Nature Bred - New York Minute fic - PG13

[tigriswolf]

Title: Nature Bred
Fandom: New York Minute
Disclaimer: Not my characters.  Just for fun.
Warnings: pre-movie, mostly. A tad dark for such a cotton-candy tale. 
Pairings: none
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 890
Point of view: third
Notes: Inspired by: The Lieutenant of Inishmore and chapter 17 of “A Twisted Kind of Brotherhood” by queen of the imps. Yes, the hiatus truly is this bad. And, really, I like Reinaldo.

Trey was not a hateful person by nature. He filled rooms with a bright, sunshiny feeling when he smiled or laughed; he won hundreds of people to his mother’s side before and knew he probably would again.

He could barely remember his father; the man left on his fifth birthday and never called. His mother never trash-talked his father—she never mentioned him at all.

She spoiled Trey, but he never developed a holier-than-thou attitude. Even though they were among the top hundred richest families in America, you wouldn’t know it to look at him.

Trey got along with everybody. He could mold his personality to fit in with any crowd and could carry a conversation for hours about nothing.

He didn’t have a hidden rage or a trouble spirit. He didn’t fantasize about hurting others or himself. He had no buried issues with his absentee father or his never-there mother who gave him gifts but not hugs and looked at him but didn’t see him.

He was not a hateful person by nature. He never lost his temper.

His mother’s dog was not terrified of him. Did not follow him with wary eyes. Did not whimper when he got too close.

Trey was not a hateful person by nature. But he loathed that dog to the depths of his soul.

-

Reinaldo arrived when Trey was twelve. His mother didn’t mention they were getting a dog, didn’t ask if he wanted one—and he did, an Irish Wolfhound. He’d loved them his whole life, researched their history and read every book he could find.

So he knew they were a lot of work and a lot of time. And he’d made his case every six months, explained over and over he was ready and willing to take care of the dog’s every need.

It was all he wanted. Instead of video games and toys and clothes and trips to Europe, he wanted an Irish Wolfhound, a dog to call his own.

And his mother came home with a wrinkled, drowned rat.

She still gave Trey things. But all her affection went to the damned dog. Every second she wasn’t working went to that damned dog.

Reinaldo. What the hell kind of name is that?

Trey wasn’t picky. He didn’t care if his Wolfhound was male or female—he’d picked out Odin and Artemis for their names. The king of the Norse pantheon and the Greek goddess of the hunt—he’d put a lot of thought into this.

And his mother brought home that.

So, no—he wasn’t hateful by nature. But that dog—

-

He went four years without doing anything. He figures he deserves a prize for that. 

But then Mom went on a five week business trip and couldn’t take her precious little boy. She left Trey a long list of how to take care of the rodent and Trey smiled, nodding at her every point.

She kissed Reinaldo goodbye, sniffing back tears, and waved to Trey as she got in the limo.

Trey gave the staff a month off. He ate what he wanted when he wanted and slept in the master bed. He went to school and continued charming the teachers. He told no one he stayed in the house alone.

And he finally had his fun with that thing his mom called ‘Darling.’

Five weeks is a long time and he’d hated the creature for years.

Mom thought Reinaldo had missed her and explained away his new behavior. Trey said he’d slipped in the yard, and the limp healed soon, anyway.

Reinaldo kept his distance from Trey after that.

-

Two and a half years later, Trey found his dog. 

He worked at the pound every Saturday—his mother fussed at him to quit, telling him there was no need for that. Trey didn’t even try explaining.

The dog—a starved, half-grown Irish Wolfhound—came in on a Thursday, caught wandering the streets. She snapped at anyone who came too close and whimpered when she walked.

“Artemis,” Trey whispered the first time he saw her.

He called his mother and told her he was bringing home a dog. She sputtered but he hung up on her. She’d understand, given time. After all—she loved that rodent, didn’t she?

Trey knew it’d be hard—Artemis wasn’t exactly trusting or gentle. He had a long road in helping her.

But she was everything he’d ever wanted.

-

He had her for nearly a year before she died. Hopped the fence to chase a squirrel. Ended up on the street. His mother’s limo ran her over. 

Reinaldo lived and Artemis died, and Mom went on another trip.

Tragically, Reinaldo found his way onto the highway.

Unfortunately, he survived.

-

Trey was not a hateful person by nature. 

So when Reinaldo flew out the window, it was easy to pretend he thought Jane would catch the fucking thing.

And when Mom asked where her darling was, on the verge of panicking, he barely suppressed the desire to tell her how he really felt.

But he was not a hateful person by nature. So he faked his way through another day, pretended to keep Mom happy.

He’d get her stupid mongrel back for her. She’d go on another trip soon enough.

-

Trey was not a hateful person by nature.

Comments

[delphinapterus.livejournal.com]

It's very geeky of me but I really like how you've used bolding. Also, poor Trey, I can really see that happening. Reinaldo is like his very own cat that came back.

[tigriswolf]

Thank you for reading!