Little Toaster of Suffering

Part one

You're really lucky your former husband had no job and drove away all his loved ones except for you because it really makes passing his replacement off much easier.

One morning while making yourself and your husband some tea (he prefers no milk or sugar apparently) you notice that he seems a little agitated. It's been a week since you brought him home, you assumed city life would be a hard adjustment but maybe you should check if the forum says anything about-

You can't finish your thought because he suddenly shoots up from his chair, scraping it against the floor and making you flinch back on instinct.

You both freeze, he's clearly confused by your reaction and you puff out a little laugh to ease the tension, remembering that he might look near identical but this is a different person. He eyes you with concern, almost looking pained, and you slide him his tea, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm.

“It’s fine, I’m just a little jumpy today."

He nods his head but it's clear that he knows there's something else. You’ve seen that look a few times, you think he gets it when he’s remembering something from your ex’s memories that doesn’t add up with the present. It’s just like what someone from the forum said, they clearly don’t remember things in detail, it’s more like they mimic a person’s muscle memory. Though your mimic doesn’t seem to even remember much of that, he doesn’t really speak or move or act like your ex at all, even his expressions incredibly different.

Maybe your mimic is less experienced with mimicry or maybe he doesn’t care about your ex enough to mimic him right. That thought makes you smile just a little before you realise your husband is still looking at you with concern in his eyes.

You brush your fingers up his shirt,

“What's the matter?"

His fingers fiddle with the hem of your sweater, waiting a minute before asking,

“Can we go outside."

You blink, looking at the early morning sun peeking through the kitchen window.

“Now?"

He nods and you shrug your shoulders, “Why not."

He smiles, still a strange site to see on your ex-husband's face. The way he does it looks a little off, like he’s out of practice. You're not even a little concerned when he downs the mug of just boiled tea in one go, this is the same creature who ate a handful of dirt from one of your potted plants once when he thought you weren't looking.

You watch him march to the front door of your apartment and call out,

“You have to put some pants on, Babe!"

He whirls back around in confusion, “I’m wearing-” He looks down at his boxers for a long moment, you imagine him looking through your ex’s mind to evaluate the difference between baggy boxer briefs and pants. He looks back up at you, “Right.” and marches off to the bedroom.

The inexperienced mimic theory only strengthens.

Once you're outside, you walk him to where you're pretty sure he wants to go, holding his hand firmly so he doesn't get lost or overwhelmed by all the people.

He brightens up the moment he's under the trees of the city park.

“I know It doesn't compare to the woods we were in last week but…"

He smiles up at you, sitting on the ground picking at grass.

“It's nice…Babe."

His eyebrows furrow, the word must be unfamiliar on his tongue, your ex never called you by any pet names, none that you could call affectionate. He does that often, tries to do things he thinks you'd like to keep up his charade but it seems he has difficulty finding the muscle memory in his stolen body for any tender actions.

He clearly struggles with his wants and his desire for his nature to stay a secret, and it makes you wish you could just confess that you already know but everyone on your little forum advised against it. Nobody gives much information besides the basics, the location and what mimics are, you assume if you even hint at what you’ve done, you’ll be blocked and banned from the secretive group.

Worst case scenario is your mimic starts acting more like your ex in an effort to keep his secret safe. Maybe if you encourage him to do things your ex would never do then he’ll continue forming an entirely different personality on his own without even realising it.

He closes his eyes and lays flat on the grass, the site makes you stifle a laugh before you sit down next to him.

“Y'know, you could work here as park staff. You'd get to come here every day and look after the park and the animals, maybe improve your people skills a little?"

You confidence fizzles out a little as you speak, your ex would've had an outburst if you even mentioned him getting a job. He looks up at the trees and breathes in deeply, unlike the stiff mechanical breaths he usually repeats.

Your husband nods his head, turning to look at you.

“I want that."

You smile back down at him. He wants that. Not you nor your ex’s ghost. Him.

You’re both cuddling on the couch, eyes glued to the documentary playing on the TV, the calming voice of David Attenborough helping you relax after a long day.

“The leader raccoon and I are on good terms again."

Your husband mumbles, sliding his hand up and down your back. You hum for him to continue, head resting on his harder than normal chest as you breathe in his always piney scent.

“He wont be messing trash all over the walkways anymore.”

You mumble a little, “That’s great, Honey.” watching a very majestic humpback whale come up for air.

He says your name softly and you crane your neck up to look at him. The conflicted look on his face makes you pause.

“I used to work in I.T before I quit a few years ago… Why did you think I would like working at the park?"

You expected questions from him, far more than he’s actually thrown at you but you still tense up when he actually asks you something from your ex’s memories. You try to recite exactly what you practiced in your head many times over.

“Well…ever since that camping trip you've been acting different…in a good way. I think getting out there and reconnecting with nature really helped you out of your slump. You have a job now and a friend even though he's a raccoon."

He looks away almost bashfully, giving the TV a long calculating look before meeting your eyes again. “I changed… for the better?”

You nod, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. Maybe this is it, this is how you keep him from realising you know but also keep him from acting more like your ex for his own self-preservation.

“Yeah, that trip was good for you. You’re happier and kind and helpful and you don’t get so… angry all the time. I- I really like it.”

You stroke his cheek lightly, this past month has really been the happiest you’ve been in years. You just wish you could show him how much you want him, not who he’s failing at pretending to be.

“Even if it’s different?”

The hope in his voice lights up your heart.

“I love the new you... more than I ever loved the old one.”

He meets your eyes and it’s like you can see all his emotions in his blown out pupils. His fingers graze your cheek and he leans forward, bringing you into a kiss. You kiss him back, straddling his lap as he sits up. He pulls on your sweater, bringing you closer,

“You love me. You love me.” He mumbles like a prayer into your skin as he kisses your neck. This poor creature spent all this time thinking you wanted another man, probably carrying guilt at being the one to take said man away from you. If only he knew.

His hand carves through your hair and you think you feel him shiver before you softly bite his neck, not hard enough to hurt, just to leave a mark. He bucks his hips and moans, actually moans.

Your sex lives have mostly consisted of pretty vanilla fucking with him only letting out grunts every now and then. You figured that’s all he knew how to do and he just needed some time to get comfortable. It was far better than your sex life before him so you were sure to never complain lest he start trying to look into your ex’s memories for reference.

But hearing the sound he just made fired up something inside you that's been dormant for a long time. You want to hear it again so you bite down again but you were clearly too overzealous because he winces and pulls you back by your hair, making you let out a surprised whine of pain. Suddenly you’re not warm anymore, you’re freezing and the man in front of you isn’t your mimic anymore, it’s your husband. It happens in an instant, you push him away from you and scramble back to the other side of the couch.

He goes completely rigid and the horrified look on his face knocks you out of your panicked state immediately. He looks down at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist and then looks back to you. It’s almost like you can tell exactly what memories you’ve just triggered, just by looking at his face. You crawl a little closer to him, trying not to shake too much.

“No, no, It's okay, It’s- I’m fine."

He shakes his head, suddenly standing up, straight and rigid like a tree.

“I need the bathroom."

He walks off, twitching slightly, shoulders tensed all the way up to his ears and you hear the bathroom door slide shut.

He stays in there for hours. Hours of alternating between frantic pacing and sitting on the couch with your head in your hands trying not to cry. What’s worse, killed by a monster you thought could love you or abused by said monster just like the husband you killed.

You want to believe your mimic wouldn’t do that to you but there was a time where you thought your husband would never lay a hand on you either. When it gets late enough, you decide to head to bed, not to sleep but to at least have somewhere soft to wait for your fate. You can’t run even if you wanted to, the other members of the forum made that clear, if it wants to, it’ll find you.

Curled on your side, you don't turn around when the door creaks open and he pads into the room. The footsteps stop at his side of the bed and everything is silent except for those distinct snapping sounds you haven’t heard since that night. You take deep breaths, readying yourself to get what you probably deserve.

You feel the bed dip and he pulls himself under the sheets. He slinks an arm around you, pressing you against his unmoving chest. He isn’t even trying to pretend to breathe anymore, not trying to seem human any longer because what would be the point?

You hear something from behind you, a whispery, scratching sound, you don’t even register that it’s coming from him at first. Eventually it becomes more distinct, a voice, his voice, not your husband’s but a voice that sounds airy and sharp, like leaves rustling in the wind.

“He’s dead.”

The bed dips further behind you, like he’s getting heavier somehow. You feel a strange thickness climb over your body under the sheets, it smells like pine and you let it slowly swallow you.

“We killed him."

Your tears flow freely and you pull the sticky, viscous form of your lover closer to you, seeking it’s warmth, it’s comfort. You cling to it, feeling vines wrap around your legs and sturdy bark under your fingers. It brushes your tears away with the softness of a flower petal.

“I will never let you suffer like that again.”

The smell of dirt and moss is strong, you welcome it into your lungs.