The plastic penises didn’t look intimidating at all right now. But then, they didn’t look like much fun, either, and that’s what people bought the synthetic versions for.

The urge to call LJ flitted through her head. Surely he would answer, the way he had when she’d called him from the dressing room. He was busy a lot of the time when she called, but when it was important, it was like he always knew to pick up. But what would she say to him? “Hey, I’m trying to get over my penis phobia because I happen to want yours. But when it’s not attached to you, it looks kind of weird.” No man wanted to hear about that.

She returned to the main page, scanning all the different choices. A catch took hold in her throat as she tried to figure out what size would be most effective. How many times would she need to deliberately trigger the panic before it lost its grip on her?

She’d had hundreds of those attacks, and the feeling of impending death never got any less real. But if she could make it past the fear, maybe it was peaceful beyond that. Free of loneliness and disappointment.

Just free.

She scrolled down so fast the pictures began to blur, until she stopped on one of the largest dildos. It was the most realistic looking, and every rib in her chest drew tight and brittle as she stared at it. Well, good. It was fear she was looking for, fear she needed to batter herself with until she could finally stop caring.

The little arrow hovered over the “Buy” button while her vision wavered around the edges, tears blurring the screen. Maybe she should pay extra to ship it faster, to start this miserable process sooner and just get it over with.

The arrow began to shake, and she took her fingers off the trackpad. She snapped the laptop closed and shoved it off her lap. It hit the edge of the couch cushion and flipped onto the rug.

Nothing about this felt right, and she couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t.

Andra curled around herself like her belly was an open wound, and began to cry.

•   •   •

The window had been dark for hours when she finally quieted, her eyes so swollen she couldn’t have seen even if there had been light. She sniffled, the arm of the couch wet beneath her face. It was late, and she was exhausted. She hauled herself upright and shuffled across the house to the shower, turning on only a single light as she went. She shed her clothes mechanically and stepped under the spray, the shh of the warm water soothing her aching head. Her mouth was scratchy with thirst, but she wasn’t hungry even though she hadn’t eaten dinner.