The digital clock flicks to 3:17 AM. Her twenty-three-year-old eyes snap open, pupils dilating in the darkness. Moonlight catches the sheen of sweat glistening across her collarbone. Outside, rain patters softly against her bedroom window, a gentle rhythm that only emphasises the solitude of her studio apartment.

She's been here before, this same hour, this same restlessness. Three nights this week alone. The sheets beneath her are twisted from hours of fitful tossing, damp with the heat radiating from her skin despite the cool autumn air seeping through poorly sealed window frames.

"Not again," she whispers, but her hand already reaches across rumpled sheets, knowing exactly what she seeks.

Her fingers brush against synthetic fur. The pink bear, a gift from her college graduation a couple of years ago, sits motionless against the wall, glass eyes reflecting slivers of moonlight. It's ridiculous, she thinks, a grown woman keeping such a childish token. Yet she's never been able to part with it, especially since moving to this city where familiar faces are scarce and meaningful touches even scarcer.

She drags it toward her, the soft scrape of plush against cotton sheets breaking the silence. Her phone lies dark on the nightstand, with no messages, no calls. Three dating apps were installed, but none opened in weeks. What was the point? The emptiness always returned, especially in hours when the world slept, and she lay burning.

Thighs spread. The mattress creaks beneath shifting weight. Black lace panties emerge from beneath the oversized t-shirt as she rises to her knees, positioning herself above the bear. The shirt, stolen from her ex six months ago, hangs loose on her frame, sliding off one shoulder as she moves.

"Just need to…" The words dissolve into a sharp intake of breath as she lowers herself. The seam of her underwear presses against her centre. A barely audible whimper escapes her lips.

The first roll of her hips is tentative. The bear's stuffing compresses with a soft sound. Her breathing quickens. She's done this before, but always with a sense of mingled shame and defiance. Tonight, she doesn't care. Tomorrow she can return to being the poised professional who leads marketing meetings and laughs at coworkers' jokes. Tonight, she has only nerve endings and needs.

"Oh my god..." The word floats into the darkness as her movements find rhythm. She closes her eyes, trying to conjure a human face and human hands, but the images won't solidify. Only sensation remains real.

Back and forth. Up and down. The bear's head bobs with each thrust. Her knuckles whiten around plush ears, twisting the fabric. The subtle wet sound of soaked cotton sliding against sensitive flesh joins her increasingly laboured breathing. The dampness had started before she'd even reached for the teddy bear, dreams she couldn't remember, leaving her body primed and ready.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants under her breath, pitch rising gradually. Sweat drips from her hairline, pattering onto the bear's fur. A car passes on the street below, headlights momentarily painting moving shadows across her ceiling. She doesn't pause, doesn't even notice.

Squish. Grind. Squish. The sounds grow wetter and more insistent. The headboard taps against the wall, once, twice, matching her accelerating pace. She wonders fleetingly if her neighbour can hear, then dismisses the thought. The same neighbour who blasts true crime podcasts at midnight deserves whatever sounds filter through these thin walls.

Her thighs begin to quiver. "Close..." she hisses through clenched teeth. "So close..." 

She reaches up with one hand, fingers finding her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt. She pinches hard, the sudden pain sending a jolt straight between her legs.

The rhythm falters. Her movements become erratic, desperate. The bear's body compresses unevenly beneath her. Its plastic eyes reflect her arching back, her parted lips, and the tendons standing out in her neck. Her free hand fumbles blindly on the nightstand, knocking aside a half-empty water glass before finding her wireless earbuds case. She clutches it tight, needing something, anything, to ground her as the sensation builds to unbearable heights.

"There, oh right there, don't stop," she gasps to no one, grinding harder against the now-soaked patch of pink fur. The wet sounds grow louder, unmistakable in the quiet room. Rain beats harder against the window as if nature itself matches her increasing urgency.

A choked cry builds in her throat, escaping as a strangled "Aghhh!" 

Her body goes rigid. Thighs clamp around the bear's head with enough force to compress its stuffing completely. Her face contorted, eyebrows drawn together, mouth open in a silent scream that finally breaks free as a guttural moan.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," tumbles from her lips in rapid succession, words slurring together as her hips jerk uncontrollably against the bear. Liquid warmth spreads visibly through her panties, darkening the fabric completely, and seeping into pink fur beneath. A memory flashes, her first orgasm years ago, alone in her bedroom, shocked by the intensity, but this is different, stronger, more desperate.

The bear's head jerks with each aftershock that ripples through her body. Her chest heaves. Sweat runs in rivulets between her breasts, soaking through her shirt. The rain-washed city glows orange beyond her window, unconcerned with her small crisis of pleasure.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Her forehead rests against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. The bear sits crushed between her thighs, its once-pristine fur now matted and stained. She should clean it. She never does.

Minutes pass, marked only by gradually slowing breaths and the occasional whimper when she shifts position. Her phone screen illuminates, 3:26 AM. Not even ten minutes have passed. The night stretches ahead, vast and empty.

The wet fabric of her panties makes a sticky sound as she finally peels it away from her skin. The soaked underwear hits the floor with a soft splat. Tomorrow, she'll add it to the growing laundry pile in the corner. Another pair sacrificed to these nocturnal sessions.

She rolls to her side, trembling legs no longer able to support her weight. The bear tumbles onto the mattress beside her, its synthetic fur catching moonlight where it glistens with dampness. In daylight, she'll avoid looking at it directly, pretending not to notice what they do together in the darkness.

Her alarm is set for 6:30 AM. Another day of smiles and small talk awaits, of professional clothing and carefully applied makeup. No one looking at her across the conference table would ever guess how she spends these hours, how lonely it is in this bed, in this body.

In the silent aftermath, only her breathing remains, gradually slowing to match the steady tick of the clock on her nightstand. The rain continues its patter against the window. She reaches for her phone, opens a dating app, then closes it again without swiping. What's the point?

She curls around herself, back to the bear, and waits for sleep to return. Tomorrow night, she knows, she'll wake at this same hour, reaching again for her silent companion.