Her ToyBear

by Bonnie Burrows

  Wesley forced himself, jerking and trembling, to his feet. With labored movements and painful steps, he took himself from the hall back to the bedroom to gather up his clothes and his bag—and leave her. His every step and every movement made him fear that he was leaving her for the last time.

  In the bathroom, Jennifer just sat, curled up in the bedspread, her face wet and her ears pricked up for any sounds coming from outside. She listened for the sounds of growls and roars and heavy footfalls. She trained her ears for the terrible noises of claws against the door of the bathroom, of the door splintering and cracking and crashing in. She prepared herself for the sight of black death with fangs and claws lumbering in to claim her.

  But all she heard, after long, anxious moments of clutching fear, was the far-off sound of the front door closing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jennifer didn’t know how long she sat in the bathroom, wrapped up in the bedspread as if it would afford her any protection from what she feared would come crashing through the door at any moment. Without her phone, her iPad, a watch, or a clock, she had no way of knowing how much time was passing while she sat, shuddering at the memory of what she had found lying beside her in bed.

  No sound had come from outside since she’d heard the door close downstairs. There were no noises of anything huge lumbering about the penthouse, no growls, no thumps or crashes. Everything was deadly silent except for the sound of her own breathing and intermittent sobbing. And that gave her time to think about what had happened, time to try to understand.

  How could she possibly understand any of this? It was insane. It was against all logic and all reason. She had awoken next to a bear. A black bear. And the creature was simply lying there, sleeping, not trying to harm her or injure her in any way. It was sleeping in her bed, in some weird, shocking reversal of the story of Goldilocks. How could it possibly have gotten there?

  And what was more, it was lying where Wesley had been. It had taken his place. Or somehow, Wesley had put it there. But why? Why would he do such a thing? Why would he do this to her?

  For that matter, how could he possibly have gotten a black bear into her penthouse and into her bed? And where did he get it?

  The only answer was what Wesley himself had told her through the bathroom door, and that was impossible. Plainly, flatly, madly impossible.

  He had said he was the bear. He’d told her that he had transformed into an animal during the night. How could he say such a thing? How could he sound as if he believed it?

  Wesley Horne was a young man. A young human man. And human beings did not transform themselves into bears any more than they changed into wolves or bats. Such things belonged to the movies. They had nothing to do with reality.

  So then, that returned Jennifer to her original set of questions. What was the bear doing there and what did it have to do with Wesley?

  The only thing she knew for certain was that she would never learn the answers to any of this by just sitting in the bathroom. The answers were all out there—with her phone and her iPad and any other connection with the outside world. If she were to understand any of what had taken place this morning, she would have to brave the penthouse outside of this bathroom. She would have to risk the very real possibility of that animal still being out there, waiting patiently, biding its time for her to step out. She wondered if she could find some way of fending it off. Perhaps if it had left the bedroom and gone to some other part of the penthouse, she could make a break for it and run back to the bedroom and lock herself in. She might try to barricade the bedroom door, which, if luck were on her side, might hold the animal at bay while she called 911. She ran that call through her mind—Help! There’s a black bear in my penthouse! —and imagined the reaction of the 911 dispatcher on the other end. But what else could she do?

  Fighting back her tremors of fear, Jennifer got herself back on her feet and made a toga of part of the bedspread, trailing the rest of it behind her as she made for the cabinet under the bathroom sink. Perhaps she could find something in there to spray into the bear’s eyes if it came after her.

  That was when she heard the voice from downstairs, which came just as she stooped down to open the cabinet. It made her bolt back upright, seized with fear all over again.

  “Mrs. Casey? Mrs. Casey, are you here?”

  Jennifer gasped and turned pale at hearing Lucinda, her cleaning woman. She’d forgotten this was one of Lucinda’s mornings to come and work. She always arrived between breakfast and lunch; it must be about eleven in the morning now. Oh my God, Lucinda is out there and she has no idea. She’ll find it and it’ll kill her!

  Frantically, Jennifer took a plastic bottle of some cleaning product from the cabinet without even bothering to look at it. Her only thought was perhaps to spray enough of it into the creature’s eyes to sting it painfully enough to give herself and Lucinda a chance to escape. She went to the bathroom door and braced herself. Then she opened the door—carefully, just a crack. “Lucinda?” she called.

  From nearer by came Lucinda’s answer. Jennifer heard the woman’s footfalls on the steps leading to the upper floor. “Mrs. Casey? Are you in the studio?”

  “I’m in the bathroom! Lucinda, be careful, please!”

  “Why? Did you spill something?” The woman’s voice was in the hallway now, right outside, getting closer.

  “Just…just be careful! There may be something in the bedroom! Or…I don’t know where it is now! I’m going to come out. We may have to run.”

  The tanned, middle-aged features of the Mexican woman appeared in the opening of the door. Lucinda looked perplexed as she asked, “Run from what, Mrs. Casey? What did you see? Was it a spider?”

  Jennifer fixed her with a pained and anxious look. “No, no, it’s not a spider. Don’t you see anything out there at all? Do you hear anything?”

  “I don’t see anything but you, standing in the bathroom wearing a blanket. Mrs. Casey, what’s the matter?”

  Confused, Jennifer asked, “Are you sure there’s nothing out there?”

  “I don’t see anything, ma’am. Whatever it was, maybe it went away? Listen, I can start straightening up the bedroom as usual. If there’s a spider, I’ll kill it.”

  Jennifer pulled the door closed and stood there for a moment, pondering what to do. She couldn’t simply leave her cleaning woman out there at the mercy of that animal. There was nothing to do now but be brave enough to try to face it. They were two people. Perhaps between the two of them, they could manage to hold it off and escape.

  She opened the bathroom door and stepped out; she was at once met with a quizzical look from Lucinda. “What are you doing with that, Mrs. Casey?” Lucinda asked. “Did you make a mess in there?”

  “No,” said Jennifer. “It’s all right in there. Listen, just…come into the bedroom with me. But be careful, please.”

  Lucinda shrugged. “Okay. But I’ve never seen you like this, Mrs. Casey. You’re not even wearing anything under there.”

  Holding up the bottle of cleaner, Jennifer began to step cautiously in the direction of the bedroom. “I didn’t have time to put on anything but this,” she said. “Stay behind me.”

  Lucinda shook her head and followed Jennifer down the hall to the open door of the bedroom. She looked on, bewildered, as Jennifer reached out and pushed the door open wider. With a gulp for courage, she stepped back into the bedroom and held up the bottle again, ready to spray forth its contents at…

  …nothing. The room was empty. There was an unmade bed, and on the floor a brush and a mirror. No sign of Wesley. Not his clothes or his bag.

  And…no bear.

  “He’s gone,” Jennifer simply said.

  “Who?” asked Lucinda. “The boy…I mean, the young man you’ve been seeing? He’s usually gone by now.”

  “Yes,” said Jennifer, half-whispering. “Yes, he is.”

  “Listen, you want me to start straightening up in here now or start somewhere else today?”

&n
bsp; Absently, Jennifer replied, “You can start downstairs this morning. I…want to get myself freshened up and dressed right now. I…had a late morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Lucinda, not adding aloud, If I were sleeping with a boy like that, all my mornings would be late mornings. And she excused herself from the bedroom.

  Alone again, Jennifer went to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, pulling the spread up around herself. Her mind swirled with thoughts that she could not sort out. She could not understand any of this. She had no idea where to start trying to understand.

  All that she had were Wesley’s own words, his explanation that what she’d found lying in her bed was in fact Wesley himself.

  That just was not possible.

  _______________

  Wesley did not bother to go to the gym that day. He was in no condition to tend to Diamond Gym’s customers, or to work out, or to run, or to eat, or to do anything. When he reached his studio, he called in sick for the first time ever. Wesley was never sick and never took days off. At least, he never did until now. He was sick today—stricken to his heart.

  Dropping his bag near the door, he shuffled over to his bed, fell onto it, and curled up there, holding one pillow as he wished he were holding a beautiful auburn-haired artist. His face twisted and creased with the greatest, deepest anguish he had ever known, a pain such as he had never felt in all his young life. Sorrow enclosed his heart. Tears poured freely from his eyes. And he sobbed out her name: “Jennifer…”

  Over and over, crying in grief, Wesley spoke her name. “Jennifer…Jennifer…” Each time, it seemed to sink him even deeper into a well of despair. But he could not help himself. The name that he wept now in pain was the name that had made him want to weep for joy. The only thing to surpass the wonder and amazement of falling in love with her was the unutterable pain of possibly never seeing her again—never holding her, never making love to her.

  And it was a very real possibility. The shock and terror on her face at the sight of him transformed into his other physical self were now seared into his brain. He hated himself for what he had done to Jennifer. And his greatest dread was that he would never have a chance to put it right.

  More than anything, Wesley wanted to go to her again, to meet with her, to explain everything about himself and about his life to her. He wanted somehow to try to make her understand.

  And what if she could not understand, no matter how hard he tried? What if it were all beyond her ability to understand or accept? Jennifer was only human after all. And humans were creatures of fear who could not abide anything different from themselves. Humans could hardly live with the differences between each other, much of the time. How could Jennifer Casey be expected to live with the difference between herself and an Ursan? Right now, Wesley knew, the woman he loved was probably contemplating all the time she had spent naked with him, touching, caressing, kissing, licking, sucking in all the places where only lovers were allowed; letting him penetrate deep inside her womanhood, reveling in his body and what reached out erect from his loins. Right now she was probably contemplating the insanity of him telling her that he was both a man and a bear after making love to her all those times—and hating him for it.

  Oh God, don’t let her hate me. If she hates me, I’ll die.

  What could Wesley do? This was the very thing his parents had warned him not to let happen. He had fallen in love with a human. And the very thing they had warned him could follow, had followed. What was left to do?

  He had to call his parents. He had to talk to them. He could imagine what they would say. But he needed to speak to them all the same. He needed to hear their voices. He needed to hear the voice of someone who loved him. Even if it was not Jennifer.

  But not now. It would have to wait. Right now the feeling was too raw; the hurt was too keen. Right now Wesley could not even bring himself to utter the words to describe what had happened. He could not stand to hear himself put those words into the air, speaking of how he had come to love Jennifer and find his greatest happiness with her, only to see her flee from him, horrified at learning what he really was.

  For now, Wesley could only lie there and cry.

  _______________

  “For a while there, I was starting to think we’d become strangers,” Michelle admitted, sitting next to Jennifer on the sofa in the living room. They were in their accustomed places, Michelle on the sofa, Jennifer on the Ottoman. Jennifer had made tea, which in any other case would be a mere social pleasantry. Today, however, Jennifer had made Red Zinger, and that blend was a red flag: for during that time when Jennifer discovered Ken’s infidelity and their marriage fell to pieces, she had spent hours confiding in Michelle over cups of Red Zinger. Another Red Zinger talk, Michelle knew, was not likely to mean anything good.

  Jennifer was careful to meet Michelle’s eyes and not look at where she was sitting: for to look at where Michelle was sitting would be to remember all the things that had happened on that sofa over the last few weeks, all the time she had spent under the urgently thrusting Wesley, loving the boy’s body and manhood.

  Jennifer wondered why she hadn’t asked Michelle into the dining room—where Wesley had sat with her over dinner, wearing nothing but that robe, and asked her if she wanted to skip dessert. Wesley had been dessert that night, all night. She realized that no matter where in the penthouse she talked to Michelle, there would be some reminder of her naked and erect young lover, the things she had taken such joy in doing to him, and the things she had welcomed him doing to her. They might as well keep to their habit of talking right here.

  “Jennifer? Hello? Jen, still with me?”

  Michelle’s gently calling voice and the wave of her hand in the air between them snapped Jennifer back to attention. “I’m…I’m sorry, Michelle. My mind went someplace else for a minute.”

  “I’ll bet,” Michelle said. “I said I was starting to think we’d become strangers. We haven’t talked in weeks, and I could pretty much guess why not. So what’s going on now?”

  “There’s nothing going on,” Jennifer replied. “I just thought we might have a chance to catch up.”

  “But there’s been something going on, right? The last time we talked, it was about you and the young model—Wesley, right?”

  At the sound of his name, Jennifer raised her cup from the table and took a comforting swallow of tea. “Yes,” she replied. “Wesley.”

  “So, things went as well as could be expected, I guess, huh?”

  “Things went very well, yes,” Jennifer answered, a bit absently, looking away at nothing.

  “So why don’t you look like things have been going well?” Michelle asked, sincerely concerned at the expression shadowing her friend’s face. “Is he coming over tonight?”

  Jennifer put her cup down and lowered her eyes as well. Softly, she replied, “No, he’s not coming over tonight. I don’t know…if I’ll ever see him again.”

  Now they were getting to the heart of it, and it was sounding more and more as if that heart were badly broken. Michelle put down her own cup and slid over closer to Jennifer on the sofa. Leaning in, she asked, “Honey, what happened? Please tell me.”

  In a pained voice Jennifer said, “I don’t think I can.”

  Michelle reached out and put a hand on Jennifer’s knee. “Oh no. Oh, Jen…it was someone else, wasn’t it? After everything that Ken put you through, it was someone else. Oh, Jen, honey, I’m so sorry. Was it a girl his own age?”

  Jennifer shook her head, still not wanting to look at Michelle. “No, not another woman.”

  With a start, Michelle suggested, “Then it was another guy? Was that it—another guy?”

  Rolling her eyes, at least relieved on that score, Jennifer replied, “No, I’m sure Wesley is thoroughly heterosexual.”

  “Then was it your age difference? Did he decide he really wanted a girl his own age?”

  “He actually told me about a girl his own age that he was in love with once.
But no, it wasn’t that either. The age difference was never a problem. Believe me, it wasn’t. As a matter of fact, Wesley made me feel as if we were both twenty-five. Four or five times a night, usually, and a couple of times every morning, he made me feel that way. And never a quickie.”

  Michelle sighed. “That much… That’s what you get with a kid that age, isn’t it?”

  Jennifer sighed back. “Yes…yes, it is.”

  “So, what was it, then? If you were that good together, that much, what’s the problem?”