Lovesick part 18 - Finale
Chris was having a tough morning. Something felt off and he couldn’t put his finger on it. He shook it off as best as possible, tonight he was staying over with Sammy. He smiled as he grabbed Bumbles and an extra diaper for his accident prone fluffy. “Ready to spend time with your friends?”
Bumbles sullenly nodded, “yus…”
Waking up the next morning, he took the pills he left at Sammy’s, because it was easier to have a set of pills at each place, it was her suggestion, and it was working out. The two pills, the actual prescription, perked him up rather quickly. It wasn’t long before he was staying with her most of the week, just being with her made him feel better, where waking up at his own house left him lethargic.
“Are you sure you can take care of all of them while I’m gone? I can take them to get boarded.”
“It is not that hard to take care of fluffies, really. And it’s just a week. They’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” Chris reassured Sammy again, “you worry too much.”
Sammy had been gone for a day, and Chris, not wanting to stay at her place the whole time, brought her fluffies over to his place. His first day he was already feeling off. But he pushed through, I didn’t know missing someone could feel like this.
The second day, everything started to fall apart. He took his pills as usual, but something was off. His heart started to flutter. He tried to pass it off as anxiety as he grabbed the empty food bowls from the fluffies. At this time of day they were mostly asleep, except for Jimi. Jimi just watched him silently. The pain was swift, the jolt down his left arm knocked the bowl from his hand. Chris fell to his knees and doubled over.
“Chwis!?” Jimi’s yell roused the other three, Nova ran over with Jimi, Mocha and Bumbles brains hadn’t caught up with their bodies yet and just looked confused.
Chris couldn’t articulate his words, his hand fumbled against his phone. Chris managed to mumble, “call… help… 9… 1… 1…”
Jimi stared at the screen, “Nyuweve, uno, uno. Gween button.” At the human’s voice he shouted, “ayuda! Ayuda!” Over and over until police and paramedics arrived.
Chris was conscious enough to tell EMTs to grab his heart meds. He was rushed out of the house into the ambulance, leaving the fluffies alone.
Chris had been gone. The first bright time was tolerable. The four played and only grumbled about their food. The empty water bowl, unknown to them, was going to be more problematic.
Day two and the four began arguing over the food and water. More so, the absolute lack of both. Bumbles, however, was worse off than the others. “Diapy gif Bumbwes owies…” he would complain again and again. For him this was the third day in the diaper. It was so with piss, loaded with feces, and it was pressed tightly against his skin. His eyes were bloodshot and turning a sick shade of yellow. He fell over into his bed, his body shaking from the stress, dehydration on top of sepsis.
Bumbles managed to display some fluffy durability. His body fought against the sepsis. No longer could he maintain his body temperature, the infection fueled fever spreading through his body. Bumbles silently suffered and watched the other three with unfocused eyes.
They all were weak and suffering. None of them really talked much at this point. For Jimi and Mocha, this was not their first rodeo as it were. But Nova, he had exhausted himself pounding at the door calling for mummah. Small red circles dotted the door, he pounded so much his already dried out skin cracked, the bloody proof of his desperation.
By day three, things took a turn for the worse. Bumbles breathing became more erratic, it was more of a wheeze. He hadn’t moved from the spot in bed, he laid staring at the same spot with unblinking eyes.
Day three, no food, no water. No humans. Nova being the youngest still had some energy, while the other remained in their beds. Living up to the praises of his mummah, he was a great explorer. Wedged between the wall and litter box Nova found one of the treats Sammy gave Bumbles. This, this was a sign, that mummah loved him best. He is a good fluffy that doesn’t make bad poopies, why should those treats just go to Bumbles?
Nova looked around, not trying to bring attention to himself. Bumbles, while looking at Nova, remained silent, he had passed without the others noticing or caring. Jimi and Mocha were asleep still. Sure, he should share the treat, but, he was mummah’s favorite best fluffy and she left this there for him to find. No, he would eat this himself.
As he chewed the stale treat with a dry mouth, he coughed and choked it down. The most delicious tasting yet most painful thing he has ever eaten. This quelled the sharp pain in his stomach. But with the lack of food and water, the pain became something different.
“Hnnnng…” Nova grunted and shook his rump, “screeeee!” He ran over to the litter box, his screeching woke up Jimi and Mocha. They didn’t have the strength to rush over, clumsily they stumbled to Nova who was panicking.
“Noba? Wat wong?” Mocha, oblivious as usual, hugged Nova’s head.
Nova spasmed as a trickle of liquid shit ran down his back legs. Another scream, Jimi taking a hesitant step back, but Mocha didn’t let go, she kept asking, “wat wong Noba? Huggies hewp!”
Nova continued to screech, the feces quickly turns from dark brown to black to red. Dehydrated and sudden forced diarrhea combined were too much on his system, Jimi watched in horror as Nova literally shit himself to death. “Pwease, Noba, nu moaw owies!” It slowly sank in, as she held Nova, that his eyes still closed wouldn’t open again.
Over the beeping of the EKG, Chris spoke with his doctor and a detective. “You’re telling me these pills are fake? She wouldn’t do that!”
“Chris, these are sugar pills. They are missing the imprint that the actual pills have.” His doctor took one and chewed it up, “it’s just sugar.”
“That’s evidence…”
“Oh, sorry.” The doctor handed the pill bottle to the detective.
The detective pulled up a chair and waved the doctor out. “So, tell me about your girlfriend Sammy and where we might find her…”
It’s been four days. The human body can last a week with no food or water. A fluffy, less so. This wasn’t the first experience Jimi and Mocha had. They quietly and calmly stayed in their beds. At this point they didn’t have the strength to do anything else.
Jimi having flashbacks to Steve. The starving, the thirst. The sensation of smacking Mocha, getting kicked. The vet taking his leg without anything for the pain. His life, ever so tiny compared to humans, played in his mind.
It was so quiet, just the occasional car driving by. Jimi’s lips and tongue were starting to crack, even from the pain he softly called for his mummah.
Neither stirred when the door opened. Chris staggered back from the smell. It was horrific and assaulted all of his senses. Covering his nose with his shirt, he lifted Jimi and Mocha, dashing to his car.
Both Jimi and Mocha are hooked up to IVs. Chris had rushed them in and when Rachel saw the fluffies she got Cheryl to run over and help. Yet again the two were left on the verge of death, but they have many times displayed amazing resiliency.
He returned an hour later for a conversation with Cheryl. “Please, have a seat.” Cheryl offered Chris a cup of coffee, which he politely accepted. “I’m clearly behind on what happened…” Cheryl shook her head, nothing was making sense.
“Well, Sammy replaced my heart medications with sugar pills. Well, I guess more accurately, the pills I left at her house were the real pills, but she replaced the pills at my house with sugar pills.” He sipped at the coffee, letting the mug warm his fingers.
“But… why?” Cheryl was at a loss for words. She knew Sammy, for years they were close friends, on top of being her boss.
“The lawyer suspects it’s some form of Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. Let me get sick so she can feel good about the sympathy? Make it so I feel like shit at home and equate her with feeling good? I don’t… I don’t fucking get it!”
And then it clicked. The time she brought Jimi in with food poisoning. When they both were suffering from fur loss and seemed thin. His surgery. Oh, his surgery… Cheryl made a few key stokes and pulled up the footage from the surgery of Jimi getting fixed.
As the video and audio played, Cheryl covered her mouth, Chris turned pale. Ever so softly, “please get me the number of the detective.”
He handed over the detectives card. “I’m not keeping them.”
“I’m sorry?” She was in a daze. Her mind racing while also screeching to a halt. Not long ago Sammy was in the chair across from her.
“Jimi and Mocha. I can’t. All I see is her. I’ll bring all their things over. Keep em, give em away, I don’t care.” Cheryl could only nod as he stood up.
“I’m so sorry, Chris. I had no idea.”
“I know. None of us did.”
Not long after, Chris returned with all the fluffy related items. On top of the piled up items in the box, was an empty bag of sugar free punishment training treats and a note for Cheryl -more evidence?-
Cheryl watched the two fluffies asleep in their cages, each hooked up to an IV. How many times have they been here like this? They went from an owner that didn’t abuse them, but neglected them and inflicted permanent physical damage, Jimi missing his leg, Mocha getting encephalitis and her broken tail. To an owner that manipulated them.
And for Cheryl, half of this was her fault. She let Sammy take them. Her actions led to the return of these two. At the moment, she didn’t know much, except that she had to make this right.
In the proceeding days Cheryl and staff kept getting bombarded by questions from the pair, she instructed them to tell them that Sammy is okay and will be back soon and divert their attention. Acknowledge and Divert. Sammy had never tried to reach out to Cheryl, but Cheryl did follow the court proceedings. She couldn’t not pay attention, especially after having to turn over the recording of the surgery to the prosecutor.
Mocha and Jimi healed up just fine, physically. Cheryl tried to use them again as helpers at the vet, but both were standoffish from the humans and uninterested at best towards other fluffies. The final straw was when Mocha wandered into a room and was locked in there for fifteen minutes. They found her in the corner crying that she was a good fluffy. Their brains are forever broken.
At that point Cheryl made the decision to them home, officially being their new mummah. They gave her a sad smile at the news, but they didn’t seem happy. Cheryl did tell them that they can call her ‘mummah’ and they would smile, a sad smile and say “otay.” Jimi and Mocha would never call her mummah, just “miss Chewyl.” Try as she might, Sammy would always be their mummah.
Every human they saw, “how time tiww mummah?” They would get the same answer every time. “Soon, she will be back soon.” They would just look down and say “Otay, tank yu,” and waddle away.
Cheryl tried to take them to fluffy daycare and they would not play with other fluffies. They would just play quietly together. Mocha saw a black pegasus with a red mane and ran up, squealing in delight, “Noba!” The pegasus turned and smiled, “hewwo nyu fwend, am Bewwy! Am soon mummah!” Mocha recoiled, and scrambled backwards. The final incident there, Jimi beat up a fluffy making fun of Mocha. Cheryl brought them home, they didn’t leave her house again.
Life was never the same for them. Their spirits had been broken. At the end, it was still always Jimi and Mocha, together. They didn’t laugh. Their smiles, which were rare, always looked sad. But, at least they had each other.
As they got older, they struggled, and Cheryl kept them in the safe room. She gave them affection, they never rejected it, but they never sought her out. She learned quickly that they had food issues now. When she would clean the safe room she would find piles of kibble stashed in their toy box or under their beds. This lessened when she added two additional food bowls overflowing with food, but they continued to squirrel away food.
Mocha, after just two years had passed on in her sleep. Cheryl suspected that her body became fragile after the encephalitis and almost starving to death. She found Jimi hugging onto her, even when she pulled him away he escaped her clutches to latch onto Mocha again. He wailed, the most heartbreaking sound Cheryl had ever heard. “Ayuda, miss Chewyl! Pwease! Wake Mocha!”
Jimi could only retreat into himself. His will to live died with Mocha. No longer was food stashed, the kibble left untouched. Cheryl would find him in Mocha’s bed, he never left it. She tried to coax him out of his shell but it was far too late. His body soon followed his spirit, and Cheryl buried him next to Mocha. Brother and sister forever sleeping next to each other, together again.
