Pretty Stolen Dolls (14 page)

“Who is this?” he seethes, his tone so deadly, the chill from it creeps into my bones and freezes me.

“No one,” I assure him, my voice a whisper. “Just my neighbor.”

“Then why in the hell is his arm around you like you belong to him?” he snarls possessively, and I wither in fright. “I’m going to fuck you. You’re mine, little doll. Not his. Mine.”

I’m about to question what the difference between lovemaking and fucking is when he keeps hold of my hair, yanking my head back even farther, stretching me so much, it restricts my breathing.

“Ahhh!” I wheeze out past trembling lips.

“Beg for it! Tell me whose dolly you are!”

Tears streak down my cheeks as I struggle to put my hands on the mattress to keep my hair from being pulled right from my scalp. “Please!”

“Please what?” he demands as he shoves apart my thighs with his knee.

“I’m your doll…”

His grip loosens and I fall back against the new pillow he recently gifted me. People take pillows for granted until they go without one for three years. And when you are gifted one, you’ll feel such appreciation, you almost forget the monster lurking within him.

I yelp when he pushes his hardened cock inside my hot center. As always, my body is receptive and accepting for him.

He’s all I’ve known. The only contact I have.

He oftentimes makes me go without food, feeding my body with his “love” instead.

More times than not, I forgo food anyway, just to have that delicious feeling of my body floating my thoughts away from me.

“You’re my little doll,” he groans against my hair as he thrusts brutally into me. I’m not used to him taking me this way. Everything feels more intense.

“Yes.”

“I want to choke the shit out of my little dolly.”

Tears well in my eyes and I start to argue, but his palm wraps around my throat. His grip is tight and unyielding as he pounds into me from behind. I’m powerless to pull him off me as I struggle to breathe. His whole weight crushes me, but he somehow manages to slide a palm around to my stomach, pulling me closer to him.

Will he kill me like the other dolls?

The thought terrifies me, but not like it should. I don’t want Macy to be alone.

For him to do this to her.

To be disposable to him.

The air thickens around me and I’m aware of the darkness cloaking my senses, smothering me. I’m blacking out with this thought on my mind, but the moment he touches my clit, he revives me. Like the confused girl I am, I choose an orgasm over air—just like I choose them over nourishment.

“Good girl,” he mutters, his grip loosening slightly. “Love me.”

I suck tiny hisses of air into my lungs, but it isn’t what I’m greedy for. I’m greedy for the intense pleasure I know he’ll gift me if I simply hold still. He continues his relentless thrusting while his fingers do their magical dance.

Between his expert touches and the brutal way he takes me with his massive hand around my throat, I release harder than I ever have before. I completely black out with his whispered name, the name he won’t allow us to say, on my lips.

Benny.

Benny.

“Benny.”

The movement stops and I blink my eyes open as Bo’s beautiful face crumples in devastation.

“Were you…” his voice drops to a whisper, “were you thinking about that monster?”

God, no.

Yes.

My lip wobbles. This seems like a terrible time to discuss this—with him balls deep inside my vagina. “I, uh…I had a terrible day.”

He slips out of me and jumps out of the bed as if I’m a snake that’s just bitten him. “What happened?”

I frown as he dresses with record speed. “Chief put me on leave. I thought the missing girl and today’s homicide were related to…”

“Related to what?” he snaps.

“Benny.”

His lip curls in anger. My sweet Bo doesn’t look sweet at all. He looks pissed. “This shit again, Jade? Not every missing girl or homicide is that sick fucking prick.”

This shit?

Did he just expect me to let it go?

Does he not see Benny lives inside me, still keeping me prisoner in my mind?

“I want you to go back to your therapist,” he hisses, a cold bite in his voice. “You’ve gotten worse lately. It’s making you crazy, Jade.”

At this, I sit up on my elbows and glare. “You know how I feel about the therapist. It doesn’t help. It only makes things worse. We talk in circles and nothing gets solved. I’m not going back. I made a mistake and I have a week to think it over.”

He scrubs his face with his palm. “Why didn’t you wear your ring?”

Guilt slides over me like oil on a lake. “My job—”

“You’re lying. Did you even tell anyone about our engagement? Your parents?”

I close my eyes.

“I told my partner,” I push out.

A harsh laugh escapes him. “Babe, you need to get your shit together. I’ve stood by idly for long enough, but I won’t watch you destroy yourself from the inside out. See the therapist or…” he trails off, his gaze hardening.

“Or what?”

“Forget it.” He stomps off into the closet.

Scrambling out of the bed on clumsy, still-drunk feet, I charge after him. “Or what, Bo?”

He shoves some clothes into a backpack and the hangers clang together as each shirt comes loose. “Or we may as well throw in the towel now. How the fuck are we going to bring kids into a situation like this?”

Kids?

I gape at him with a dumfounded look on my face.

“Like I said,” he huffs, “forget it. I always knew it would be hard getting you on the same page as me. I just didn’t know it would be fucking impossible.”

A tear streaks down my cheek as he pushes past me out of the closet.

“Where are you going?”

He shrugs. “I’m going to Mom’s. If you need me, you can find me there. You apparently need some space to get your head together. I’ll be waiting for you when you snap out of it. Like usual.”

Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.

I stand there naked, my mouth open in shock as I watch the boy who has always been there for me walk out the door.

L
OOKING AROUND THE APARTMENT THIS
woman, or doctor…or whatever she is, calls an office, I see a thousand items no one person could possibly need in their lifetime. So many…things.

There are no photos or evidence of a family.

Just her things.

As if she collects them to fill some void in her life.

She’s dressed in a pantsuit a size too big and it hangs heavily and loose around her body, disguising the womanly curves beneath.

“Do you want to sit?” she asks, gesturing with her pen that doesn’t produce ink. Instead, it writes on a pad that uploads straight to her computer to file away for a later date. So sophisticated…

Why people feel the need to talk to a psychiatrist I will never understand. But it does serve my purpose. What harm can it do?

“I like your outfit,” I lie, and I think she knows it. Her narrowed eyes trace the outline of my form.

“Yours is very pretty as well.” Her genuine smile crinkles the lines around her eyes, showing her age.

Pretty.

A word on anyone else’s lips but
his
is just a word.

Breathe.

My hands snake down the front of my dress and I almost feel pretty wearing it, but not quite.

Pretty little doll.

My fingers slide along the cool glass of the fish tank in the middle of the room. It’s clear it’s put there to make a statement, but all it tells me about this woman is she’s lonely,
like me.
Only, I don’t need to surround myself with pets that will die and be replaced to know this.

Out here in this big, bad world, I’m all alone.

She allows me to wander about her space and doesn’t push me to sit or talk, so I take my time and eventually lower myself onto the seat opposite.

“How are you?” she asks.

What a simple, yet loaded question.
How am I?

I’m scared. I’m angry. I’m lost.

“I’m missing a piece of me,” I answer truthfully before flicking my gaze up to gauge her response.

Was she expecting such honesty? Would she see through the dress and hair to the broken doll beneath?

“Tell me about that. What are you missing?” She swirls her pen over the pad, but I can’t see what it is she’s writing. Her nose scrunches slightly and it makes me think she perceives more than I want her to.

She doesn’t keep her eyes downcast and somehow manages to hold eye contact with me the entire time despite her subtle note taking.

“When I was a little girl,” I say absently, my eyes drifting to the fish tank where a blue fish chases a yellow one, “my sister was fascinated with my hair. She used to braid plaits in either side and I used to let her. It helped to prevent tangles.” I smile fondly, reminiscing in the memory.

“Tell me more about your sister, were you close?” The woman’s interest is piqued and she leans slightly forward, as if she doesn’t want to miss a single detail.

Her image flashes in my mind and I hold it there, terrified one day the memory of her face will fade and evade me forever. So perfect. Dark hair. Sparkling hazel eyes. Pretty.

Pretty little doll.

“Closer than anything,” I whisper. My arms curl around my stomach. “Do you have some water?”

She points to a see-through jug holding water and what looks like sliced cucumber floating on top. “Help yourself.”

I pour the water and a slice plops into the cup, causing some to jump out and wet the table.

“Sorry,” I mutter, attempting to wipe it up with my hand. I don’t belong in a stupid apartment that has fish as a feature drinking fancy water.

“It’s fine, leave it.” Leaning forward, she pats my hand and I jolt back into my seat. Her eyes widen and she holds up a hand in surrender. “I’m so sorry, you don’t like to be touched?”

I do like to be touched…just not by strangers.