You crawled into the closet, trying to control your breathing as they got closer to the bedroom. It was hard not to cry. Even now you were furiously scrubbing at your eyes, trying to stop the tears. If you stopped the tears, then you stopped the sobs that were sure to follow. And then maybe they wouldn’t hear or involve you in their arguments.
This was worse than Other Father’s home.
You hated it when they got drunk, because these guys fought. Like, fist to face fought. Oliver was the medium. He was tougher than you would have thought. Whenever they fought, he got between them without any fear in his eyes. But they weren’t his eyes, at the same time. They turned a darker blue, and swirled with pink. His voice got deeper and more playful too, which wasn’t good. Playful when his eyes got dark wasn’t okay. His voice sometimes got deeper when you two were playing, but his eyes never changed unless he was angry.
Expectations of the needed good night slumbers were out the door now, but you nevertheless brought the mint rabbit with you to bed that night, praying as you entered Dream Land for the miracle that despite the doll not being a bear, he’d be salutary.