Page 21 of Dolly

My teeth grind as I take in all of the bruising and cuts over her body. They used her as a fucking piñata.

“Go slow. It’s going to hurt for a while.” These fucking bars! If I could get in her cell, I could help her. She turns her face toward me. Her lips are swollen and red. They may have left her ass and pussy alone, but there’s a third hole for them to abuse.

“Fuck, baby,” I groan, sinking down to my knees. “They left a bucket of water. You have to clean yourself up. I know it hurts, take your time, but you have to clean up.”

“I’m so sleepy,” she whispers, curling her knees up to her chest. Her eyes close.

“Dolly, you have to wake up now. Drink some water, then clean yourself with it.”

She nods and pushes herself up. Her wince of pain tears me in two.

“It’s cold,” she says, dipping her hand in the bucket.

“I know, but you have to clean up.” If I was there, I’d do it for her. I’d lay her in my lap and tend to each welt. But I’m stuck over here, helpless.

She cups her hands and drinks several gulps of the water before she starts washing herself. Every whimper cuts into my heart.

“That’s good. Almost done. Good girl,” I say, and immediately stiffen. It’s what they tell her when she obeys. Fuck.

Her eyes flicker to me, her lips gently tugging into a smile.

“I’m sorry,” I say, pressing my forehead to the chilled bars. I’m not helping.

“It’s nice when you say it,” she tells me as she finishes washing her legs. She's dripping and there are no towels or material to dry off with.

“How’s your head?” I force my eyes off her body. Under the cuts and bruises is her shapely figure. The last thing I need is for my body to appreciate her too much.

“Not as foggy as before. I’m just sleepy.” The small springs in the cot squeak when she sits on it. “I want to take another nap.”

“Okay, go ahead. They should bring food soon.” My stomach is empty and crying for relief. It’s possible it’s my hope talking and not my reasoning.

She lies down on the cot, draping her arm over her eyes. I watch as her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm.

“Ken,” she murmurs. She won’t call me by my real name, insisting she stick to their rules—I can’t call her Abigail, and she can’t call me Brian. The first time I said her name—her real name—she cried, scared they were going to come down and hurt her. I haven’t tried since.

“Yeah?” I ease myself to the floor, crossing my legs and folding my arms over my chest. Moving around will keep me warm, but I’m getting tired.

“I kept my promise,” she whispers.

I find a glimmer of joy in her statement.

“I knew you would.”

“I won’t leave you here alone,” she says. “A promise is a vow.”

“That’s right.” I close my eyes, listening to the soft melody of her breathing. She’s safe now—for a little while at least. I can’t touch her, but I can feel her.

“Ken?” Her voice is small.

“Yeah?” I keep my eyes closed. A nap sounds like a good idea.

“I want to hurt them,” she confesses. “I want to hurt them for what they did to me—what they do to you.” The cot creaks, and I open my eyes to see her.

She’s on her stomach, her eyes wide and clear as she stares at me through the bars. “I want them to die.”

I grin.

“I promise you, Dolly, they will.” Before I drag in my last breath, Bossman and Beardman will burn in hell.

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