Toys, by Vicky Miller
I don’t really understand the images reflected in my dull, beady eyes but I’m sure that it’s wrong when Ruby’s step-dad comes into our room late at night and holds her down like that and when he touches her there. And there. And I know when he’s gone, she sobs and presses her clammy skin against mine and mats my fur with her tears whispering in my ear.
‘You’re the only one that can ever know because mum will hate me if she finds out, won’t she? But I know you won’t tell on me. ’
Then she buries her face in my soft body and cries quietly until she slips into sleep. I wish I could do something to help Ruby, but what can I do? After all, I am just a stuffed bear.