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"Dahlia, wait," Drake shouted as I reached my feet and sprinted from the room.
Leaving him behind, I ran as fast as I could, bouncing off the wall as my vision blurred from tears. All coherent thought vanished. All I could do was get to my room. Was I even safe there? Drake probably had a key, he could get in anywhere if he was really partnering with Sam.
I stopped beside the door to my room, bent over, and puked on the floor. What little breakfast I’d eaten splattered on the thick carpet. My device buzzed, pulling me from my breakdown: Lovely little surprise isn’t it, Dahlia. Pretty boy isn’t so pretty now, is he?
"Fuck you," I screamed and slammed the device into the wall.
Instead of breaking the thing, I punched a small dent into the drywall and sent a bolt of pain down my arm. Holding my hand to my chest, I stumbled the rest of the way into my room, slammed the door, and wedged a chair beneath it. It probably wouldn’t stop anyone, but it gave me a bit of false security.
Collapsing onto my bed, I hugged my knees to my chest and sobbed. The tears eventually ended, along with the worst of my shock and horror. Once the adrenaline faded, I could think clearly. The anger and betrayal were pushed aside for something that I didn’t realize I had at the moment. Rational thought.
Drake had lied the whole time I’d been here, but he’d also supported and taken care of me. That had to count for something. Maybe he really was a terrible person, but I’d done awful things too. Did it really make him worse than me? In the big scheme of things?
Images of the way he’d fucked me flashed through my mind. Despite all I’d learned in the last hour, the memories of the sights, sounds, tastes, and sensations, still excited me. If I had to be totally honest with myself, who was the one person besides myself that I wanted to survive this house? It was Drake. It would always be Drake. He’d helped me push through my fear and anger at Branson and my father. Had helped me punish them the way they needed to be punished. Even if his initial motives had been hidden, that didn’t mean he hadn’t truly been helping me.
For hours I lay there debating with myself about everything. Half of me wanted to go and cut his balls off, the other half wanted to forgive him and escape together. Then the true understanding of what was happening kicked in. I’d been too distraught to take in all his words earlier. But now that I thought about it, I remembered. He said he’d lost control of the game. Were he and Sam not on the same page anymore? If that were true, then we had a secret weapon. Drake might know as much or more than Sam did. There was still no telling when and where Sam watched us, but if we could work together, Drake and I might really have a chance to get out of here.
My stomach had been growling for over an hour when we were finally called to dinner. I didn’t want to eat, but I needed to. Drake was in the dining room, and looked at me with an intensity that made my knees weak as I walked in.
"Dahlia?" Payton asked, looking worried. "Where were you for lunch? I was scared something had happened."
"I’m fine. Sam, uh, he let me take a nap as my afternoon activity instead of having lunch. Don’t worry about it. Let’s eat."
Silence descended as we took in our meal. Every few seconds I glanced over at Drake. Somehow I both hated him and wanted him. A whispery corner of my mind told me something I didn’t want to hear. I was falling in love with him. That thought sent the more pragmatic part of my mind into fits. This was all wrong. How could I love the man who’d kidnapped and imprisoned me here? The man who’d brought me my greatest abusers for retribution. That alone meant more to me than the betrayal. He’d given me what I never thought I could have. Power and agency, an ability to take back what had been ripped away from me as a child. If someone gave you gifts like that, couldn't you look past a lie? Even if it was the biggest one you’d ever experienced?
Bri and Payton continued eating. Drake picked at his food, but I could see the anxiety on his face. He didn’t allow himself to glance my way. Probably afraid of what he’d see in my eyes. For now, I wouldn’t rat him out. For now, I’d wait and see if he was being truthful. I could give him that much after all he’d done for me.
Chapter 22
DRAKE
Everything was falling apart. All of it. The one thing I’d clung to was the idea that Dahlia would take the revelation in stride. After everything I’d shown her, all the things we experienced together, I had held out hope that she would understand. The exact opposite had happened. A certain amount of confusion and shock had been anticipated, but she’d acted as though her entire world had been destroyed. Seeing her like that had almost broken me. Though, I still held out some hope. She hadn’t ratted me out to Payton or Bri. She had all the time in the world to tell them, yet she hadn’t. I gripped that hope like a drowning man holding a life preserver.
Unfortunately, Dahlia wasn’t my only issue. My bedroom had become my prison. I paced back and forth, trying to use up my pent up energy. Every few minutes I glanced at the outline of the hidden door to my office. Each time filled me with more rage than ever before. In my mind, I could still picture the cleaned out room, the locked door to the bunkers. The way I’d been completely cut off from everything. Sam had gone off the rails, and I had no way of finding out why. Even last night, when the assistant had roused me from sleep, he wouldn’t tell me anything. Silence. That was all I’d been met with, that and a few grunted orders.
Stopping in the middle of the room, I hung my head in shame and sadness. The poor girl. The moment I saw her, I knew things had gone bad. Even more than when Sam ransacked my office and locked me out. Ashley was too young. I’d consulted on her case nearly a year ago. A young girl who’d been raped by her pastor father. A small southern church that operated damn near like a cult. Even when rumors spread, the congregation wouldn’t believe it. Several had even given alibis for his actions, keeping him out of jail. They’d gone to the police and told stories about Ashley lying and making things up for years.
She was a perfect candidate for intensive therapy here in the dollhouse, but she’d been too young. I’d told Sam that. It should have been set in stone. There were rules we’d implemented from the beginning, and he’d pissed on them. Not only had he brought her here against my instructions but had forced Dahlia to watch her die. The only solace I had was that she’d been able to dispense her punishment on the man who harmed her. She’d been able to die knowing that her abuser had suffered and died as well.
"Are you ever going to talk to me again?" I said to the empty room.
Was he even watching right now? Maybe. Maybe not. We’d done our best to instill a sense of godlike watchfulness among the dolls. They never knew when we’d be watching. Sometimes Sam wasn’t even the one to punish them. I had a special control built into my wrist device that could work some house controls and shock the dolls if necessary. That too had been disabled remotely by Sam.
Why wouldn’t he interact with me? Even if it was to gloat, it would be better than the silence. He could still have been watching me though. Maybe he no longer wanted to speak to me. What had happened to cause this? Had I wronged him in some way? If I did, I couldn’t think of what I’d done. Hopelessness draped me like a blanket.
The only hope I had was the second key. The emergency back up I’d hidden on the off chance I lost the first. I’d never believed it would be stolen. The only trouble was getting it without getting shocked. Again, I couldn’t know when Sam was watching me and when he wasn’t, plus the fucking trackers in them made it to where he’d be alerted to me even if he didn’t have his eyes on me. He would shock me to death If he thought I got near it. He knew it was upstairs, but beyond that, he had no clue where I’d hidden it. One of the few things I’d ever kept hidden from him, and I’d never been so relieved to keep a secret in my life. The only thing I could do was keep trying and hoping I could catch Sam off guard for a few small minutes
Sitting on my bed, I dreamed of a day when Dahlia accepted the gift I’d given her. We could escape, kill Sam, and then we could start all over. Pull the plug on Bri and Payton, bring a new group in. Continue our work. That fantasy helped push back some of the despair.
While I sat stewing and feeling sorry for myself, the power shut off. It was later than I thought. A few seconds after the darkness descended, my head grew foggy. Blinking rapidly, I fought off dizziness.
"Son of a bitch," I growled, and jumped up, running to the bathroom.
Before Sam had taken full control, I’d never been gassed before, at least not against my will. Grabbing towels, I jammed them under the crack of the bathroom door, trying to block out the gas. It was pointless though. I’d already breathed in too much. I sat back against the wall, slowly sinking into unconsciousness. If Sam had been listening, I would have cursed him, but instead, I fell into a dreamless sleep.
When I woke the next morning, stiff and pissed, I cursed him again. This place was mine, and now all I could do was suffer along like one of the others. The work being done here was important, but there was no way for me to guide the dolls while Sam had me locked in here. As I stood, my back cracked and my knees were tight from sleeping against the wall.
Before I had even managed to open the door of the bathroom A message came through my device: Payton needs to be punished this morning. I trust you can figure out a good way to do that. If you refuse, your precious Dahlia will not like what happens to her.
