My childhood stuffed animal stares at me as it lays limp on my bed. A thick white fluid covers its eye, having dripped down its face and snout. It sits drying at the tip of its tongue. I stare back, my mouth slack.
I take Bones into my hands. My stomach clenches, touching the tacky substance stuck between the fibers. I rub at it, but all it does is press it deeper into his fur. During times I feel this way, I want nothing more than to hug him, but now it wouldn’t be the same.
It’s not fair. I need to hold someone. Bones has been sitting on my bed for fifteen years now. These glass eyes have seen me at my worst, at my happiest, and the days that I’ve felt the most violated. He’s the only one who truly knows me.
I hesitate, but I bring him close, anyway. I rub his little arm with my thumb, squeezing his hand, but I keep my face away from his.
He was the only clean thing. Now he isn’t anymore. And I know who did it.
I’m not sure what could have prompted him to do something like this. It’s cruel, and I expect no less from him, but I still don’t understand. Am I not enough? If only it was me instead. Everything has changed so much since I was a kid, and Bones was the last good thing I had between my dad and me, because Dad was the one who took me to get him.
I remember that day because it was my first birthday after his and Mom’s divorce. We went to this place at the mall. I don’t remember what it was called, but it was pricy—much pricier than most places we frequented. But Dad heard about this sale they had for kids on their birthdays, and since I was turning five, a stuffed animal would only cost five dollars.
We walked in, and he put his hand on my shoulder and told me to pick one. I remembered bouncing on my feet and smiling so hard that it hurt, since I never really had any toys growing up. Only glancing at the selection, I make my choice: a cream-colored dog with brown spots. I ran over to the pile of unstuffed dogs, and I picked the first one I saw, knowing exactly what I wanted to name him.
A lady instructed me to rub a little fabric heart on my arms and chest and then make a wish. I can remember Dad laughing, but I don’t remember what I wished for. I ignored him and put the heart inside my new “friend,” hoping that whatever wish I made would come true. My feelings were indescribable, but I knew my chest bloomed with a kind of warmth.
I watched the other kids pick out clothes for their stuffed animals, but Dad told me that everything was too expensive. Somehow, I convinced him to allow me something cheaper instead. After I grabbed his certificate, a clerk handed Bones back to me in a large carrying box wearing only a red bandana around his neck. Holding the box in one hand, I held Dad’s hand in my other, squeezing tight and warm as we walked out.
His hands felt bigger back then.
A noise escapes my throat, and I slide to the ground beside my bed. It’s just not fair, the way my body betrays me.
I run my hands across Bones’ body again, but this time from his tail to his legs, traveling upwards. I imagine how it would feel to be touched that way, and I wonder what his little eyes saw.
I blink, pinching and pulling at his fur between my fingers, rolling it. Then, without thinking, I bring him up to my nose, and I sniff. A warm spark runs down my body, and then I gag. It smells like him. My heart beats despite my reaction, and I bury my nose in crusty synthetic fur.
I sniff.
Then again.
And again and again.
I keep inhaling him until I become light-headed, and I realize I can’t smell anything anymore. The air in my room becomes stale.
My eyes widen, mouth falling, when I remember what I should have done when I first saw him like this. Quickly, I take his bandana off.
I walk out of my bedroom, closing the door silently. I hear the fast pattering of water from the bathroom, so, on my toes, I walk towards the kitchen instead. Sickness growing, I turn the faucet on at the sink and give Bones one last look before letting the water run over his head. I take some dish soap into my hands and smear it across his face. The dried crust begins to break down and rinse away.
Relief.
I watch it all drain into the sink, and my trembling sigh steadies.
I continue to work the surface of him gently, and then I twist and squeeze the water out until he’s no longer dripping.
Squeak.
The shower down the hall stops, and I freeze. I feel my face drain cold, listening to the beating in my ears.
I bolt on my toes to the backyard, closing the door quickly but quietly. The raw grass scrapes the bottom of my feet. I look at the old clothesline pole, then I drape Bones over it before slipping back into the house with a soft click.
I try to be as quiet as possible. I step slowly, but the floorboards are old with a habit of squeaking louder the lighter your steps are. They conspire against me, and I glance up to see that he’s looking in my direction, face shadowed by a towel. He’s wearing an old t-shirt and green flannel pants, and his wet hair sticks to his forehead and the back of his neck. As usual, I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
He looks at me for a second, then a smile cracks along his lips. He strolls past me and stops in front of the backyard door. Bending over, he peeks out from the door window curtains for a moment.
Then he laughs.
“You gave Bones a bath?” He looks down at me. “Cute.”
Heat rushes to my face and my stomach. Whether it’s anger, embarrassment, or both, I can’t tell.
“Please don’t do that again,” I whisper, balling up my fists.
“I couldn’t help it, sweetie. He reminded me of you.”
My lips quiver. “Please don’t.”
“You’ve got to be more convincing than that.”
“Please.”
He places a hand on my head, ruffling my hair before slipping into his room, not seeing the tears streaming down my face.
Or maybe he did, and that’s why I saw him smile.
The evening sun shines through the curtain slivers, cutting the rooms with blood orange. I step out to check on Bones. It’s hot today, so he dried quickly, much to my relief. I grab him and rush back inside.
We arrive back in my room, and I plop onto my bed. I sigh, lips parted, as I feel his soft, clean fur under my hand. Looking him once over, I note the scratches in his eyes and a loose thread in his arm. I turn him around, then run my fingers over his back, feeling every cranny and seam all until I stop breathing.
At the tip of my finger, I feel a hole. To confirm my suspicion, I push it in, then I immediately pull myself back out. I stare at the stuffing coming from the open seam in Bones’ back, and it only takes a few seconds before panic sets in. I try to examine the hole, but that only makes it bigger.
A knock on the door.
My eyes dart to the clock, and it’s about seven—that’s when Dad likes to come in. I wrap Bones in my arms tightly because today is a day I don’t want him to.
I hear the door open, and he walks in anyway. He takes a moment to pause, making sure that I know he sees me holding Bones. I look back at him, and I regret it because it makes me want to claw the smile off his face.
He sits down beside me. I try to move away from him, but he pulls me in closer. Leaning in for a better look, he runs a finger across Bones’ back. He immediately feels what I had felt and sticks his finger in.
I pull Bones away from him.
“He’s so cute and soft.” My arms are stiff as he whispers into my ear, and I’m unable to blink. “No wonder he comes apart so easily.”
I try to set Bones back on the corner of my bed, but Dad grabs him again. My world flashes, and I grab onto Dad’s shoulders and bring my face up to his to distract him. It doesn’t work, and I see him jab his thumb into Bones’ open seam.
I kiss his cheek over and over, stubble scratching my lips. He continues to violate the seam as I desperately try to touch him. Please, don’t.
I attempt to straddle his lap and kiss him, but he pushes my body away with his palm. He pulls Bones’ heart out, and my chest drops.
Without hesitation, he brings it up to his lips and licks it before placing a kiss on it. My face grows cold, and my jaw clenches tight. Then he brings it up to my face.
“You too.”
I shake my head.
“Just do it.”
I shake my head again, but he presses it against my lips. I try to push his arms away, but he continues to mash it down until it rubs against my teeth.
I squeeze my eyes shut and manage to turn my head, but I feel a palm slam onto my shoulders and I’m laying on my back as he pins me down. He shoves the heart against my mouth.
“Come on.”
My chin trembles, and my limbs melt slack. I do as he says, touching the tip of my tongue against the satin heart. When I hear a laugh, I open my eyes and see his shadowed smile from above.
“Good girl.”
He lifts himself off of me, and I slowly sit up. I watch him put Bones’ heart back inside as I hold myself.
“Doesn’t it feel good?”
I don’t quite understand the question, and it shows in his expression. He looks down at Bones, held softly in his hands.
“When you first got Bones here, the whole thing at the store reminded me of when your mom had you.” He chuckles. “When you were born, I made a wish too, you know.”
He then turns back to me, and his face doesn’t change like it should.
“Take your pants off.”
My eyes flicker to Bones and then Dad’s chest, away from his face. I do as I’m told, hoping that he touches me instead. And to show my obedience, I take off my underwear too.
I breathe in as he moves his hands forward, but instead of touching me, he places down a pillow in front of me. Then, he places Bones right on top.
I clench and unclench my hands, feeling the sweat stick against my palms. I look at Dad, wide-eyed. He looks back at me, and I know exactly what he means by his silence.
You know what to do.
With weak limbs, I climb on top of my pillow. I look back at Dad to see if I’m doing what he wants, hoping for the chance that I’m wrong. But I’m not.
Well? his expression says. I hover, unsteady, for a moment before I swallow and lower my body.
I feel Bones’ fur beneath me, and I want my body to disappear. My knees don’t want to bend any further, and as if trying to remedy that, Dad leans in and places a kiss on my lips. It’s slow and warm—a tongue presses against mine. Only during times like this is he tender. With just a touch, a haze grows in my mind, and my hips move on their own.
The bubbling in my stomach pauses for a moment, and I almost forget about the world when he rains soft kisses all over my cheeks, nose, and forehead. A warm hand finds its way to my chest, moving past my collarbone, traveling up my shoulders. My skin tingles at his touch at the back of my neck.
His fingers run up my hair, and I almost ease into his palm until I feel my crotch bump against Bones’ chin.
I pull away from Dad’s hand, frozen.
The air stills, but his expression remains unchanged.
“It feels good, right?” he asks again. “To ruin something you made.”
A gentle smile. With his hand, he gestures below me and I look. Matted fur, dark with wet, and an open mouth. I’m not sure if his beady eyes and lolling tongue appear to be agony or if it’s something more like ecstasy.
Fingers placed on my chin, Dad tilts my face up. He looks down, right into my eyes.
“See? He’s just like you.”
At those words, acid bursts up my throat. I kick the pillow beneath me as I run for the bathroom, footsteps splattering in the dark, locking the door behind me. A loud, glassy clunk echoes, and I hunch over. I throw up into the toilet, heaving multiple times, sour solids leaving my throat.
I look down to see the water staining red and orange with Dad’s dinner, and the doorknob rattles.
The clock ticks, and all I can hear is breathing.
I lay in bed, my arm hanging off the side. With each breath, my chest rises high, trembling, before sinking in deep. I’m covered in sweat and stains. Both of our fluids run down my thigh, and I feel my bed creak as Dad gets off of me. I roll my dry tongue against the walls of my mouth, and it’s nothing but musk and a half-digested aftertaste. Slowly, I push myself up onto my elbows.
Dad finishes putting his shirt back on, and he bends down to give me a kiss on the head. Gently, he pulls me up by the arm.
“Get up and go shower. It’s getting late.”
I sit up. He places a kiss on my lips, and I melt. I try to lean into it, but he pulls away.
“And remember to brush your teeth.”
I hang my head.
It’s not fair.
Hobbling into the bathroom, I step into the tub and turn on the shower head. I stand for a moment in silence, feeling the hot water scorch my hair and boil my body. I can only be enveloped in this way.
As the water runs, I hear the door open. My dad walks in for a moment, only to walk out right after. I look at my hands, watching the water flow between my fingers, then I pick up my scrub and soap.
I start at the chest, beginning to lather.
Then I rub my collarbone, moving to my shoulder.
I lather the back of my neck, scrubbing rapidly. I don’t stop until my skin becomes red.
I scrub and scrub and scrub until my body squeaks at every touch.
Then, I turn the water off.
I step out and dry myself—the air chilling my raw body. It still doesn’t feel clean.
Looking around, I realize the new hair dryer is missing. I pull the old one out from deep under the sink.
The dryer no longer gets hot, so I stand there and feel the cool air against my scalp for a long time. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, noting my crooked neck and the strange way my breasts hang. If I could change things, I would. But I know it doesn’t work that way. Despite that, I try to imagine my ideal self, but in the end, it was just a featureless body.
After what feels like forever, I finally step out of the bathroom and head to my room. I open the door and almost jump when I see Dad is still there. He looks at me, then gets up from my bed and hands me my pajamas.
“Come to my room.”
I nod, and he ruffles my hair before leaving.
I look back at my bed and see that Bones is missing. The hole in my chest grows larger, but I look down, deciding that maybe it’s for the best.
I get dressed, then walk down the hall to Dad’s room, feeling the cool hardwood underneath my toes. I open the door and see him laying in bed with the lights off. He turns to look at me, sleepy, as if I had just woken him up, then lazily pats the space beside him. The room suddenly feels warm, and I swallow.
I take off my glasses, placing them beside Dad’s, and crawl under the sheets. He pulls me into his arm, pressing against his chest. I sigh, small and quiet, and before I can close my eyes, something gently plops in front of me.
The world is dark and blurry, but I make out cream with brown spots. I lift my head.
Reaching over for my glasses, I sit up and inspect the object in my hands. It’s Bones—soft and clean, smelling like liquid soap. His fur is fluffy and free of matting, as if nothing ever happened.
I glance at Dad, but he’s already turned over to his side, facing the wall.
Slowly, I flip Bones over, and I’m greeted with a seam that had been crudely sewn shut. My chest rises. I run my hand over the closed gash several times over, making sure it’s real. My mouth hangs, and I can’t stop touching it.
I hear soft snores, and I look over to see that Dad had fallen asleep.
I turn back to Bones and continue to trace my fingers along the threads, feeling each bump. I follow the path where the seam was once open, running my finger up and down, pressing inward to test the strength of the threads.
I press harder, because I don’t believe that Dad can sew that well.
I dig in with my finger, because I want to see if it can open again.
I feel the stuffing around my finger, because I forgot to make a note of how it felt the first time I touched it.
I remove my finger slowly, then push it back in.
Out again, then in.
Over and over.
Faster.
And deeper, until my finger hits something solid but soft.
I suck back in the drool escaping the corner of my mouth. My finger becomes raw from the thrusts, as the threads and fabric rubs against it, but it feels good.
A sudden hitched snore, and my neck snaps up, spell broken. My heartbeat thumps in my head as I wait for Dad’s breathing to steady.
Once it does, my eyes travel back down to Bones. They widen, and I silence my gasp with a palm when I realize what I’ve done. I look at the fresh gash of my doing, torn in the middle of his back. Frantic, I try to pinch the threads together, but it doesn’t fully close. Tears burst, and I cover my face with my hands.
Woken up by my shaking sobs, Dad groans, but I ignore him. My cries echo in the dark room, paired with the creaking of the bed. It’s a familiar sound, but right now, I don’t care. Fed up with the noise, Dad rolls over and firmly pulls me back down.
He presses me against his chest, and I press Bones against mine. No words, except for a single sigh. Dad’s breathing is slow and rhythmic.
My shaking sobs begin to calm as he rubs my arm with his thumb and squeezes my hand tight.
He keeps his face away from mine, but he holds me, soft and warm. I hadn’t noticed it until now, but there’s a light breeze flowing into the room, and I hear the crickets gently singing.
I ease into his arms, and I finally feel small again, just like all those years ago.
