Predictably, his fingers and tongue are the first to go. Appendages tingle, tickle, then numb. He scrunches up his toes, picking up some strands of the shag rug through those novelty Christmas socks he’s got on—you know the ones. Plush and ugly bright. He gets a nice little brush of sensation, some reassuring tightness in his knuckles, before his feet go cold all over and he can’t even feel the nappy velvet of Santa’s beard on his ankles. 

He calls out for Stevie, of course. But his tongue goes fat and tangled in his mouth and then he’s just moaning out some liquified syllables. Just mewling. Just drooling, now. 

His knees don’t take long to give out from there. He’s already spread out belly down on the carpet by the time he finally goes boneless at the waist and ragdolls entirely. 

Upstairs, Stevie is having a far nicer time. She’s swaddled in one of her Winnie the Pooh pullups, curls toweled and braided back by big brother. They’d had grilled cheese and played pretend as doctors and princesses. She’s got Rocky, her little brown teddy, wearing a mini tiara and stitched back together with glittery duct tape from where they’d vivisected him, carved out his stuffing and delicately packed it back in place. She has him pressed up tight into her chest. Is squeezing the hell out of him, actually. 

Downstairs, Sunny struggles to breathe. Circulation cut, chest whistling. 

Stevie loves her teddy. She really does. He’s a Christmas present, a plush tawny Build-A-Bear with the most perfect little smile. With big brass button eyes and fluffy little ears that sprout from the top of his head like cotton ball curls. She thinks of Sunny. That’s the only way she can fix his hair when they play pretend. She holds him out, gives him a little shake. Stevie loves her teddy’s smile. 

Sunny’s feet just brush the ground as he’s lifted up, up, up and back and forth. Arms hanging lazily out and a small, stiff little smile cementing on his lips. A vacuous thing. A dumb little thing, brainless, void of judgement, and picture perfect. She smiles, he smiles, and it’s the worst thing they’ve ever shared. 

Natalie Merizalde