Chapter 9 IX. DOLL
IX. DOLL
I opened my eyes and found myself chained to an iron bed.
My left hand was cuffed, the right one still free.
Around me was nothing but darkness, and in front of me, laid neatly on the bed, were a folded red skirt and a corset trimmed with black details and gold buttons.
On top of them rested a short branch of white oleander, only two small flowers blooming on it, and a note that read: Get dressed. –O.
My teeth clenched.
I yanked at the chain twice. The metal was biting into my wrist with every move I made.
“Fuck,” I hissed, then louder, “this can’t be happening.”
I sat up and stared at the cuff, trying to twist my hand free. But the sound of footsteps stopped me cold. I could hear him coming closer.
When he stepped inside, he looked straight at me.
“Why aren’t you dressed?”
“First of all, I just woke up, okay?” I shot back. “And secondly,” I lifted my cuffed hand, rattling it hard, “hello?”
“That attitude won’t get you anywhere,” he said, walking toward the closet on the right. He started unbuttoning his shirt, calm as if I wasn’t chained to his bed.
“Why am I even here?” I muttered, turning my back to him. But in front of me stood a large mirror with ornate gold edges, and no matter how I tried not to look, it caught every movement of his body.
“Admiring the view?” he asked. His reflection met mine.
I shut my eyes.
“I saw nothing,” I said, sneaking another glance as I realized he was now completely naked, facing me without shame.
“Do I see a bit of drool, Doll?” he teased, pointing to the corner of his lips. “Here, just a bit.” He laughed quietly.
I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face there.
“You can look,” he chuckled. “I’m not shy.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, my voice muffled against my thighs.
“You asked for Rocco’s help, and he helped.”
“By locking me here?” I lifted my head. At least now he had underwear on.
“By selling you to me,” he said with a smirk.
“I can’t be sold,” I whispered. “What do you mean?” My brows furrowed, tears already stinging my eyes.
“You signed a contract with him last year. It says he can sell you to whoever he wants.” He cleared his throat like it was casual. “Didn’t you read it, Doll?”
“I did not,” I said, dropping my face back into my knees.
“That’s pretty dumb, don’t you think?”
“So what now? You own me?” I asked, staring at him.
He stepped closer, kneeling on the mattress beside me. His thumb pressed against my jaw, pulling me toward him.
“Yes,” he said, eyes locked on my lips. “You are my Doll now.”
“I’m not your Doll.” I turned my face away.
He laughed.
“Then stop acting like one.” He stood, pacing slowly. “Look at yourself. Helpless. Controlled by any man who comes near you.”
He leaned close, his voice dropping low. “Just like a little rag doll you are.” His laughter became sharper and colder.
My jaw tightened. Humiliation burned through me, and I took every bit of strength I had. And with my free hand, I slapped him across the face, leaving a bright red mark across his cheek.
1“Vaffanculo,” I spat.
He touched his cheek, biting his lip as a small laugh escaped him. “Feisty.”
Then his hand shot out, wrapping around my throat. He pulled me close, his grip tightening until air became a struggle, his lips brushing mine.
“Try that again, and you’ll lose your hand.”
He let go, eyes still fixed on me. “Get fucking dressed.” He tossed the key onto the mattress.
“You’ve got an hour, Doll. Try not to disappoint me.” He turned away. “Show me you’re worth the price.”
He headed toward the staircase, and as he descended, he shouted back. “And don’t even think about escaping. You won’t make it to the front gate.”
I groaned.
He laughed.
Then the door slammed.
“Fuck you!” I shouted, grabbing the key and fumbling to unlock the cuff around my wrist.
As soon as it clicked open, I ran for the stairs. But the moment I swung the door wide, I crashed straight into his bare chest.
“You really thought you could escape?” he said, laughing, one brow raised. He lifted me effortlessly, moving up the stairs and throwing me back onto the bed.
“Get dressed!” he barked, turning away and heading down again.
The door closed behind him with a thud.
“Cazzo!” I screamed.
I had no choice.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
This was the war I had to lose. Maybe I was never meant to be free. Maybe this was always my destiny, some twisted path before everything would finally be okay. But maybe this wasn’t my story at all. Maybe I was only a cameo role.
I took off my jeans, then my black T-shirt, and stared into the mirror in front of me.
A fragile, insecure girl stared back. The same girl who once hid her body, afraid to show her curves.
Now that girl looked hollow, all life drained out of her until she was nothing but skin and bone.
I had lost so much weight I could barely recognize myself.
I used to dream of becoming this version of me, and now I would give anything to go back to who I was a year ago.
It’s strange how we are never happy with ourselves. We always find flaws. And damn, we are all flawed. Maybe I am the most flawed of them all.
Looking at who I’ve become, maybe he was right.
Maybe that’s all I am, just a doll someone needed to give purpose to. Now I was just a lifeless thing, a worn body wrapped in skin the way a rag doll wears her fading cloth.
I picked up the skirt. It was short, red, with a fabric made of thin tulle.
I pulled it on. It fit perfectly, as if he had made it for me.
Before the corset, I grabbed the socks. One was patterned with red and black squares, the other striped in the same colors.
They didn’t match, but maybe that was the point.
I took off my bra, slid the corset over my head, and tugged it down over my chest. The cups pushed my breasts up, my ribs tightening as I pulled the laces in the back, twisting to tie them until my waist looked even smaller than before.
He had also left red ribbons. I let my hair fall from the messy bun, then braided the ribbons with my hair into two braids, one on each side.
“He got his wish,” I whispered. “You got your doll.”
I walked to the back, to the sink. I wanted to wash my face, but when I saw the paint, I reached for it instead.
I didn’t use much. Just dipped two fingers into the black paint and dragged arrows down from each eye, smearing them until they formed jagged triangles that cut through the shimmer beneath.
A brush was near the paint. I dipped it into the red paint and drew curling lines from the corners of my lips, then filled them in, coating my mouth until it turned a deep, glossy red.
When I turned back, I noticed a pair of black heeled ankle boots by the bed with sharp, pointed toes. I sat and pulled them on.
Was this who I would be from now on? Another painted clown in the House of Clowns. Or whatever name he called it now.
I sighed and walked down the stairs. As soon as I reached the bottom, he opened the door and looked at me, scanning me from head to toe.
“Well, look at that,” he said. “You clean up better than I thought, Doll.”
He circled me once, his fingers hovering close, as if touching me would burn him, yet he wanted to anyway. His eyes lingered on my corset, then on the red lines curling from my lips.
“Didn’t think you would actually follow orders,” he said, stopping behind me. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”
“I didn’t do it because you said so,” I said. “I did it because I had no choice.”
He laughed softly. “You’ll do everything I say.”
Before I could move, he gripped my braid and yanked my head back, forcing my eyes to his. His other hand slid under my chin, pushing it higher.
“See?” he whispered.
My jaw trembled, but I forced a glare up at him. “You’re a monster.”
His thumb dragged across my lower lip, smearing the red paint along my cheek. “And you’re pretty when you don’t talk.”
I wanted to slap him again. I wanted to scream. But all I could do was breathe, as he leaned in close enough that his breath traced the side of my neck.
“Out there,” he murmured, “you’ll do exactly what I tell you. You’ll smile when I say smile. You’ll bow when I say bow. You’ll be mine in front of everyone.”
He stepped back just enough to study me again.
“If you embarrass me,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp, “I’ll remind you what happens when dolls break.”
“What happens?” I asked, not sure why I gave him the satisfaction.
His grin widened, teeth glinting in the low light. “They get stitched back together. Piece by piece. My way.”
I swallowed hard.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black leather choker. A thin golden chain hung from it, ending in a small padlock. And from his neck on a short metal chain, there was the matching key.
Without saying a word, he opened the padlock and wrapped the choker around my throat. When he fastened it, the collar sat snugly at the base of my neck. He clipped the golden chain to the ring in front, locked it in place, and slipped the key back beneath his shirt.
He pulled the chain, forcing my chin upward until I met his eyes.
His smirk spread as he wrapped the chain around his hand, tightening it until I had to take a step closer just to breathe.
“Walk,” he said.
He turned, giving the chain another pull. I stumbled forward, following him like a dog on a leash.
“Where?” I managed to ask.
“To my tent,” he said, glancing back at me, the chain still clenched in his fist. “You’ll learn to follow before you learn to speak.”
1. Go fuck yourself.