But he pulled away, his eyes wide. This was not normal.

His jaw moved around, uncomfortable, clearly a branks inside. Unable to speak about what was wrong with her behavior, he tried to demonstrate the way this was supposed to be done. He put his hand on her breast. There was no subtlety in his hand, no gentle enjoyment. If she had to name an emotion, as strange as it sounded, she’d have to say his hand was full of fear. She figured he was just nervous. Perhaps they could work this out over time.

* * *

Junior got better and better at speaking. He could form a ppph and sometimes even a bbh sound, spitting the noise out his blowhole with a burst of air. He could roll sideways in the water to burble a watery mmm, sounding a little like a sink gurgling the letter deep in its throat.

He still had difficulty with consonants such as N,T, X and K and the difference between the long and short vowels. Each sound tended to emerge with a pause between, a child practicing scales.

When she pointed to herself, Junior would respond—Kh orh.

When she instead pointed at Junior, he would whistle. She did not know if this whistle was his name for himself or if it was some other sound: an exclamation, a question, the dolphin equivalent of exasperation.

She’d lived with him for three months now, longer than she’d lived with anyone but her family. She knew his physical habits and preferences, the sound of him breathing in sleep and how he swallowed his food, the way in the early morning hours he twirled and jumped in the deep end. She fell asleep each night with him sucking on her toe.

She told him all the time she loved him. She felt this love rising in her throat a lot. It was not the love of an owner for a puppy, nor of a trainer for its star animal. She loved him now as a friend, as her roommate.

The two of them worked to keep each other happy in their constrained space, bonded together against the men.

* * *

They still played catch, a game that by now should have been renamed Take. She would crouch in front of him and hold the ball out on the flat of her palm. He’d pick it up from her hand with his beak and wait there for her to take it back. He’d hold the ball between his teeth, a guarantee that he could not bite her fingers.

She would place her hands on either side of the ball, letting her fingers brush his gums. He closed his eyes in pleasure. She understood touching the inside of the mouth as the dolphin version of intimacy. Was it some sign of affection or affiliation? A handshake, a hug? Blood brothers? Something more?

One day she dared to run one finger along his grey gums from one side of his mouth to the other, before she took the ball from his mouth. She knew this would make Junior happy. She thought of her vet while she did so, wishing he would comply with her.