Mr. Binky

“And this is the bedroom.” She giggled. I had to push the door open myself to look inside, and as I brushed past her, she giggled harder and put a hand over her mouth. I was starting to regret accepting her offer of a nightcap.
“That’s Mr. Binky,” she said, pointing at a teddy-bear sitting stiffly on the bed in front of the floral cushion, which itself was in front of three pink-pillowcased pillows. Mr. Binky was wearing a charcoal three-piece suit and looked like an undertaker. For teddy-bears. “Do you want a cofoffee?”
“A what?” Mr. Binky was giving me the evil eye, I was sure of it.
“A cofoffee. You know, a coffee with a cough.”
I didn’t know, so I asked for a simple black coffee, and as she headed downstairs to the kitchen to make it, kicked myself for not asking for a caramel-soy macchiato and using her inability to make it as an excuse to leave. Everyone can make a black coffee.
I sat on the bed, and looked around. There was a vase of flowers on the windowsill, a floral-print wicker armchair by the window, and a small bookcase at the end of the bed. When I checked its shelves there were eight-years of back-issues of Cosmopolitan and Sun-Tzu’s The Art of War. Having read Sun Tzu a lot in college, I picked up the most recent Cosmopolitan and discovered that she ringed things on the pages. In red marker pen. I put it back down again, and sat back down on the bed.
“Here you go!” She was as cheerful as a Tequila Sunrise. She put two coffees, one black and one white down on the carpet, and then disappeared again. She reappeared moments later with a bottle of cough-syrup and poured a generous three fingers into her cup.
“Are you sure you don’t want a cofoffee?” She giggled, and I wanted to strangle her.
“No, thanks.” I said. “I don’t like sweet things in coffee.”
“Oh, but Mr. Binky does.”
I managed to smile, but I’m not sure how.
“Mr. Binky thinks you’re supercute! He’s really happy that I went out with you tonight.”
I sipped my coffee cautiously, just in case she’d put anything else in there while she was making it. It tasted bad, like most instant coffees do, but at least it tasted like bad coffee. Then I wondered what I was supposed to say; we hadn’t met for a date, she’d just been hanging around at the entrance to the bar when I’d finished watching the hockey and had decided to leave. Her giggle had been cute back then, an hour ago.
“That’s good,” I said, looking at my watch. “Oh, is that the time? I have to work tomorrow, you see, and--”
The growl definitely came from behind me, and I was looking at her face, gauging how nice I’d have to be about leaving, so I’m sure it didn’t come from her.
“Oh, that makes Mr. Binky sad,” she said, and then something warm and furry gripped my throat and pulled me backwards.