This initially started out inspired by something I read in TFC discord, the original idea was by Spanky. But the more I wrote, the more it took on a life of its own. I still fully intend to continue with my other stories. For now, enjoy the first part of Maddening!
MADDENING
Your name is George Branson. You’re an average guy. You go out of your way not to stand out and have successfully done so. You don’t have very many hobbies, either. There isn’t much that sparks any feeling or joy in your heart. It all started when you were a child. You were a regular boy from a (relatively) loving home. You just remember being upset by…something. You don’t remember what. Like other children, you had your very own fluffy. He was a good boy. One of the best. You were sitting in your room, and he…he just kept pestering you. You can still hear it in your head. “Wittew daddeh! Wittew daddeh! Yu wook suuu sad! Gib Beefy huggies an’ yu feew bet—AAAACK!” Your slender little fingers wrapped around his neck, holding him in the air infront of you. His eyes were bulging out of his head, his little legs thrashing. You remember the tears streaming down his red cheeks. “DAAADHHHKKK…” it rasped. You felt such a surge of energy. Such pleasure. In that moment you were truly immortal. As a God.
A terrible stench filled your nose, followed by warmth.
In his panic, Beefy voided his bowels and coated your lap in his excrement. You weren’t upset by it at all. You had tuned it out. Eventually, Beefy stopped thrashing. You heard what sounded like an egg being crushed, and it was all over. You dropped Beefy where you sat, his eyes dull and lifeless. Your senses soon returned to you, and you felt winded. You couldn’t believe what you had done to Beefy! You panicked and ran downstairs. Your mother was less concerned with the dead fluffy and more that you had shit all over your nice clothes she’d just washed. “GEORGE HARMON BRANSON! I JUST WASHED THOSE!” You were babbling, unable to get an answer out. “Huuhh…I…I…mmnn…I did…I…I…did…I…” Your mother gripped your shoulder. “Georgie!” She was afraid that she had seriously sent you into a panic. “Relax, baby. Relax…” she murmured, stroking your back.
You took a sip of water and finally calmed yourself.
“Why did you let Beefy take a number two on you? What’s wrong with you?” You began sniffling and snotting until you began crying. “I…Beefy…he…I…” you squeaked. Your mother was concerned and went upstairs and screamed your name. You ran up in a fit of fear. “Just wait until your father gets home, young man!” She was furious. But…but not in the way that you expected. You were just instructed to just clean the mess you had made and take a shower to clean yourself. Later that evening, your father, a man in his late 30s with one helluva mean streak called you into his study. Study was too generous a word—he simply had his wife remodel the inside of his home office to give it a more classical look. You always hated the smell of wood polish. You could tell by the way his speech became more stilted and paused that he was drunk. On his table sat a trashbag. You could make out the shape of Beefy, turned to his side.
“You mind expla…ining WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS?!”
Your father was furious. You cowered in fear as he rose from his seat. “I WORK SIX DAYSH’ A FUCKIN’ WEEK AND ON MY ONE FUCKIN’ SATURDAY I HAVE OFF Y…YOUR MUTHA’ HAS ME DRIVIN’ ALL OVER FUCKIN CREATION AROUND TOWN FINDING YOU A FUCKIN’ FLUFFY WITH THE COLORS YOU WANT!” You so badly wanted to run. But running was always much worse, and what that would get you. You could see the veins on his neck bulge out as his face was as red as the Campari he was drinking. “YOU EVEN TH…THINK ABOUT THAT?” he said, as he began to sit back down. “IT MI…MIGHT NOT SEEM LIKE IT BUT…BUT I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART!” he continued. “BUT WHEN YOU DO STUPID’ FUCKIN’ SHIT LIKE THIS…IT. PISSES. ME. THE. FUCK. OFF!” he roared, smashing his hand with such force on his desk. Suddenly, his eyes widened and his voice lowered. “G…Go. Get your mutha. Tell ‘er to bring me shome ice…”
You blinked.
“G…Get ‘dis shit outta my offish…just…just go, son. If you ever want a new fluffy, then, I ain’t wastin’ a single minute lookin’ for one.”
You felt as though your heart was in your throat.
“…Y…Yes papa…”
It took a few moments for the fear to wear off, and you suddenly remembered you had two legs and two arms, perfect for disposing of that bag. You took a glance at your father, and his teeth were gritted tight. You took the bag, and slowly made your way back downstairs. You very nearly found yourself being startled by your father’s yelling which carried down the hall. “MOTHER OF FUCKING SHIT! AAAAAGH! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!” You quickly gathered yourself and found your mother. “D…Dad said he needed some ice…” you managed to stammer. She simply rolled her eyes, and paused whatever it was she was watching on TV. Afterward, you finally made your way outside. You felt empty. Hollow, even. You expected to be yelled at. He…he had taken a life. His poor little fluffy’s life. But it didn’t seem to register to either of his parents in the same way an actual animal would have. You had never felt any pleasure in life greater than what you had just inflicted upon Beefy just mere hours ago.
You tossed the body into the trash, not daring to look inside.
That pleasure would seep into your dreams. You couldn’t escape it. It kept building up more and more until weeks later you took to the woods behind your house, on a crisp autumn Saturday morning. It was known for the high population of feral fluffies. You felt such a rush of euphoria when you laid eyes upon a group of them. You weren’t sure how to approach them. Your attempts which were very primitive, just blurting out “Hello!” only proved to frighten the lesser fluffies, while only the so-called “smarty” and his “toughies” remained. “Wut you doin, dummeh wittew hoomin! Dis smawty wan’ WEAB, NAO!” it screeched, stomping its hoof. It had a mottled red and brown coat of fluff, with a sea-green mane. You knew how these herds worked. Or so you thought. You’d seen plenty of videos on YouTube and had watched many-a episode of Good Fluff Bad Fluff with Beefy, teaching him the values of staying indoors and not running away to join a herd.
“I…I want a new fluffy to take home. I have lots of toys and spaghetti to give to one lucky fluffy!”
You tried to sound genuine. You really did. One of the toughies looked up to you, its fierce (for a fluffy anyway) expression softened. Its eyes glittered, perhaps remembering a time when it too had a loving home…spaghetti…toys…all the things a fluffy could ever want! The other fluffies, however, were not as amused. “DUMMEH WITTEW HOOMIN NU TWICK SMAWTY! HOOMIN JUS’ WAN’ GIB SMAWTY AN’ HEWD WOWSTEST HUWTIES AN’ FOWEBA SWEEPIES!” The toughie did not heed its smarty leader, instead approaching. “…Wittew hoomin’ weawwy gib fwuffy housie an’ skettis?” it asked. You looked over at the approaching fluffy, nodding vigorously. “Y…Yeah! All that and more!” You felt your heart thump in your chest as it approached. The smarty interjected once more. “DUMMEH! NU WEAB HEWD! SMAWTY GON’ GIB DUSTY DUMMEH BABBEHS FOWEBAH SWEEPIES! SMAWTY GON’ TAKE DUSTY SPESHUW FWEN’!” it bellowed, which seemed to give the stallion pause.
It looked at you, and then back to the smarty. At you, back to the smarty. It repeated this about five times, before it took off running towards you.
“DUSTY NU CAWE! DUSTY WAN’ HOUSIE AN’ SKETTIS! NU WAN’ BE IN HEWD NU MOWE!” it screamed, as you scooped the fluffy up into your arms. As you held it, it glowered over at the smarty-fluffy and blew raspberries at it. You’d stared directly into the face of a fluffy experiencing the worst terror and betrayal one could experience. But until now, you’d never seen a fluffy contort its muzzle into something demonstrating such animosity and hatred. “Hehe!” the fluffy apparently named Dusty giggled. “Dummeh smawty! Dummeh smawty nu hab howsie! Nu hab skettis!” he taunted, as you began to jog away. You weren’t really looking to get soiled on by a fluffy again so soon. As soon as you could no longer hear furious squeaking and squealing. Afterwards, you looked down to get a closer look at your little fluffy friend.
“Hi, daddeh!”
“So…your name is Dusty?”
The fluffy nodded. “Owd daddeh name Dusty Dusty when jus’ widdew babbeh.” “Old…daddy? You used to be somebody’s fluffy?” He nodded again. “How did you end up in a herd?” Dusty frowned. “Dusty teww daddeh dat Dusty speshuw wumps huwt, an’ nee’ speshul fwen’ fo speshul huggies.”
You rolled your eyes. Beefy was starting to get like that, too.
“Uhuhh…”
“Den daddeh say Dusty am bad fwuffy, an’ dat daddeh gon’ hab Dusty speshuw wumps taken ‘way! You cringed slightly. “Den wots’a fowebas ago, Dusty weab dummeh daddeh! Dusty wun faw, den meet smawty Spottyfwuff.”
Okay. Everything seemed to check out so far.
“Spottyfwuff see Dusty am biggew dan udda fwuffies in da hewd, su make Dusty wun’a da toughies. Dat mean Dusty get speshuw fwen’!” You had noticed that he had quite a bit extra bulk for a fluffy.
“I noticed he said he would give your babies “forever sleepies”.”
Dusty stared forward for a moment, looking slightly sad. “Dat gib Dusty heawt huwties…but nyu daddeh wet Dusty hab nyu speshuw fwen’ an’ make nyu babbehs!”
For a moment, you felt a tinge of disgust, but it soon passed. A feeling of intense excitement took its place. You didn’t harbor any strong feelings one way or another about this fluffy. This fluffy’s tan coat was matted with funk and gunk and everything in between. Not to mention the smell. Like a skunk had a pine-sol enema. “You don’t smell pretty.” You said, chuckling. Dusty frowned. “D-Dusty gunna do wickie-cweanies!” he said, slightly alarmed. “How about I just hose you down when I get home? We should be almost there.” Dusty gulped. “H-Hosie? Buh…Buh scawy wawas am nu gud fow’ Dusty!” he squeaked nervously. You gently stroked his head, and almost immediately regretted your decision. Your finger parted some of his mane and fluff, revealing an uncountable number of fleas living on him. “Oh, wow. That’s pretty bad.” You say, as Dusty’s eyes falter.
“Wuh? Wha…wat am bad, daddeh? D-Dusty am gud fwuffy! Pwomise!”
“You’re crawling with fleas, little guy. That’s not good for you.” Dusty cocked his head curiously. “Wut am fwees?” he asked, taking a breath in relief. You could feel that he was still ill at ease, like he would slip through your fingers and wind out in the woods again. “They’re nasty little bugs that live in people’s hair, and for you, that means they live in your fluff and mane.” Dusty pulled his head back in shock. “W-Wat?! WAT?!” his eyes began to water. “Buh…BUH…DUSTY…DUST AM GUD FWUFFY! WAI HAB ICKY BUGGIES IN FWUFF?!” he whined, as the tears began to flow. You quickly hold him close and try to give him a series of consolatory strokes with the back of your right hand. You notice small patches of missing fluff and irritated skin.
“Oooh! Wite dewe! Dusty hab wowstest itchies!”
You giggled uncomfortably as Dusty cooed and sighed as you did your best to relieve the itching with your knuckles. Dusty, for his part, really leaned himself into you, giving you the best hug that he could manage. “Fank yu nyu daddeh…Dusty wub yu!”
You felt absolutely nothing.
You silently walked over to the shed near your mother’s gazebo and garden. “Wao…su pwetty!” Dusty said, craning his head to survey all that which was to be his. “Wots’o pwetty nummies…” the fluffy mused, as he licked his lips. “Those aren’t for eating. My mom’d kill me if I let you eat them.” You said softly, as you walked towards the tool shed. It was intended to be an area for your dad to teach you the basics of construction and such, but it never happened. Always too busy. “Wait…whewe daddeh goin’? Dis nu howsie…” Dusty said, his disappointment plain. “I need to clean you up first.” You said, depositing Dusty on the work bench. “Buh…Dusty am su hungies! Wan’ gud nummies an’ pway wif daddeh! In housie!” he whined. You were beginning to lose your nerve.
The anxiety was starting to form a knot in your gut.
Asphyxiating.
Tightening.
“I’ll…I’ll get you something to eat, alright…” you weakly mumbled. You strode away towards the door. “Daddeh…pwease wet Dusty into howsie? Just fow’ wook-see?” it said pleadingly. You turned to look at him, your eyes wide as dinner plates. You remembered feeling cold and clammy that day. The words would simply not come out, so, you simply pushed the door closed. “I can do this…I can do this…I WANT to do this…” you mumbled to yourself as you walked in through the kitchen door. Sweat was beginning to trickle from your brow. You remembered feeling light, like you could float away at any moment. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Beefy’s food bowl sitting right next to the trashcan. You almost fell over bending down to pick it up, but you steadied yourself. You had to avoid looking at the lights. It was like staring into highbeams. Okay. Good. You got your balance and began to shuffle on over towards the pantry.
“It’s…here…right here…”
You wanted to throw up when you laid eyes on the can of “Spender’s Spaghetti Surprise”. On the label was an especially plump fluffy dressed in chef’s whites, with a hand on his hip. In the other, it was holding a platter of fresh spaghetti. Of course, it was the dogfood equivalent of spaghetti, and you…you saw the eyes move. The fluffy…you never quite noticed before on the wrapper. He was that same shade of red. No. NO.
“Daddeh? Wat wong?”
With a shaky hand you reached for the can. It nearly slipped out, but you managed to hold it securely in both hands. The can felt so heavy in your hands…you thought your arms were gonna fall off.
“Beefy miss yu, daddeh…”
The next thing you remember was laying flat on your back, the can laying on your chest. You could hear a thumping sound against the sliding glass door in the kitchen. You took a moment before getting back up and grabbing the can. “DADDEH!” “WHEWE YU GO, DADDEH?!” The voice was shrill. You walked back out into the kitchen, where Dusty was throwing himself against the window. “DADDEH! DAAAADDEH!” Dusty squealed, his tail swishing in a very satisfied arc. “Hey, buddy…” you mumbled, as you held the can out toward the glass door. “Do you know what this is?” you asked, speaking up so that he could hear you. He squinted for a moment, and his eyes practically bugged out of his head. “S…S…SKETTIS! SKETTIS! SKETTIS! SKETTIS FOW DUSTY!!!” he screamed. His tongue was dangling out of his mouth, as he fell backwards.
He looked so happy. So very happy.
You let out a sigh. “D…Dusty…?” you said, watching him absolutely spaz out. “Du…Dusty. Be good and sit there for a moment.” The stallion’s ears perked up at the very mention of “good”. “Otay! Dusty am da goodest fwuffy ebah!” he squeaked, giving you the time you needed to collect a few things. You passed by your mom’s cuckoo clock and made note of the time. It was about 7’o clock when you went into the woods, and you had been in the woods for maybe…an hour and a half. It was now 12:30 In the afternoon. That frightened you a little bit. Sure, you’d have your “spells” as your mother would call them from time to time, but, you had never passed out for hours at a time! Right. Your resolve was only steeled. You’d get to lose yourself in the tidal wave of pleasure you’d felt before. You were almost done. Quickly then, you collected a deep metal washpan, a can opener, and Beefy’s bowl.
“Dusty! Are you ready to eat, boy?”
Dusty’s eyes widened as he jumped to his hooves. “Yesh! Yesh! Dusty am suuuuuu hungwy! Dusty am gud fwuffy, su Dusty nu eat da pwetty nummies outside!” he said, which brought you a deep sense of relief. Your parents left you home alone regularly, and now there would be absolutely no trace of what you had gotten up to. You slide open the glass door with your elbow and quickly slam it shut so Dusty couldn’t get in. He brushed his filthy body against your legs as you wordlessly walked back over to the shed. True to his word, the only thing that had been disturbed in the yard was a small bald spot of grass that had seemingly been eaten by the fluffy. Jarring the door open with your foot, you proceeded with Dusty hot on your heels. You placed the washtub on the floor and placed the can of spaghetti and bowl on the worktable, carefully facing the front label away.
“Upsies! Wan upsies! Dusty nee’ upsies!”
You forgot what you were doing for a second. You took a breather, and then bent down to hoist the fluffy. “DUSTY NU HAB SKETTIS FU SOOOO WONG!” The screeching was almost like nails on a chalkboard. “Settle down a moment…” you said, as you clamped the can opener around the lip of the can. You heard the slight crack of metal yielding to metal, and the shed soon filled with the sharp smell of what must have been very acidic tomatoes. You flipped the now open can upside down and smacked the bottom of it until the can-shaped blob of pasta slid out and landed in the bowl. Dusty wasted no time, practically diving on it. You gently rubbed the top of the stallion’s greasy, irritated scalp with your index knuckle before stepping away. “I just need to step away for a moment.” You got no response back as Dusty ate as if he’d never eaten in his life.
Dusty was facing his backside towards you. As his tail swished, you caught a glimpse of something truly vile. You were given an eyeful of Dusty’s ass. It was red and inflamed, with what appeared to be green mucus oozing from it. It looked as though a bee had stung it. You doubled back and staggered outside.
As the churning in your stomach subsided, your thoughts began to turn inward. This whole thing had left you feeling naught but an anxious wreck. Maybe when you’d finally wrap up, you’d feel better. Unfurling the hose took but an instant, and the release valve was loose as could be. You dragged the hose all the way into the shed and left the nozzle over the side of the washpan. You glanced back at Dusty, who had worked at that spaghetti, chewing through it as if it were an apple. As the tub filled, you decided you might try and make conversation with the thing. It was better than the silence.
“So…uh…Dusty.”
“MMmhpmfffn!”
“Duuusty….”
Still, he did not lift his head to speak. You gave him a firm pat on the back, startling him. “EEP! Wat wong, daddeh?” he asked, catching his breath. It appeared as though the task of eating had left him winded.
“I’m just curious about you, buddy. That’s all.”
Dusty cocked his head. “Wat daddeh wan’ no?” he asked, giving you a smile.
“Hmm…tell me about your special friend and babies. If that’s okay with you.”
For a moment, Dusty’s eyes seem to soften. “Speshuw fwen’ am da pwettiest mawe in da howe hewd. She wook wike smawty, becawse speshuw fwen’ am smawty’s sissy. Speshuw fwen’ Pwettyspot gib Dusty da bestest babbehs ebah…” Dusty turned away from a moment. From the look in his eyes, it seemed as though he was weighing the choice he’d made today against the promises you fulfilled to him. It seemed like it was worth it. “Spottyfwuff hab tu wingie babbeh, pointy babbeh, an’ poopie babbeh.”
You were all too familiar with the concept. The ‘Good Mummah and Daddeh’ show had made Beefy tell you all the time about what he’d do with a so-called poopie babbeh. He’d love and cherish it like any other.
As you glanced down to check how full the tub was, the disgust sort of set in when you remembered what the smarty fluffy had said before you’d left with Dusty. The tub seemed deep enough now.
“Okay, Dusty. It’s time for your bath.” You said, reaching out to grab him. “N-Nu! Dusty…Dusty nu’ need baffies! Wan eat mowe’ skettis fiwst.” He whined, as he quickly buried his face in what remained of the spaghetti. Dusty, the slavering beast that he was, began to whine and squeal as you picked him up off the worktable. “That’ll still be there for you after you finish your bath.” Your breathing became labored as Dusty struggled. “NU! NU!!! NU WAN’ BAFFIES!” he screeched. “Come on! Stop! You need your bath!” you groaned, digging your heels into the concrete floor. “WE’GO!! WE’GO, DUMMEH DADDEH!” It seemed Dusty’s title of “toughie” was well earned. He was throwing his weight in all the right ways to try and throw you off-balance. Almost as if he’d been in a situation like this before. “WEGGO DUMMEH DADDEH! WEGGO OW’ DUSTY GIB SOWWY POOPIES!”
“GGH! JUST GO INTO THE FRICKIN’ TUB!”
Just then, your nose twitched.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeEEE!”
splash.
That startled the ever-loving shit out of you.
It seems that instead of “sorry poopies”, Dusty expelled a blackened lump of flesh the size of a small child’s fist from his ass. Judging from how he screamed in a way you’d never heard a fluffy scream before; it was extremely agonizing. “Oh…oh my god…” you groaned as the smell reached your nose. It was perhaps the worst smell you’d ever smelled in your life.
It smelled like death and rot.
Dusty, for his part, was screaming his head off. “SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! WAI YU MAKE DUSTY HAB WOWSTEST POOPIE PWACE HUWTIES?!” he shrieked, as tears ran down his face. Your grasp weakened for a moment, and he slipped out of your grasp and fell into the tub. The black mass was bobbing alongside Dusty as he thrashed. “HEEEWP! HEEEEWP! PWEEEEESE!” he begged, as he tried to drag himself to the edge of the washtub.
Your mind went blank for a moment.
Then you felt that killer instinct kick in. The washtub began to rock as Dusty struggled with what little energy he had left. “UUUUUHUUUHUUU!” he sobbed. The water was beginning to become clouded by feces streaked with blood and what you could only imagine as being mucus and pus. You dropped to your knees, with one arm wrapped around your waist.
Oh god.
You were actually…
”BLEUUUUARGH!”
You could see Dusty be pelted with chunks out of the corner of your eye. Oh god. Oh god. Your eyes were stinging from the horrific stench emanating from the tub. “HUUUUUHUUUUHUUU! DADDEH PWEASE! HEWP DUSTY! HEEEW—BLLLNNBNNHN!” You were beginning to heave now, with one arm stuck out to prop you up on the ground. The other was planted ontop of Dusty’s head, forcefully holding down to the bottom of the tub.
Dusty’s above-average strength had finally been exhausted. You could hear gurgling and frantic thrashing in the tub. Your arm was covered in an unholy mixture of filth, but you didn’t care. You just wanted this to be over. You yanked your arm out of the tub, making sure to also remove the hose nozzle to prevent anymore mess from spilling out. You laid there in silence. Where…where was it?
What was the point?
You still felt as empty on the inside as when you first began this.
The rest of that day was a blur. You remember tossing the washtub and your clothes into the garbage. Then you curled into a ball in the shower and laid there for a good while, at least until you felt clean. You dumped a significant amount of bleach into the work shed, making sure to crack all the windows to properly ventilate it. You didn’t dare speak a word of any of it to anybody. Mother probably forgot she even had that washtub. In your eyes, all of it had amounted to a tremendous waste of time and energy. You didn’t even feel anything when you drowned that fluffy. Not even an ounce of that feeling you had when you asphyxiated Beefy. Though you would be haunted for weeks and months to come by the smells of that day, you would eventually come to wash your hands of fluffies entirely.
It’d been about 10 or 11 years since then, and you had just turned 24. You finished school, and your father all too gleefully had you hired into his law firm. He was so happy and proud that he’d finally be able to add a second ‘Branson’ to Branson, Chang and Zoucks. Corporate law wasn’t something that terribly interested you, and you mostly sleptwalk through it all. Even passing the bar was a blurry, faded memory. You’d become little more than an automaton. Until one day. While exiting the building, you passed by the alley adjoining the law offices and the bakery next door. You heard a familiar noise.
“Uuuhuuhuu…”
You stepped closer to the source of the noise and found a cardboard box that stood on its side. Inside, there lay a bloated fluffy. She had a deep purple coat of fluff with an orange mane that sat upon her head. You squat down and offer a soft “Hello.”
“EEEEP!”
The fluffy tried to get up and for a moment she had succeeded. Her little leggies gave out the instant she tried to step forward. “N-Nice mistew?” it asked, its eyes large as dinner plates. “I am a very nice mister, yes.” You reply. “Why are you alone out here? Don’t you have a… erm…special friend?” The verbiage felt strange coming out of your mouth. It had been so long since you last thought about fluffies. “Huu…fwuffy am’ soon mummah su speshuw fwen’ twy tu find gud nummies su fwuffy haff miwkies fow’ babbehs…nice mistew fwom da bakewie teww speshuw fwen’ dat he hab tastiest nummies fow me inside…but he nu back yet.” You had met the owner a few times, and he could be very nasty. There was no way, you thought, absolutely no way that her “speshuw fwen” hadn’t met a grisly end inside the bakery.
As you silently stared at the fluffy, the gears in your head began to turn.
And turn.
And turn.
And turn.
Until finally, you felt…it. That primal urge from before. “…I…I could give you a place to stay.” You offered, extending your hand for her to sniff. Her eyes lit up with such joy. “W…Weawwy?! Nice mistew be nyu daddeh fow fwuffy an’ tummeh babbehs?!” she squeaked, mouth agape. A simple nod was all it took for her to begin squealing and joyfully begin kicking her legs. “I need to go get something. I’ll be right back, okay?” you murmur, quickly jogging back to your car. You certainly weren’t going to get your suit dirty. A short few moments later, and you were back with a towel. “Are you ready for upsies?” you ask, swaddling the mare. She still wasn’t sure about this, but a promise seemed better than the cold reality of wallowing in your waste until you gave birth. You hoisted her up, and held her just like a baby, her head inches above your shoulder.
“…Fank yu, nyu daddeh…”
She seemed sweet, at least. “Try not to go to the bathroom in my car, okay? Be a good girl and hold it in until we get home.”
“F-Fwuffy am gud fwuffy! Nu make bad poopies or peepees!”
Expressionless still, you deposited the fluff into the back seat of your car, securing her with the seatbelt.
For a moment, your thoughts turned back toward that day. Why would it be any different now than it was then? You weren’t sure, but you think you found the secret missing ingredient.
It was love.