You are Sandra. Sandy to your friends. And your husband’s shithead… you mean troubled kid.
You try to like him. You didn’t know what it meant to love someone but not like them until you met him. Xander is… difficult. Somehow he holds you responsible for his parents divorce (three years before you even met his father) and that divorce responsible for everything bad that has ever happened to him. You tried bonding with him, spending time with him, gifts and activities and fun meals… nothing but abuse in return. He calls you Sandy to your face and That Whore anywhere his father won’t hear.
You try not to let it get to you. He’s 16, you only have to deal with two more years of every other holiday with him before he goes off to college and you can relax properly. You try really, really hard not to blame him. He’s a kid, he’s clearly got something medical or psychological going on but his mom is one of those “vaccines cause autism” types so you and your husband have nowhere to stand when it comes to getting him help. She won’t take him to therapy, won’t comply with any medication, and convinces him you’re just trying to hurt him.
You’re in survival mode. Do what you have to do to survive the visit.
You watch him rip through his Christmas presents, knowing you’ll have to clean it all up. You got him a good chunk of those gifts, but you knew better than to put your name on them. He’d just destroy them. So when he thanks his father for the new graphics card for his PC you nod happily to yourself, having done a ton of research and looking to figure out what he needed. He’ll be loved by you even if he doesn’t appreciate it.
“A… collar?” Xander asks, holding out a dark red dog collar.
“Oh! Right, I think I forgot to bring one out!” Your husband Steven replies, standing and going out the side door into the garage. Xander looks at you, you shrug. You have no idea what this is.
He returns with the sort of cardboard box animal shelters give out, printed with smiling cats, dogs, and fluffies.
“OH MY GOD!” He snatches the box from his father and rips the top off, then freezes.
A small high pitched voice calls out from inside. “Hewwo!”
“Ugh. A fluffy.” He drops the box, which yelps at the impact.
“Not a fan?” Steven asks.
“Ugh, Daaaad! Fluffies suck! I want a dog!” He whines, stomping his foot like a toddler.
“I couldn’t find one, buddy.” Steven picks up the fluffy, who cuddles into his chest. It’s a nice muted purple pegasus with a sage green mane. A shame Xander was so spoiled, it was a good looking fluffy.
“Well, take it back! I’ll wait for a dog!”
Before Steven could reply, you spoke up. “Hey, let’s give the little guy a chance! Who knows, maybe he’ll be better than a dog?”
“Yeah, great idea honey!” Steven smiled at you.
Xander glared, but knew better than to disparage you in front of his dad. He dropped the collar on the carpet and turned back to his other gifts.
“What should we call him?” Steven asked.
“I don’t care, let Sandy name him.” He didn’t even look up.
You held out your hands for the little fluffy and Steven handed him to you. He sniffled lightly, but cuddled into you as you stroked his back. “How about we call you… Velvet.”
“Dat am nice namesie.” The fluffy replies, pain in his voice. Xander just scoffs.
That was your first mistake.
You spent the day with Velvet, setting up the spattering of fluffy supplies your husband had bought. Not enough for long term care, of course, but enough to get through the next few days. He was a sweet, polite little guy. He didn’t beg, didn’t demand, he was quite happy to sit on the couch with you and watch TV.
Xander shot him a disgusted look every time they were in the same room. Eventually when you called them all in for dinner, Velvet ended up in front of him in the kitchen doorway. You watched as Xander pulled his leg back and kicked the fluffy, hard. He skidded across the linoleum tile and slammed into the fridge.
“Xander! How could you?!” You snapped, rushing to the pile of fluff.
“Do what?! It was an accident, I didn’t mean to! He jumped in front of me!” He protested. His grin gave him away. You knew he did it on purpose.
“You need to be more careful!” You replied. “Are you okay, Velvet?”
“Yus, nice wady.” Velvet slowly got to his hooves, shaking himself off. “Jus’ widdow huwties.”
You gave him a small kiss on the top of the head, almost mindlessly. Mothering instinct, there was a baby in front of you and it was hurt.
As you stood to get dinner served, you saw the hate in Xander’s eyes. You had made your second mistake.
After dinner you and your husband sat on the couch, a trashy Christmas romcom playing on the TV over the fireplace and Velvet asleep on your lap.
“I feel bad returning him, he’s clearly happy here.” Steven said. “Xander really wants the dog, though. I thought this would be good enough.”
“You know how he can be.” That didn’t begin to scratch the surface, but it wasn’t a fight you wanted to have right now. “But do we need to return him? I think we could have a dog and a fluffy.”
“You think? What if they don’t get along?”
You ran your fingers through Velvet’s thick fluff. “You know he’s going to want to bring the dog to his mom’s, she’s got that giant yard. If we have to have this little guy locked up in the bedroom every once in a while I think it’ll be fine.”
Steven kissed you on the cheek. “Well, then merry Christmas, I’m glad you enjoy your gift!”
You smiled, looking forward to having the little fluffy around the house. Something that loved you. Something that appreciated you. Something that didn’t spit horrible names into your face.
You didn’t know it at the time, but that was your third mistake.
“Good morning, Velvet!” You called down the stairs. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
No reply.
You stepped around the Christmas tree to find his little plush bed empty. “Velvet, where are you, buddy?”
“I haven’t seen him.” Xander said from the top of the stairs. The complete lack of emotion in his voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
You started looking around, hurried. He had done something. You were sure of it.
The side door was slightly cracked, you could feel the cold draft from the garage leaking into the kitchen. You pushed the door open, squinting into the dark garage. “Velvet, honey? You shouldn’t play in here, it’s dangerous.” You fumbled for the light switch by the door.
Laying on the cold garage floor was Velvet, tangled in a yellow extension cord. It looped tightly around his neck multiple times and his dull eyes bugged out, frozen stiffly in an expression of desperation and horror.
“Oh. He must have thought it was sketti.” Xander did a mocking imitation of a fluffies speech. “It’s not your fault, these things are basically retarded. Can’t be helped.” He patted you on the shoulder and turned back into the kitchen, leaving you and your fluffy in the garage.
