandy’s house. Though vague in his memory, Peter had subtle recollections of visiting this place with his mother and sisters in his childhood. It was tough to summon a clear picture of those days, as his circumstances now were so violently removed from more nostalgic times.

                Wait. What were they doing here?

                Without speaking, Mandy reached back into her handlebar knapsack and retrieved a glass jelly jar, with the label ripped away. Then, reaching both hands up toward the shelf of a brick support along the bridge, Mandy set both Peter and the jelly jar down on the surface five feet off the ground.

                “Don’t think about jumping,” she snapped, unscrewing the lid of the jar and setting it aside. “You’ll break your little legs, and I’m not taking you to a hospital. I’ll just tape ‘em back together. Got it?”

                “Got it,” Peter repeated. The thought had, indeed, crossed his mind in passing as soon as his feet touched the elevated brick shelf flanking the bridge support. Then again, it was likely just an instinct now when he was briefly out of Mandy’s clutches. Robbed of the warmth of the girl’s unfortunately-comforting fist, Peter curled his arms back over his chest.

                “Welcome to your new bedroom,” Mandy said. She reached back for Peter, snatched him up, and deposited him directly into the glass cylinder. “You’ll sleep here. I’ll be back for you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

                The five-inch boy plunked awkwardly on the basin, but was at least spared a dangerously high drop, as his captor had jammed most of her hand inside the cell before releasing her grasp. Uncaring how pathetic it probably looked, the naked fairy pressed his hands to the glass and gazed out at the partially distorted face of his ruthless “owner.”

                “Seriously?” he wheezed.

                “Well, duh. If I take you back to my house right now, they’ll probably find you and take you away from me. Geez, I thought you were supposed to be kinda smart sometimes.” Mandy crossed her arms and simpered at him like an idiot schoolchild.

                Peter bit his lip. She wasn’t wrong.

                “Don’t worry, this isn’t like, a permanent thing. Cuz there’s no way I’m gonna ride back and forth between here and my house all the time just for you. No, once everybody calms down about you being gone, then we’ll move you back into my house. And we’ll find a nice, safe place for you to sleep every night in my bed.”

                Nodding with defeat, Peter observed his surroundings. The jar at least kept the wind at bay, which was a huge plus. However, the feeling of the cold glass on his feet was already inspiring fresh shivering. Could he last a whole night out here like this?

                “Can I have my clothes back? If I don’t have them to keep me warm, I might not make it to morning,” he said. Why beat around the bush?

                Mandy rolled her eyes and groaned dramatically, obviously finding the question to be a massive imposition on his part. However, after studying the miniature nude teenager quivering like a leaf in the jar, the girl reached back into her pocket and retrieved his play costume. She flicked the dirtied garments into the open jar mouth.

                Gratefully, Peter started pulling them on almost immediately; they weren’t as warm as the cruel giant’s fist, but they were better than nothing, and likely meant the difference between a hypothermic coma overnight.

                “I thought about singing you a lullaby or something, since you’ve been such a good pet tonight, but I think instead we’ll do a bedtime story. How’s that sound?”

                “Okay.” Peter was prepared to agree to anything at this point if he meant keeping his clothes on. Just to make her happy, he pulled the fairy wings back on over his newly clothed shoulders, a gesture which almost made him sick.

                “Here goes, then,” Mandy said, her face now looming ever-closer to the glass jar so Peter could make out every twitch and gape in her lips. “Once upon a time there was a girl who mostly had to take care of herself, cuz her mom was usually too busy smoking stuff or doing creepy guys in the bathroom. She’s our hero in this bedtime story. Anyway, the girl’s mom left her with her big cousin most of the time. But the cousin wasn’t super-duper nice. He made the girl get him things and clean up for him and stuff, and he still called her a little bitch.”
                Peter kneeled in the jar, watching Mandy’s lips flapping and the words unfurling.

                “Well, here’s the thing: the girl wasn’t anybody’s little bitch. She decided that she was sick of people not caring about her, or making her feel like garbage. So you know what she did, little guy?”

                “What?”

                “She let her big cousin get super drunk, then locked him in an old dog cage in her house and sprayed him back and forth with really cold water and then really hot water until she got afraid his screaming would wake up the neighbors. Then while he was sitting there, all wet and burny, she made him promise that he’d learned something from her. You know what he learned from her, Peter?”

                “That she wasn’t a little bitch,” the boy said hollowly. He recalled the dog cage in Mandy’s house. Evidently there was indeed no dog.

                “I guess somebody’s paying attention, aren’t they? So the moral of the story is: I’m not anybody’s little bitch. I’m not a piece of garbage. Instead, you’re my little bitch. My little pet boy,” Mandy concluded gravely. “And you’re never, ever going to get away. Say that back to me now.”

                “I…”

                “Say it now.”

                “I’m never going to get away-”

                “Never ever.”

                “…never ever.”

                “That’s the spirit,” Mandy said, her lip curling into a grin, as she whipped out a red-handled pocket knife.

                Peter recoiled, clambering back against the glass wall of the jar. He swallowed down a cry for help, knowing none would hear it, and instead helplessly watched as Mandy’s hand bearing the knife rose above the opening of the jar again. However, instead of plunging the flinty blade down into his prison cell, she slammed the checkered jelly lid back over the opening and sealed him inside. She cranked the sides, tightening, and then commenced stabbing the lid.

                Air holes cracked into the roof in quick succession. The tiny freshman cowered at the bottom of the jar with his eyes closed, receiving the promised lullaby in the choral form of Mandy’s blade sliding again and again into his jail. Metal jutting inside the dark-lit glass circle. When at last the girl was apparently satisfied she’d provided him enough air holes to survive, the knife was closed and pocketed again.

                “Sleep tight, little boy,” Mandy snarled. With the last lines of her story and its moral bestowed, she hopped aboard her bike again, and pedaled off into the night, leaving Peter trapped inside his sealed jar five feet off the ground in the abandoned dead of night.