My daddy the bear

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And with that he hit Chyna's weak spot: unfortunately, or fortunately, Chyna got some ugly news a few years ago from the closest clinic to her house; that was the last time her husband went with her anywhere. She did not understand that at first, but her doctors told her that her flower was not going to be able to bloom, so she would never get to carry a creature merely biological into her arms. That damaged her, but her husband's departure was the cherry on the top. Woe was Chyna!

   "Do you think you can just turn your back to him and act like nothing happened?" she was complaining still on her feet, "do you have any idea what I'd give if I were in your pelt?"

  It was obvious that this was hurting Chyna; anybody could tell by the way she spoke and heave.

   Frederick's mind was occupied with something else, and he just whispered:

   "What did I do wrong?"

   Chyna walked to the other side of the bar to look him in the eyes: his dried tears were noticeable on his face, although he still had bloodshot eyes.

   "Frederick..." she softened her voice.

   "It was nine months," he carried on, "nine fucking months thinking that this was genuine. And I never saw that coming... Seeing her, him... When did all this even happen? Why!?"

   Chyna rubbed back his back; he was sweating again after his bath.

   "Frederick... I don't think anyone can justify this. Look, despite of the fact that Mallory was certainly younger than you, she was an adult: there's just no room for flukes or excuses like 'the flesh is weak' or 'it was served on a silver platter', we're not kids anymore! And I'm sure she knew that perfectly. Don't blame her little adventure on yourself."

   "And what if I should?" he interrupted with a scoff.

   "Why?"

   "What if she realized about all those times I repeated Bailey's advice?" he was stating with a runny nose. "I've repeated that to myself plenty of times so I didn't marry dad. But... But when I knew my son was on the way... it was not the same."

   Despite of the fact of mentioning his son, he did not dare spare a single glance over him, who was sleeping peacefully.

   "What if it was me who put her on the verge of feeling like shit and she decided to put an end to this? An end to me."

   Chyna kept on trying to convince Frederick it was not something she planned as revenge, but that she, as a thinking person and with all of her education weighting her down, was the unique responsible of her actions. Who was Frederick to bear all those gnarly pimples Mallory squeezed out on him? How selfish if she squirted their pus right onto him! But regardless of her humble attends to make any good to him, she knew Frederick did love her; he could not just dump her into the trash can and rip off the bond that united them, even though Mallory had implied she did that months ago. So that was why she was acting so strange, huh?

   But Chyna was not willing to take all of this for granted.

   "So tell me, Frederick, who do you think will look after that creature if his mom is not here anymore and his dad won't give a crap?" she asked while lending on her forearms on the bar.

   "If I ever catch up on him, I'm gonna give him back. I don't want that thing to be here." He winced again.

   "It's a shame." And then she got up and headed toward the front door. "I'm going to get some things for the little guy. Keep an eye on him, please. I don't care if he is not your son, he is still a helpless, living being."

   When she closed the door, Frederick could not help but let that knot on his throat brew: that little, purple rabbit reminded him all those stupid, teasing smirks of his co-workers or Bonifacio's face, or the trollop he had for wife, or everything! He never thought that that amount of garbage could muster that way inside a small body that still was lying on his mattress.

   Chyna, with a totally new face, walked in with what seemed to be the whole baby shop: she had bought a stroller, formula bottles, dummies, colorful toys, teddies and a crib. Frederick's fur bristled as soon as he saw his house as a brand-new daycare.

   "What do you think you're doing!?" he asked upset and straightening back his back.

   "Making you a favor," she was saying while setting these supplies up in Frederick's bedroom. He chortled.

   "You think with all this stuff I'm gonna take care of that? You think this is gonna change my mind? I already told you: he is not my son! I'm not taking any care around here!"

   And then he made his way toward the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Chyna, after tidying up Frederick's room with those shiny-looking accessories and placed the rabbit into the crib, she stepped in front of the bathroom's door and heard whimpering from inside.

   "Frederick, I bought these things because I want to help you with the hardest part of your life."

   Lier: deep down she bought that as well to make up the lack of maternity she would have to drag along her life.

   "I know he's not your son, and that he came to this world for two jerks, but do you really think he understands that? All he knows is that mom and dad are outside looking after him and making sure he has a plate with food every morning on the table, that he has a warm quilt waiting in his crib, that he has someone to play with and to know the world..."

   "Stop it, Chyna," Frederick asked in a pitiful way. He had his face buried into his paw pads while sitting in the toilet.

   "Just don't blame this on him: he did not choose his parents." There was a pause. "You're not handling this on your own: I'm coming once in a while for support, but you are going to take of him. Please, put your paw in your heart and don't grant him the life dad granted to you, to me and to mom."

   And then Chyna fell silent and fetched her black purse on the couch, but before she did that, she went back to the bathroom to whisper painfully:

   "I'm sorry, Freddy."

   Frederick could not hold back another weeping. He was once again in his room under his blankets whining and whining. That yelling outside made him hyperventilate, and there were no earphones—not like nowadays—around to shut that dire outrage. There was just Chyna around, who had learned to neutralize insults and turn them into enjoyable gifts for Frederick's ears. Her sis was just concerned about his own good.

   Frederick's legs gave up on that position, so he got up and hobbled toward his bedroom. Now the little rabbit was sleeping on a yellow blanket in the crib. Frederick stood next to it, staring deeply at his life and the assortment of hatred and deceit. He still could not understand when all this changed like this, and he also knew that leaving the past behind was as hard as trying to erase the mark some pimple left behind.

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