Chapter 20 DOLL
XX. DOLL
At some point last night, I passed out, and I still don’t know if it was from the bruises covering me or from the way he held me so tight that the pain finally became unbearable.
But I am awake now, my arms pulled above my head, chained again, back in the basement and surrounded by all the dolls he killed before me.
I hate myself for hurting him. I knew better than anyone that words do damage, and I said them anyway.
A part of me believes I deserve this, that everything happening to me is something I brought on myself.
That I have no right to decide who was right or who was wrong.
All I know is that talking to Rio made me late coming back to him.
It was never because I chose someone over him.
I simply forgot the time. And time with me was the only thing he had. I ruined that. I see it now.
Some choices we make are not choices at all. They are mistakes we do not notice until it is too late.
I made a mistake.
And I guess this is now his mistake, too.
I said once that the heart wants what it wants, and mine wanted him.
No matter how bad it got, no matter how hard it became to breathe around him, I still wanted him.
People say we choose broken people because we want to fix them, because we can’t fix ourselves.
But I never tried to fix him. I wanted to heal him.
Somewhere in all of it, he healed me, too, even if he broke me afterwards.
He came back. His hair is combed back now, although streaks of black paint still stain his face from the dye. He wore black leather gloves, but his chest was still bare, and below that, he had nothing on but tight black leather pants.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said as he pulled the thread tight between his fingers and bit the end clean with his teeth.
“Poor little Doll,” he chuckled. “All chained up like a puppet.”
“Please,” I whispered. I locked my eyes with his. “Don’t do this.”
“Why?” He tilted his head as he stepped closer.
“Because it will make me hate you.” A tear slipped down my cheek.
He pressed two fingers to his temples, tilting his head to the side.
“But little Dolly, don’t you want to love me?”
The mockery in his voice cut deeper than the chains. Then he pulled a thin needle from beneath his tongue and held it up, feeding the thread through the eye slowly.
I nodded, whimpering, already knowing what he planned. I had seen it on the dolls lying below me.
“Don’t do this,” I whispered again, barely breathing.
“I am sorry,” I cried. “I am sorry I didn’t come back in time, please,” I begged, trembling so hard the chains rattled. “I am sorry.”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,“ he laughed. “I want you to shut the fuck up.” He stepped closer and grabbed my face, the leather of his glove pressing into my cheeks until my lips pushed forward in a forced pout.
“Just like that,” he said with a smile, bringing the needle toward my mouth.
I whimpered, shaking, the chains clattering in the air.
The needle pierced the skin of my upper lip, then sank into the lower, stitching them together as I let out a muffled scream.
He pulled the thread up again, then down again, twelve slow passes through my flesh until my lips were sealed shut, leaving me silent and shaking in front of him.
“Smile for me, Doll,” he whispered, tracing my stitched mouth. “You’re prettiest when you can’t scream.”
Tears fell down my face, one by one. He spun me around, forcing me to face the mirror in front of me. Mascara ran in black rivers down my cheeks, and my lips were stitched shut in small, uneven x’s.
He paced around me, his palm hitting his forehead again and again as he muttered to himself, “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”
Then he turned toward me. A knife rested in his hand, gleaming under the light. He stepped closer and pressed the cold tip just above my right breast. And slowly, he dug down and carved the word “Help” into my skin.
I hissed in pain, and as blood began to drip down my ribs, something snapped him out of his twisted trance. His forehead fell against mine.
His breath shook as he whispered, “I am sorry, Doll, so, so sorry.”
He pressed his lips to my stitched mouth, then kissed down my neck, as if he could undo what he had done.
There was no coming back from this.
Yet my body still responded to him, still craved the heat of his touch.
He slid off his right glove, dropping it to the floor, and with his bare hand, he wiped the blood from the word he had written on me.
He dragged blood down to my clit, using it as lube before thrusting his fingers inside me, making me wet.
I couldn’t say a word. I just shook in chains.
He lowered his pants and pulled his cock out, dragging it up and down before thrusting himself inside.
I lifted one leg onto his hip, and he drove in deeper. My head dropped to his shoulder, and he whispered again, “Sorry,” before kissing the top of my head.
He lifted my other leg up, locking both around his hips, and kept fucking me. I felt every inch, every tear falling as I couldn’t even open my mouth to moan.
He spread my ass cheeks and fucked me harder, my breasts bouncing against his chest. My body was all his now. Like a doll, he did whatever he wanted.
His head dropped to my chest, his lips moving up my neck. Then he found the open wound above my breast. He licked the blood until my skin was clean. Then he pulled out, grabbed my legs, and lifted me higher until they rested on his shoulders.
My hands were still chained above my head.
As he raised me, I hung in the air, legs locked around his neck. He pulled me close and pressed his mouth to my clit, sucking hard before sliding his tongue inside me.
I felt everything at once.
He parted my lower lips with two fingers and used the other hand to slide more fingers inside while his tongue circled my clit, slow at first, then faster, tighter, until my whole body started to clench.
“Just like that,” he whispered. “Break for me, Doll. Show me how no other man makes you feel like this.”
Then he bit my clit, dragged it between his teeth, and I groaned between pain and pleasure.
“Especially not him.”
He pushed his fingers deeper. Two at first. Then a third. I kept opening for him, and he slid them in one by one until all five were inside. His whole fist.
A tear escaped. But this time, it wasn’t from pain. It was from not being able to scream. Not being able to tell him I wanted more. That even through the pain, I needed every second of it. That I didn’t want him to stop.
“All open for me,” he chuckled, then slowly pulled his whole hand out, making my body clench shut again. He dragged his lower teeth along me, moving up and down, tongue licking, eating me until I screamed inside without a sound.
I felt myself drip on him, down to my ass, my thighs soaked, and he didn’t stop. He kept going until I started to shake again. Then he began lowering me down.
My body twitched, aftershocks still rolling through me. But he wasn’t done.
He spun me around, spread my ass cheeks, and pushed into my back entrance. I dripped down my legs as he drove in deeper.
He moaned, grip tightening on my ass. He pounded harder, each thrust deeper than the last, until I felt him swell, then the heat of him spilling inside me. He leaned into me, breath harsh, head resting on my shoulder, then sank his teeth into my skin as he pulled out.
He stepped back, leaving me hanging there.
He moved around to face me, pulling his pants up.
“I can’t do this,” he said, barely above a whisper. He came closer, forehead resting on mine. “If I stay, I might do something I’ll regret.”
I wanted to say “stay,” but my lips wouldn’t move. I couldn’t reach for him. I just rattled the chains, trying to stop him as he turned toward the exit.
But he left me.
My face dropped, and I sobbed without a sound.
I felt used, empty, and heartbroken. I hated this version of myself, the one who always chose the wrong people, the one who gave everything and received nothing back.
The one who believed promises that never came true.
The one who cared for people who could not care in return.
Tears slid down my face, each one pulling me apart a little more.
And maybe this time, if I survive the liar the same way I survived the clown, I can choose something different.
I can choose myself. I owe that much to me, to the little girl who dreamed of happy ever afters.
Maybe in this place of never after, that is my real ending. A promise I needed to keep for her.
I promised to love myself first, for once, before loving anyone else.
I must have fallen asleep from exhaustion because a heavy thud woke me up.
When my eyes opened, I saw Oscar lying on the floor in front of me, completely passed out.
Before I could process it, someone spun me around.
The light flickered brighter, and when I blinked, Enzo was standing right in front of me.
“Christ, Chiara,” he whispered as he reached up and unhooked the chains above me. “What did he do to you?” His palm cupped my cheek, and the gentle touch made a tear roll down on its own down my cheek.
He lowered me carefully to the ground. Then he crossed to the shelves, grabbed a blanket, and came back to wrap it around me, tucking it in as if he could warm everything that had frozen inside me.
He took a small knife from his pocket and lifted my chin. Then, slowly, he sliced through the threads stitching my lips shut, pulling each piece out until my mouth was free again.
My hand touched my lips, trembling as I tried to hold myself together, swallowing the urge to break down.
“What happened to him?” I whispered, my voice raw.
Enzo rolled his eyes. “He was being an asshole, so I took him out.” He exhaled sharply. “He is bad, Chiara. I walked in on him pacing around the room and talking to someone.” He paused, rubbing his forehead. “No one was there. You have to help him.”
“How?” I breathed. “He is crazy.”
“Dream. Put him in the Asylum. Make him better.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a bottle filled with a pale liquid. “Oleander tea,” he said. “It will make you both dream.”
“What if I don’t come back?” I asked, staring at him. “What if we both don’t make it out?”
“In some weird way, he kind of loves you,” Enzo said, his brows pulling together as if he doubted his own words. “He will not allow you to be trapped there.”
“Okay,” I whispered. I took the bottle from his hand and drank two sips. It was enough to drag me into a heavy sleep.
I crawled toward Oscar and turned him onto his back. I lay my head on his chest, a tear slipping down as I whispered, “I will never fix you. And now that I know I can’t heal you, at least I can try to save you. Maybe one day you will find whatever it is you are looking for.”
Then I closed my eyes.
It felt like I was falling into a long, endless tunnel. My nightdress was white, fluttering around me, and objects floated beside me as if they had been pulled from memories I forgot I had.
A clock ticked in the air and showed 3:18 a.m. A heart-shaped necklace spun beside me. Branches of oleander flowers twisted in slow circles. Polaroid pictures floated past, showing strangers holding hands, their arms stretching as if they were forbidden to touch.
And then the fall ended, and I hit the bottom.
It was soft beneath me, almost like landing on a bed. I stood up slowly and saw a small door in front of me, only high enough to reach my hips. I pushed it open and stepped through.
On the other side, I was standing before the asylum.
Santa Maria Asylum.
I opened the gate. People in straitjackets moved around me, jerking their heads, screaming without words, trapped in their own minds. The air was freezing, cold enough that I could see my breath slipping out of me like smoke.
I was back. In this wicked dream inside a dream.
I opened the door of the asylum and stepped inside.
The place looked abandoned, trash scattered across the floor, broken glass glittering everywhere.
The silence was heavy, yet beneath it I heard the faint ticking of a clock.
When I turned around, I saw a doctor in a white uniform, his head replaced with a giant bunny mask, an axe gripped in his hand.
I screamed and started to run. My legs moved so fast they twisted under me, barely holding me upright. Out of nowhere, my body slammed into a hard chest, and when I lifted my head, it was him.
“My little Dolly,” he said with a smile. “You cannot save what was cracked inside my mind.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me into a room.
He shoved a metal cabinet against the door, blocking the doctor from coming in. I heard the axe hit the door again and again, each slam sending my heartbeat faster.
Oscar took my hand and dragged me toward the table. “What are you doing?” I asked as he lay me down.
“Shh,” he whispered, tying me to the bed. “Shh.” He stepped back, grabbed a brown leather belt, and pressed it between my lips. “Bite,” he said. “I do not want to see those pretty white teeth fall out.” He pushed the belt deeper into my mouth until I had no choice but to bite down hard.
Then he moved to the side, lifting two metal wires. A wild laugh escaped him. “Dolly,” he said, grinning. “Smile.”
He placed the metal pieces against my temples. My eyes slammed shut as my whole body jerked, electricity tearing through me like fire. The world went blank, fading into this empty hole, and over it all, I heard him singing softly.
“La, la, la, la, la.”
You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.