A Cat Has Nine Wives

Author's Note: Hey guys. This is a sort of prologue chapter to my new story called A Cat has Nine Wives. I hope you'll enjoy reading as much as I did writing it, though I wouldn't say it's one of my best. Even so, have fun and let me know what you think.

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The day had started out as any other would. Michelle had woken up promptly at six o'clock, that is to say, an hour after her alarm sounded at six o'clock. She groggily went about her morning routine, as was normal by that point in her life. Followed by barely catching the bus to her school, which was in turn followed by barely making it to her first class that morning. Michelle was far from a happy participant at the educational facility, having to constantly keep her feet planted at her desk every class, not that it was hard to understand why. The school didn't have a particularly decent track record with its faculty.

It didn't help at all that she used to be less than popular. Michelle was a petite girl, skinny and often considered a tomboy by nearly everyone around her. She had oddly well kept, fiery red hair, though it had darkened over time, coming off more as a dark crimson at the age of eighteen. She was still fairly strong despite being only 5'1'', having tried to compensate for her height, or lack thereof, with athletic ability, with mixed results. It had gotten her some level of respect, but it also strengthened other people's notions that she was a tomboy. Over time Michelle had grown used to that word and simply went along with it.

By now she was reasonably popular, in the sense that no one bothered her. Though she sat alone at lunch, the few who greeted her as they passed were her fellow track team members, though she wasn't particularly on good terms with them, since they were primarily good looking, tall girls with legs to die for. Michelle had long since passed the phase of her life where she envied women like that to death, but every time she watched them run she would feel a small sense of shame in herself, though she locked the emotion away as best she could. Even now, she was idly playing with her food, a pile of sludge they called mashed potatoes, and her burnt portion of meat. The school provided the lunch for free, and her parents decided it would be best for her to eat it since they couldn't afford to use food whenever they didn't need to. As such she had to eat the vomit-like mush. I'm going to regret this, she thought and finished her meal.

In her second class after lunch, Michelle Viona groaned as she struggled to hold her lunch down. It had only been an hour since lunch period and already she felt like she would have to become more acquainted with the bathroom than she would like to. Her english teacher, Mrs. Gunderson, seemed oblivious to her discomfort, though Michelle knew she was only turning a blind eye. That bitch, she thought, bet she enjoys watching me suffer. Michelle was practically sweating now, her thoughts turning to her options of either staying and extending her suffering, or simply make a run for it... both were far from ideal as Mrs. Gunderson would no doubt fabricate some bullshit regarding Michelle's conduct. Despite this, the suffering teen decided it was worth it.

Michelle stood, quickly grabbing her school bag and making a move for the door. Her teacher naturally saw her and yelled for her to take her seat once more, but Michelle ignored her, rushing from the room and towards the toilets. A few minutes later and she was hunched over a toilet bowl in the women's bathroom, dry heaving and praying to whatever deity existed that this would pass.

"God, why don't I ever pack my own lunch?" She groaned in painful discomfort, moving once again to throw up, but nothing came. She heard the door to the bathroom open; great, she thought, here comes Mrs. Gunderson.

She was surprised to hear an unfamiliar voice.

"Shit, shit, shit! I've gotta dump this somewhere." They were clearly male by their voice. Two things crossed Michelle's mind at that moment, one; this guy's in a bathroom, why doesn't he just take a shit? And two; oh wait... this dude's a fucking drug dealer! She tried to stay quiet, but with her condition, it was nigh impossible. The stranger began to open the stall doors rapidly. Michelle was glad she had chosen the one on the end, but they were coming closer, and fast. Oh god, let them pass this over, she thought.

Naturally, she was unlucky as always. The door to her stall rattled fiercely, followed quickly by loud banging.

"Get the fuck out here! Or else!" Michelle knew how dangerous these kinds of people could be, but fear had her silent.

"I know you're in there, bitch! Now get. Out!" To accompany the final word, the door rattled again, cracks appearing in the wood. How strong was this guy? Michelle took several deep breaths, before standing with a groan, and opening the door. Before she could react though, she heard a gun shot. There was a brief moment when she wasn't sure what she was seeing, the door had opened, a young man with a frenzied look in his eyes, a gun in one hand, with a bottle of something in the other. Michelle looked down when she felt a strange warmth pouring down her chest.

She was bleeding. She had been shot in the chest, but she couldn't feel any pain, or rather the pain was incredibly dulled by her shock.

"Oh god... I-I-I'm sorry." The man said, dropping the bottle and gun before turning tail and running the other way. Michelle could hear a large amount of rapid footsteps approaching the bathroom. She fell to the floor, a sudden weakness washing over her.

"I," She let out a pained cough, "I can't believe... this is... how I die. Oh, fuck my," another cough, "Life." The remainder of her strength left her then, and she could only look forward from her prone position, seeing the strange bottle rolling towards her. The cap was loose, a drop of strange, pink liquid falling from it. A sudden desire swept over Michelle, her strength returning quickly. I, it was a struggle to think straight, I need to... I need to drink it? Her mind seemed to question itself, but before it could stop her, she had grabbed hold of the bottle and was pulling to her. The shock and blood loss had taken its toll on her, the bottle, no bigger than a can of soda, felt like it was filled with lead. Fortunately it rolled to her with only the slightest pull from her.

Miraculously, it came to rest against her mouth. The fluid it held had spilled out. Michelle summoned her will power, and poked her tongue out, lapping at the fluid like a cat. She felt her strength returning as she ingested only a few drops of the stuff, letting her actually grab hold and lift it to her lips. She drunk deeply, feeling a strange warmth spreading throughout her body, expelling the cold she felt from blood loss, even quieting her stomach. Her hand went to her soaked chest, where the bullet had gone through her, and she stopped her frenzied drinking immediately. There was no wound. The blood was still there, it had spread throughout her shirt, but the wound had vanished. She held the drink away from her, the bottle only feeling half filled.

There was a commotion outside. Clearly the man hadn't got away and was being restrained by the campus security. Michelle looked down at herself and decided to act quickly. She began to clear the blood, removing her shirt and opening a window, putting it on the ledge. She removed her jeans, which had only got a small amount of blood on them and hardly showed up on their crimson colour. She used them to clean the blood, and herself. After she had dealt with as much as she could, Michelle stared at the bottle she held. She had never put it down, as though her body refused to part with it.

Just then the door opened, and she quickly grabbed the cap and sealed the bottle. Putting it in her bag to keep it hidden. Why did I do that? She thought, I should hand it over. I mean it's a drug, right? They'll need the evidence. Yet no matter what reasoning she used, her body refused to simply get the bottle and hand it over. Instead she dealt with the campus security's questions, explaining her missing shirt by saying the guy had tried to rape her. Michelle impressed even herself in that moment, as she was acting exactly as she needed to, despite feeling perfectly calm on the inside. She was even able to convince them to let her go home.

Once she got home however, was an entirely different story however. Her parents were out, either working for money, working up an even large debt, hence why Michelle couldn't have her own lunch. They were the owners of a company, a successful one at that, but they both had issues when it came to gambling. They weren't complete idiots though, as they hired people who made sure they couldn't tap into the money they needed to live. They lived in a well-kept Victorian style house, with plenty of room and all the latest gadgets from five years ago. Michelle considered herself lucky she even had an iPhone. It was only a two story house, though her parents had originally wanted a three story, they were unable to as they lost themselves to gambling. That wasn't to say they were bad, or rather horrible, parents though.

Michelle knew her parents cared for her. They were incredibly good at keeping their business lives out of their personal ones, even being able to hold out on their gambling addictions to go to Michelle's school events almost everytime. As far as she was concerned she was fortunate to have parents this good, given all the stories she had heard of children essentially raised by nannies because of their parents' obscene wealth. And their love for her showed in her room.

While they had only the bare amount of money needed to eat and keep the house, her parents would often use their winnings from their gambling escapades to spoil Michelle as much as possible. Though not in the same way as other families, where their children have over a dozen gadgets, her parents took her to explore. They would take time off from work and take her to another country to see the various landmarks and get to know the history behind many of them. She liked it, sure she didn't have the latest iPad or laptop, but she was happy, in fact the memories of those trips often comforted her when she needed it. But today, there was no comfort.

Once in her room she closed the door and leaned against it, sliding down the length until she sat on the floor. The event had lasted only a few minutes at most, but she couldn't stop herself from shivering in terror. She should have died; she was shot, she had practically bled out, and yet there she was. She opened her bag and pulled out the bottle, staring down at it in a mix of curious fear, and absolute horror. Whatever this concoction was, it healed her from a wound that equated to certain death, but there was something else. Her hand went to her chest... did her bust feel bigger? She couldn't say for certain, it did seem to be very slightly larger than before.

"Nonsense." She said aloud, but still she held the bottle thinking of the possibilities. Could it make her body like those girl's on her track team? Could it give her longer legs? Would it make people see her differently? "It has to be nonsense, right?" She asked aloud, knowing she was the only who could answer her. It was absurd, no, more than absurd, it was impossible. Yet... the effects were undeniable. Michelle felt her breathing calm down, her panicked thoughts somehow returning to normal, as though nothing had transpired. She stood once more and walked to her small, crowded desk and turned on the computer.

Once everything was loaded she opened her web browser, seeing a built-in news feed. The incident at her school was already at the top, but she quickly opened google. She wasn't interested in the incident, that is to say, she was uninterested in the gunman and how it had transpired, rather she was interested in finding out what kind of drug could do the impossible. For the next hour and a half, Michelle searched everything she could think of; pink fluid healing bullet wounds, hallucinogenic fluid etc. Everything that came up didn't match with her experience. Finally she assumed it was some sort of experimental drug, probably for medical use, and some druggie had gotten his hands on it. If it was experimental however, did that mean it had tested negatively on humans and was set to be thrown away? Despite herself, Michelle felt a new panic rising within her.

Before it got out of her control, the front door opened.

"Michelle?!" Both her parents called. Their voices sounded strained, as though they had been crying in worry. Michelle flashed back to the news feed, from the brief glance she got of it, she had seen something about a shooting. Her parents had always been paranoid in regards to her health, since she was always so frail, and, despite her every attempt to prove otherwise, they still worried to no end about her safety. As it stood, they were what she needed above all else at that moment. She was out of her door and flying down the stairs, tears streaming down her eyes. She couldn't hold them back, the panic she felt at the possible poison now in her system scared her to no end. When she was down the stairs they rushed to her, hugging her tightly.

"We heard what happened!" Her mother said, a mix of relief and terror in her tone, "You're not hurt are you?"

"N-No, Mum. I'm fine... really." Michelle assured them. Her father was quiet, simply holding her in his arms, muscular from his regular visits to the gym. It made her feel safe, and he knew that, hence why he continued to go when he could, managing his time between his family, business and less than productive activities. The three stayed together for what could've been eternity, Michelle's parents simply basking in the knowledge that she was safe, while Michelle felt all her worries and fears melt away in their embrace. Eventually though it was time to part and they adjourned to the kitchen.

Michelle's mother was definitely one of the better looking business women of the world. Her dark red hair carefully pulled back into a braided ponytail, her face free of blemishes and a natural blush on her cheeks, accompanied by ruby red lips, glossy from her lipstick. Her eyes, oak green, were framed by thick lashes and still looked gorgeous, despite being bloodshot from the tears she had no doubt shed. Her body was toned from accompanying her husband to the gym, and her firm ass attested to that. Her D cup breasts were firm and all natural, even after breastfeeding Michelle when she was a baby. To Michelle she was the perfect representation of a healthy parent.

Michelle's mother rarely cooked herself, often too tired from work or gambling to do so, but in light of what had happened, she decided to cook their dinner herself. It was a treat, as she had once been on the fast track to becoming a well respected chef, but then she met her husband, and she found she had a natural ability in business too. Despite how little she cooked those days, she often said it was like a bike to her; once you learn, you never forget.

"This is a rare pleasure, Rachel. You hardly ever cook for us." Michelle's father noted, watching as his wife went about the kitchen expertly, gathering everything she would need.

"Yeah? Well, maybe if someone was better with finances, then I'd have more free time. Seriously, you'd be helpless without me, Bryon." She joked.

Rachel Viona handled the majority of finances at their company, Viona Inc. when Michelle asked about the name, they said it was a joke more than anything, in how it was so unoriginal and lame, but it had stuck. Michelle's father, Bryon Viona, was the CEO of the company, though his wife had a point in that he was far worse with numbers than he would admit. Despite their success, they didn't expect much from Michelle, though not in the sense that they simply thought her to be a failure, they just refused to put pressure on her like that. If she had said she wanted to be a pole dancer, they probably would not support it, but they wouldn't outright say no; if it was her dream, then they wouldn't crush it.

"Now if you two stop gambling, we'll be a perfect family." Michelle said aloud. Her parents stopped all their activity and looked down. They weren't proud of what they did, but it was a borderline addiction by now. Their daughter looked down as well, as she never liked to bring the topic up.

"We know, dear, but..." Her mother began, but let the sentence trail off. What excuse could she give?

"No, I'm sorry. I'll, uh, I'll just be in my room; try to forget about today, y'know?" Michelle said, and stood.

"Okay, I'll call when dinner's ready." Her mother said in parting, Michelle simply nodded as she turned the corner to the stairs.

Back in her room, her eyes immediately fell on the vial. Thoughts of how she had wished time and time again, to be able to help her parents break their gambling habit, but she didn't know what to say. If the drug could fix her body, would it fix her mind as well? Make her capable of helping her parents? They didn't want to do it, but years of spending night after night playing poker, blackjack or craps, had settled into their very souls by now. If she were different, better than she was now, could she help them?

For the next forty minutes these questions raged in Michelle's mind as she sat at her desk. She couldn't take her eyes from the bottle, imagining the liquid sitting in it. She remembered the story of Adam who ate the Forbidden Fruit, how he had given into temptation, and had thus led to humanity's current state. It had angered God, but it had started the evolution of humanity, at least from the bible's perspective. Was this a Forbidden Fruit; her temptation? A voice in her mind told her it was dangerous, that it would lead to an unpleasant life for her, but another said it would give her all she desired. Both made persuasive arguments, but neither could tip the scales in the other's favour. She heard her mother call out that dinner was ready.

Michelle stood, ready to go, but her hand touched the bottle. It was slight, but she felt something like an electric shock from it, as though it were calling to her. The voice that said it would end her began to die down, while the other voice rose, becoming a thunderous roar in her mind. As though in a trance, she reached out and took hold of the bottle, popping the cap off, before downing the remaining contents in a single go. She came back to her senses as a sudden bolt of pain spiked through her body, personified as she let loose a shriek to put a banshee to shame. Immediately, she heard the rapid footsteps of her parents running up the stairs, but it was like hearing it through water. The world she saw was going dark, the edges fading to black. No, she thought, a tear running down her face, I can't die... I can't. Any further thought was lost to her, as she succumbed to the encroaching darkness.

"We should call a doctor."

"It's only been an hour, and she doesn't look sick."

"But she collapsed. We should at least call someone to take a look at her." Michelle recognised the voices, they were her parents, and they were talking like she wasn't there.

"I can hear you, y'know." She muttered, surprised at how dry her mouth felt.

"Michelle, oh, baby... I'm so glad you're okay." Her mother said, and Michelle felt herself lifted into her mother's embrace.

"What happened?" Her father asked, worry thick in his voice. Michelle mustered her strength and opened her eyes, seeing their faces near her's, their eyes red and puffy.

"I-I honestly don't know." She said, telling the truth. She couldn't remember a thing before falling asleep, "What's the problem, I was just sleeping."

"Honey, you collapsed. We found you on the floor, you were hardly breathing." Rachel gushed in a single breath, panting by the end, her voice hoarse from crying.