Inspired by Wattle's short story, here's mine.

I had to do a major edit on it.  Halfway through I realised that Teddy would only know those words that a child would hear.  His voice is still a little more sophisticated than a child's.  Maybe he speaks in a child-friendly voice, rather than a childish voice.

And once again I show just how rubbish I am at titles.

I missed her hugs. It was my fault, of course. How could it be hers? But I missed them all the same. It was dark and cold. I was going to die, buried under tons of rubbish. No one would remember me. But I wasn’t afraid. It didn’t matter, none of it. Only that I would never have her hug me again.

There were a gazillion different hugs. There was the gentle arm laid over me as she drifted off to sleep. Her hand sometimes stroking me as she dreamt. Of what? I had often wondered.

Then there was the sudden jerk as in her dozing she thought she fell, and her body would tense. But then she would gently hug me closer, reassured by my presence, and drift back into her sleep.

When she was joyful she would squeeze me so tight I thought that I would become squeezed into her body. She would use me to squeeze the last giggle, the last squeal of joy from her tummy. And there had been times she was full of joy. She found joy where she could. In a butterfly dancing in the breeze. In a rainbow-patterned soap bubble. In Mummy’s story telling.

There were the tight hugs, when she told me she loved me. When she told me all of her dreams and wants. When I was the only friend she had in the world, and that was enough for her.

There were the hugs that demanded reassurance, when the world was scary or horrible. She would hug me when friends didn’t come around, or when they came around and asked where her Daddy was, or why her toys were so old.

I missed them all, the ‘you’re the only friend in the world’ hug, when she was left alone in her bedroom. The ‘I didn’t want a stupid doll anyway’ hug that neither of us believed. Or just the ‘I’ve always hugged you, so I’m going to continue to hug you’ hug born out of habit.

I loved them all. I understood them all. And I was exactly what she needed for all those hugs. I was equal to it all. I reassured, loved, and comforted in just the right mix. I could always give her everything she needed. I was the World Champion of Hugs. Right up to that last hug. That dreadful hug when I let her down.

We were nervous when Billy started to come over. It had always been just the three of us: Kylie, Mummy and SuperTed. Bill was a stranger. We hadn’t known any men. Not really. Except for casual meetings like the postman or the lollipop man outside the school. But we only saw them briefly.

Billy was different. He would come into our home, sometimes for hours. He would still be there when we went to bed. He smiled and joked with Kylie, but she didn’t really understand what the jokes were about. But gradually she began to trust him. After a while when he spoke to her, her tight grip on me wasn’t quite so scared.

One night Mummy had to go out. She was going out with some of her friends, and Billy was going to look after us. Kylie was scared. She hugged me tighter than she had for a long time. Mummy had gone out before, sometimes. We would play a game. Kylie would help her get ready, giving her her lipstick, running to get her nice shoes. Kylie liked seeing her Mummy dressing up, with her makeup and her pretty skirt. Mummy would be happy on those evening, singing and dancing through her preparations. Then Mummy would tuck us both up, and tell me to look after Kylie.

And I did. As the evening grew old Kylie would hug me tight, holding me between her and the terrors of an empty flat. And I would be there for her, protecting her, calming her. And so gradually her grip would relax, and she would slip off to sleep as I guarded her.

But this evening Billy was looking after us. It would be fun, Mummy told us. There would be someone at the flat to look after us.

When Mummy left, Billy switched on the television to watch the football. Billy liked football. He had a football club drawn on his arm. He had some beer on the coffee table. Billy liked beer too.

Kylie asked Billy for a story. Mummy would always tell Kylie stories. They were often the same story, but we didn’t mind. We all liked the stories, telling and listening.

Billy didn’t like stories. He wanted to watch the football. At first he just told Kylie to be quiet, because he was watching the telly. But when Kylie asked again he shouted at her. It scared her. Scared her so much that she nearly squeezed me in half, her arms jerking me in tight as though the scariest monster in the world had jumped out and shouted ‘Boo!’

And she cried. It was frightening, this almost-strange man suddenly shouting at her, when all she had asked for was a story. Mummy sometimes shouted, when Kylie had been naughty. But never when she had asked for a story.

Billie ignored her for a few moments then turned and shouted, "Shut up, you spoilt little brat! I’m watching the match. Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about!"

Which of course, made her cry more. Shouting would never stop Kylie crying. Hugs were what she needed.

Then Billy jumped up out of his chair, grabbed Kylie by the arm and dragged her into her bedroom. He was hurting her. She cried out in pain, but he gripped her tight by the arm and dragged her, throwing her so hard on her bed she bounced.

Kylie hugged me. The ‘I’m scared, protect me from the scary noises in the dark’ type of hug. So I did. I lay between her and the rest of the world. SuperTed. Defender of Kylie.

Billy grabbed me from her hug and threw me into the corner. He stood over her and raised his hand high. I watched horror-struck, powerless, as it descended down with sickening smack on her leg.

"Shut up! If I hear one more sound out of you before the match is finished I shall give you more than a slap, you hear?"

This time she stopped. Eyes wide open with fear, she watched him leave, then she turned to look at me with helpless, tear-filled eyes.

The next morning she picked me up from the corner where I lay. She held me by a leg. Not in her arms, like she had from the moment we met, but by the leg. Dangling upside down, like a thing. She gave me to Mummy.

"I don’t want this old bear anymore", she said. "It’s stupid."

I know what she really meant. She had needed me to protect her, like I had on those nights she was alone with the creaks and groans of the flat. She had held me between her and the terrors of the world. And I had failed her.