Sometimes it’d be for a few moments, other times…hours.

He didn’t always stay with her through the night though.

I remember times I’d wake up and he’d be standing in the dark corner of my room, watching me sleep, his eyes like shining oceans. Other times he’d be staring at me through the crack in my door. He’d stand there for hours, just…fucking…watching.

Sometimes I’d wake up to him sliding into bed with me, always placing a cool hand over my thigh.

Heart thundering, fear ripping apart my insides, I’d always turn away from him, breaking out in cold sweats. I still had Growls, my constant source of child-like comfort. I’d hug him to my chest, tears running down my face until either the sun came up or exhaustion shut my brain down.

We endured this silently, begging for it to end.

July 1974

I was eleven. It was the fifth year, to the day, since Tommy had entered our lives. I sat in the living room, reading a book while my mother prepared supper for us. She was pale and gaunt, the long years wearing her to the bone. Her eyes were lifeless these days and had sunk into her sockets, her cheekbones pronounced, skin thinly stretching over them.

Growls lay on my chest as I reclined, trying to focus on my book. Tommy was sitting in the chair across from me, watching.

I turned a page and jumped as Tommy spoke.

“You really love that thing don’t you.”

I turned to Tommy, “M-my book?”

Tommy shook his head, smiling, “No, son. That bear.”