Page 3 of Dollhouse

With freshly lotioned skin and a face full of serum, I step out of the bathroom and into our massive bedroom. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips when I find our room empty. Even after I emerge out of the closet, dressed in a fresh pair of panties and a matching silk chemise, the room’s still vacant.

Without that brutal monster in sight, I go to sleep alone, and for the first time in weeks I sleep through the night, uninterrupted, and dream of what it would be like to live any other life except my own.

It’s been three weeks since the night of the charity gala for Sebastian’s hospital.

We’d spent these last two weeks in perfect bliss. Not one cruel word was spoken, and for once, my bruises had time to heal.

But, as we all know, all good things come to an end sooner or later.

Sebastian had been under immense pressure at work, and when he lost one of his favorite patients, a nine-year-old girl with cancer, it set him off. He’d come home that night and took his frustration out on me. That was four nights ago.

Now we're back to our regular routine of abuse. He gets upset by something at work, or by his father telling him he’s not good enough, and I’m the one to get the brunt of his anger. He considers me as his own personal punching bag, after all.

Sebastian has always lost his temper over the slightest thing, but these days, it only seems to get worse. I hate his family for triggering him so much. I’m a coward for allowing myself to live day after day in my own personal form of hell, living with the devil himself.God, why am I so pathetic?

How sad is it that I'd prefer this over living in bliss? When we're getting along, I never know what's going to happen next. At least when we're following our typical abuse cycle, I know what to expect and when.

After being bruise-free for two weeks, I’m back to having permanent scars, and I've returned to wearing long sleeves and applying concealer to the visible bruises on any bare part of my body.

I find it odd to have a bizarre fascination with blood. It’s my twisted little kink—the warmth it oozes, the crimson color of it. But I don't enjoy bleeding from the hands of my husband. I should be used to pain and bleeding, given the life I've lived. I should hate blood because of it. I’m used to receiving pain, both physically and emotionally, so living with Sebastian isn’t any different.

When he fucks me raw until I bleed and cry in agony, I want to curl up and take my last breaths in my own puddle of blood, and it disgusts me that I find blood so damn beautiful.

Something is severely wrong with me.

Sebastian uses objects on me. Anything he can get his hands on he'll force inside me. If I'm being honest, I'd prefer to be hit than to have him violently fuck me.

Is that even rape? Is he raping me every night? I often struggle, but then he tells me that he has a right to my body because we're married.

It is rape, right?

The lines between right and wrong have become so blurred while living in Sebastian’s dollhouse of horrors.

Every day I feel myself drifting further and further away from sanity and the person I once knew myself to be.

Seb is changing too. Each day I see his anger take control over him more and more, and I know one of these days he'll end me. And I'm preparing for it. For my inevitable death.

You could say I'm even poking the bear to speed up the process.

I'm tired. So fucking tired.

Tired of living in the hell that I allowed myself to end up in.

Wondering if it's my karma for the sins of my past.

I must've sold my soul to the devil, and at this point, I'd give anything to be set free.

I hate Sebastian, and one day, he's going to pay for hurting me the way he has.

Love makes a person do crazy things.

Hate makes them do even crazier things. When fueled by hatred, you'd do the unthinkable—the unimaginable.

I've been walking the thin line between love and hate for far too long. Now there's no more gray area; there's only black. Darkness, fueled by my hate for him.

Hate for the man I married.

Hate for the life I was given.

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