Page 92 of The Doll and The Domination

“Vezënzx dou naz éxvz!”

Someone dislodges the cloth from my gaping mouth, allowing me to tip my head to the side and heave.

I wince against the white-hot flames devouring my fingertips, my shaking hands. Bile burns the back of my throat, tears drip endlessly from the corners of my eyes, and I can’t catch my breath.

Did the others not notice my absence? Are they even my friends?

The shrimpy little man holds my fingers up to my face, showcasing their bloody ends where he ripped off my nails. I gag and cry out at the sight.

“Demechnef bïuzetx!”

“You’re making a mistake,” I whisper through unhinged panting, attempting to lick my cracked lips.

“Demechnef bïuzetx!” they chant together.

“My friends have—bad tempers,” I explain, knowing full well they can’t understand me.

I just have to get back to them. I know they don’t see me as one of their own yet. I know I’m new, and they don’t trust me very much. But the truth is…I’ve loved them my whole life. I’ve been distancing myself, trying to protect my own heart.

After I’m struck across the face, blood drizzles from my nose to my lips. They unlatch my chains and flee the room before my vision can clear.

With lethargic, sickly steps, I make my way back to the stadium. I can’t stop the tears from falling, can’t keep my legs and arms from shaking. I’m humiliated. Deeply ashamed. I told them I could protect myself. I told them I was an asset. But I was caught off guard and didn’t react fast enough. Maybe it’s because of a concussion? Maybe it’s because I was afraid they’d kill my child if I fought back?

I step into the circus lighting of the stadium, wobbling forward, one painful step at a time. I can’t seem to focus on anything; my mind pushes me to zone out, escape reality, get lost somewhere deep in the uninhabited passages of my own mind.

Shock.

I’m in shock.

Inmates move out of my way. Tears slip between the crevice of my lips. And my fingers are in agony. It’s as if every nerve ending is screaming, ripping to pieces, buzzing with violent electricity.

I hear my name. One glance up, and they’re running to me. Niles. Ruth. Skylenna. Warrose. And Dessin leading the way.

I bring two fingers to my upper lip, touching the wetness I feel there. Pulling my hand away, I see that I’m still bleeding from my nose. How did this happen? What did I do?

“Her fingers,” Ruth croaks.

“Who fucking did it?” Dessin growls, examining my face with a look of mass murder flaring within his pupils. “Point them out.”

Niles stares at me in shock, blinking repeatedly like he’s trying to clear his thoughts of a traumatizing image.

“You didn’t know I was gone,” I say through a dry mouth. “No one—came looking for me.”

Guilt clouds Skylenna’s forest green eyes. She looks to Dessin with determination and shame.

My eyes are stinging with fresh tears. I never cry. Why can’t I keep this under control? They just keep coming, swelling over my lids, washing down my cheeks. I taste blood, salt, and the remnants of bile.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter bleakly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—”

Someone grabs the caps of my shoulders. They say something, but I can’t hear past my own apologies. They spill past my lips, unburying themselves from a life with Aurick. A life living under Vlademur Demechnef’s thumb. A life of the lady-doll regimen. A life of starvation and vanity. Bleeding was a reason to apologize. Being an inconvenience was a reason to say you’re sorry.

“She’s in shock,” Dessin states coldly. “We need ice water, bandages, and some kind of ointment.”

“It hurts,” I say absently. But my body is numb. Numb. Numb. Numb.

“Marilynn. I need you to tell me who did this to you.” Niles places his thumb and index finger on my chin. His touch is velvety, cool, soothing. His other hand traces the trail of my tears, wiping them away with the utmost gentleness.

I unlatch my gaze from his and look around the stadium seating. There. The six of them have their views from the sixth row, watching the show with pride.

---