Lily's Habit
Lily had moved in with me nearly three months prior, and our lives had gradually fallen into a harmonious rhythm. She was a meticulous soul, keeping our home impeccably tidy and cooking meals that delighted my palate. Yet one habit grew increasingly perplexing—each night at precisely eight o'clock, she would set aside whatever she was doing, clap her hands to summon Charlie from his nap on the living room couch. My dopey golden retriever would trot over, tail wagging eagerly, as Lily crouched down to stroke his head and murmur softly into his ear. Then she would lead him down the hallway to the small study at the end, always turning the lock with an audible click that pierced the quiet room. This ritual had commenced during her second week here. Initially, I assumed she simply craved private moments with the dog, but as time passed, an unsettling suspicion took root.
Time Behind the Door
Once the study door closed, my attention would fixate entirely upon it. Whatever played on the television became background noise, my ears straining to decipher the sounds from within. Lily's voice often drifted out, hushed but stern, a stark contrast to her usual gentleness. Sometimes, Charlie's claws would scratch frantically against the wooden floor with a rustling urgency. Occasionally, low whimpers rose, only to be swiftly silenced. Most distressing were the muffled thuds of objects colliding, punctuated by Lily's sharp commands: "Stay!" or "Don't move!" These noises clashed utterly with Charlie's cheerful, exuberant nature. The Charlie I knew was a bundle of joy, wagging his tail at the slightest provocation, yet behind that door, he sounded so altered that I fidgeted restlessly in the living room, clutching the remote control until my knuckles turned white.
Charlie's Transformation
After an hour, the lock would click open, and Charlie would slink out, utterly drained. His lustrous golden coat would be tousled, as if he had been rolling on the floor. His eyes darted away, avoiding my gaze, and his tail drooped listlessly, offering only a half-hearted wag upon seeing me. He would amble to the center of the living room before collapsing onto the rug, resting his large head on his paws with a long, heavy sigh that radiated profound exhaustion. This weariness bore no resemblance to the happy fatigue after a romp in the park—there, his eyes still sparkled with excitement, and he would bounce back after a brief rest. Now, he seemed utterly spent, too weary to even glance at his cherished rubber bone when tossed before him, instead burying his head deeper into the carpet.
Initial Puzzlement
In the early days, I clung to optimistic explanations: Perhaps Lily was teaching Charlie a new trick? After all, she adored him and often watched dog-training videos online. Or maybe it was just a girl's private ritual with her pet—Charlie being male, Lily might have shared feminine secrets. Once, unable to restrain my curiosity, I teased her lightly as Charlie lay limp on the rug: "What are you two conspiring about behind closed doors every night? Poor Charlie looks wiped out." She was scrolling on her phone and replied without looking up, "Nothing much, just playing. He probably overdid it during the day." I gestured at the listless heap on the floor. "Playing leaves him like this?" She finally set her phone down, offering a dismissive smile. "Dogs get just as exhausted as people when they're overexcited. Stop overthinking it." When she reached out to ruffle my hair, I instinctively flinched away.
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