My lubricant. I’m sorry, you know how lonely I am, all my friends are gone, and I might be leaving soon too. You saved me more than once, I have a lot of impulses. I look at your fur, your eyes, your bow. I feel very secure. You won’t do anything to me, you’re just a toy. I can put you under the blanket and take care of you.
Keeps silent and looks at the teddy bear.
I think it’s time for you to be washed. I can’t even undress you. We should probably make a suit for you. It’s so strange that you are always without clothes.
SHE pulls off her balaclava, gets up, and puts on a frayed sweater and sweatpants.
Can you imagine that some people save sent photos? Almost everything, I guess. I never did that. And videos. Someone’s penis. Vagina. Close-up of the scrotum. It’s almost sex. It was, it ends, the memory remains. You don’t cut off a finger from a person and be like, “Oh, we had sex, fucking great, a finger for me.” A memory remains, but not a piece of a finger. I could create a new person if I thought otherwise. A superhuman suited to my needs.
Stops. The teddy bear is staring at her.
SHE. Dummy. I’m already dressed.
Keeps silent.
SHE. What do you think of my balaclava?
TEDDY BEAR. I wanted a balaclava a few years ago, but I couldn’t buy it for ethical reasons.
SHE looks somewhere at the wall, at the window, at the ceiling, into space.
SHE. Once a partner told me that I was a “shitty actress”. This is my profession. I decided not to answer that he was a shitty architect.
TEDDY BEAR. You just wanted to compensate for suppressed guilt, to remove all responsibility. Here, they beat me up and did me good. They took away my choice. They hurt me, but they gave me something good instead. This was my wish. I also began to feel that I was too bad to be insulted.
I wanted to master this aggression. In my environment, they stopped BDSM practices. Partners told me that they could no longer insult or humiliate. And don’t even mention beating.
Silence.
Treat me like a whore. Sit on my face.
SHE. You are not a whore.