Page 19 of Dolly

He’s not as smart as me.

“I know.” He stretches his arms across his chest. “It’s okay. I’m ready.”

“You shouldn’t fight them. They hurt you so bad.”

He levels a stare on me. “The longer they keep me upstairs, the longer you stay down here,” he tells me.

“You don’t have to do that.” I push up to my feet. The concrete is still cold, but they let me keep the dress on the last time they had me in front of the cameras.

“Tell me something you remember from before.” He changes the subject. He told me the more we try to remember about before we were brought here, the stronger our minds will be. Sometimes my mind is clear and I can remember fun things, but a lot of times, I’m in a fog.

“Like what?” I’m not muddled today.

“You still haven’t told me how you got here.”

I frown. “Let’s talk about something else.” I sit on my cot and curl into myself.

“It will help. If you can remember anything about the building, about where you were brought in,” he says. Ken thinks we can escape, but he hasn’t been here as long as I have. He doesn’t understand there’s no way out.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I bury my face in my knees, hugging them closer to me. It’s warmer in my cell than before. Does that mean it’s warmer outside? If I could get a grasp on time, the days wouldn’t feel so endless. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hopeless.

“You have to keep your mind sharp,” he urges me, but I’m tired again. The nothingness of the days exhausts me.

“Let’s play a game instead,” I suggest. “Twenty questions.”

He sighs. I’ve disappointed him. Not something new for me.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s okay,” he says, but the exasperation is in his tone. “Tell me about something else—” He cuts off as the door creaks open.

“You two aren’t getting any ideas about being friends, are you?” Beardman clinks his keys against the bars of my cell door. “’Cause that’d be a bad idea.”

I peek through my arms at Ken. He’s backed away from the door, his hands pumping at his sides. He won’t talk to Beardman unless he has to, but he’s getting ready to fight him if he opens the door. They make it worse if we fight, doesn’t he understand that?

“This is for you.” Beardman opens my door and drops a garment bag on the floor. “Put that on. There’s a special request upstairs waiting on you.”

My throat clenches, but I scoot off my cot and pick up the bag. Unzipping the front of it, layers of lace fall forward. Another dress with all the frills.

“Shit.” Beardman digs through his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. My eyes lock on the phone. Maybe Ken’s right. Maybe we can find a way out of here. Beardman jerks his hand at me when he catches me watching him while he’s talking.

I pull the dress out of the bag and lay it on the cot. It’s not fair that Ken doesn’t get one and I do, but he already said it wouldn’t matter any to him. He’d rather I had it.

“Get dressed, and don’t get it fucking dirty. I’ll be right back.” Beardman slams my cell door shut and locks it before he scuttles back to the stairwell, muttering curses under his breath.

“What did he mean special request?” Ken asks me, coming forward in his cell again.

I work the buttons on my dress open and slip it over my head. I’ve never had such little privacy before. Even on the bad days, I wasn’t so exposed. But now, everyone has seen me at all stages of dress, and never with my consent.

“What did he mean?” Ken asks me again because I didn’t answer. It’s going to make him tense if I explain what’ll happen when I go upstairs. And I don’t want to worry him. I’ve already disappointed him by not telling him what he wanted to know.

“A special request is when a bidder gets to be in the room with me.” I drag the new dress over my head. The tooling is rough against my tender skin as it glides over my ass, but I’m sure it won’t be on long once I get upstairs.

Ken’s knuckles go white from gripping the bars. “They’re just there,” he prompts.

I pull out the ribbon from my right pigtail and palm it while I work my messy hair into a braid. Without a brush, I can’t make it as neat as they’ll want, but if I braid it tight, maybe I won’t have to bend over the punishment bench before we start.

“Do they touch you? Hurt you?” He pushes for answers he doesn’t want but can’t help but ask.

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