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As soon as the door opened, I sprinted out. I cried as I ran back to my room. Once inside, I collapsed onto the bed, sobbing into the comforter. I was never getting out of here. I’d be in this place until the person or people running it decided they were bored of me and killed me off to bring in a new toy. Another doll for this fucked up dollhouse. All the power and control I’d felt building inside me evaporated. I was left with a desert inside my heart and soul. This place would be my tomb.
That night at dinner I was like a zombie as I shuffled into the dining room. My eyes were still red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying. The others saw my state but said nothing, even Elise. Good little dolls that they were. Only Drake looked at me with concern as we sat to eat. Mechanically, I scooped chili into a bowl and grabbed a corn muffin.
My despair wasn’t deep enough for me not to notice the way Bri and Liam were exchanging furtive glances. Liam gave her what I’m sure he thought was, a knowing grin. Ever since that night those two and Elise had done god knows what to each other, I’d noticed Liam and Bri making eyes at each other.
Great for them. Maybe they’d fall in love, and then Sam would make them torture each other to death. One of the dumbest things you could do was to get attached to anyone here.
Sam had warned me about Drake. He probably planned to set us on each other once Carlos was done, or I refused to kill the little shit.
For days, I’d had the idea that I was becoming stronger and might be able to take some agency in my life. Like I was strong enough to fight back. Now? I knew what I was. A pawn that fate had decided to fuck with from the day I was born. If there was a god of some sort, he was a sick fuck who liked watching me squirm and squeal.
Well, I’d pick a hill to die on. I wasn’t sure what it would be, but I would.
“Dahlia?” Drake whispered. “Are you okay?”
I ignored him at first. Instead, I ate spoon after spoon of food. The last thing I wanted was to be hungry again.
His hand was on my thigh. “Hey. What happened to you?” he asked.
“Stop,” I said through a mouth of chili. “It’s not important.”
Drake’s hand slid away from my leg. After dinner, I walked quickly back to my room, hoping to leave the others behind, but Drake ran to catch up with me. He grabbed my arm and spun me around.
“What the hell, Dahlia? What happened today? I’ve never seen you like this.”
I wanted to yank my arm out of his hand, but I didn’t have the energy. All I could do was shake my head and swallow hard to keep tears from springing to my eyes.
“This is all so pointless, Drake,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “We’re dead here. All of us. What’s the use in doing anything? I think I’ll start disobeying until he kills me. That might be easier.”
Drake didn’t speak, instead he leaned forward and kissed me. His lips pressed into mine. At first, I held mine closed, even clamping them together tighter, but he didn’t relent. The warmth of his body against mine and the feel of his breath tickling my cheeks and lips sent a wave of relaxation through me. Eventually, I relaxed and opened my mouth, letting his tongue into mine and probing his with my own.
It went on for several seconds before we were both shocked. Our lips pulled apart as we gasped in pain. I clutched my wrist to my chest and looked at Drake.
“See? Pointless,” I said and walked away to my room, leaving Drake standing in the hall.
Chapter 25
Obedience. That was the only thing in my thoughts over the next few days. My mind collapsed in on itself, and I insulated my emotions from everyone. Even Drake, who continued to try to cajole me out of the shell I’d built. Like a robot, I went about my daily tasks. That didn’t mean I was emotionless, though. There was too much going on for me to be wholly impassive.
The only true pleasure I had during those days of darkness was the torture. I was sent back to Carlos once more and got to whip him with an extension cord and pour hot wax on him. His cries and screams again sent me into a near-sexual frenzy. Sam still didn’t instruct me to kill him or hurt him severely, though.
At night, I imagined what I’d done to him that day and slid my fingers between my legs to rub myself furiously as I thought about the way he’d screeched and the blood and tears. The orgasm that hit me was almost as strong as the last one I’d had with Drake. Close, but not quite.
I was waiting for the order to kill Carlos and trying to figure out what I’d do. If I couldn’t escape with Drake, being stuck here, unable to touch him or really speak with him, was worse than hell.
The others, noticing my moodiness, had begun leaving me out of conversations and skirting around me. My attitude turned even darker after several days without going to the torture room. There was no way for me to know what had become of Carlos. Was Sam keeping him in some kind of prison cell elsewhere? Had he sent one of the others to finish him off? Denying me that defiance?
Days melded together, and the exact time became amorphous. A vague combination of waking, eating, working, and sleeping that painted my days with monotony. My desire to go back to the playroom was almost palpable. I was beginning to feel like I needed it. Nothing could satisfy the craving to inflict pain, the pleasure it gave me was like a drug. It made me feel alive.
It didn’t help that Sam had started to keep Drake and me apart. We hadn’t had any sessions together. If we could have had one moment together, I would’ve tried to get him to fuck me again like he had the other day. It would’ve been a different kind of pleasure but still amazing and welcome. Instead, we only saw each other as we passed in the hall and at meals.
Some unknown number of days later, after lunch, I finally got my wish. A message from my cuff told me to report to the viewing room after a two-hour break in my room. My eyes lit up at the thought. The break in my room had dragged on like days instead of hours. When the door clicked open, I nearly sprinted out to rush down the hallway.
Through the doors of the viewing room, I skidded to a stop as I saw what awaited me through the viewing window into the playroom. I’d assumed he’d died of his injuries. They’d been severe, but Branson sat tied to the chair again. It had been days, Christ, it may have been a month since I’d seen him.
Knowing I’d have to go in there at some point, I shuffled forward until I entered the room. His head hung limp, his hair greasy and unwashed. The wounds where I’d cut his nipples off were now dark brown glossy scabs. Between his legs there was nothing but a shriveled and blackened lump, ready to tumble off the body at the slightest touch.
Lifting his head, he met my eyes, and I could see he was mentally gone. Madness had erased almost all of his personality. The gaze was hollow and unfocused as he looked at me. My skin still crawled when his eyes landed on me like that, even though I could see he was already broken. The old anger, resentment, and rage bubbled up again. Compressed and pushed down for days as I lamented my inability to escape. This, however, was what I needed.
