Page 22 of Dolly

Eleven

DOLLY

Ican never tell if it’s morning or night when I wake up. My sleep patterns are all off. Did I sleep for an hour or an entire day? I never know.

When I first arrived, I tried to track the time. It was useless. Without the sunlight helping me, I had no real clues. Time doesn’t move at the same speed when you’re locked in a windowless void. A year could have passed already, and I wouldn’t know. I could have missed my birthday.

It wouldn’t have been anything elaborate. A quick dinner with Mom and Dad. But it would have been something. At least I would have known it was my birthday. I would have proof I truly exist.

“Dolly?” Ken breaks the silence.

I roll over in my cot to look at him. There’s not much light since the bulbs in our cells have blown out. The single bulb in the hallway casts dark shadows, but I can at least make out his features.

“I’m awake.” I’ve been sleeping off and on since Beardman dumped me back in my cell after my special request session. My back doesn’t ache anymore, and the tenderness in my thighs is better than the last time I woke up.

“There’s a box in your cell,” he points through the bars.

A large white box just inside the door.

“When did they bring that?” I ask, rolling off the cot. The cold floor soaks into my feet as I make my way to the door.

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear anything.” He clears his throat and sniffs. “I must have been sleeping pretty deep.”

Ken doesn’t sleep much, at least not when I’m awake. Maybe the cold has gotten to him and he’s getting sick. They won’t care. They’ll make him play their games anyway.

“What’s in it?” he asks as I open the box.

It’s filled with white tissue paper that I remove and put on the floor next to the box. “Another dress with slippers,” I pull it out. “Oh.” I drop the outfit and move another layer of tissue paper. “There are bottles of water and muffins in here.” I grab a bottle and wave it in the air.

“Bottles?”

“Yeah…uh, four. And four muffins.” I take a bottle to the bars. “Here, you take one.”

“Wait.” He puts his hand out. “Check the rest. Make sure there isn’t a note or something.”

He’s always thinking of things like that, the little stuff. I remove the water and prepackaged muffins, and there, at the bottom, a piece of paper is taped to the inside of the box.

“You’re right,” I grin at him, then pluck up the note and read it to him. “Eat and drink. You’ll need your energy. There’s an extra special request tonight. Be sure to share with your friend. He’ll need it too.”

Ken frowns as I crouch at the bars.

“Both of us?” he asks, but answering him is pointless. He’s thinking again, finding all the angles. I’ve never been good at detecting the bad side of things. Even when it was right in front of me, betrayal staring me right in the face, I still mistook it for love.

“You have to catch it. I can’t aim between your bars.” I stand, poised to toss the first muffin toward him. He needs the food as much as I do. My stomach stopped making all those nasty grumbling sounds a while ago, but his hasn’t. He’s lost weight too. He tries to fight it by doing push-ups and other exercises, but his stomach is getting flatter.

“Okay, just toss it as close to my door as you can and roll the bottles.” He crouches behind the bars, his cock hanging between his legs, and it takes me back for a second. I’ve seen his cock since they keep him naked, but I never really looked at it before. Not like I am now. The Beardman has made me kiss his, lick it and suck it, and I thought I’d never want to see another one again in my life. But Ken’s is different. It’s not hard or threatening. I don’t think he’d ever use it against me, ever make me feel anything other than safe with him. Because even though he’s locked up in that cell, unable to touch me, I can feel all his strength. I pull from it every day.

I’m a selfish dolly.

“What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. Here.” I toss the first muffin, and he reaches out, catching it before it hits the ground. He misses the second and has to reach further out to grab the corner of the wrapper and pull it close enough to pick up.

The bottles roll to the side, but he gets them both and lines them up in his cell beside the muffins. I tear into a package.

“Blueberry.” I smile. I love blueberry. It’s such a small thing, but it makes the whole muffin better.

I bite into it as Ken turns his around in his hand, the plastic crinkling.

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