Page 83 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“You want me to, don’t you?” he says simply.

No!

My scream through the rag is muffled. Fat wet tears soak the blindfold.

“I do,” Macy says softly.

No! No! No!

“One day, perhaps, if my dirty doll pushes me enough,” Benny says, digging his fingers into my hips and causing a burning sting there. “But I’m not a pervert, pretty little doll, despite the lies your sister spilled earlier.”

He digs harder and I wince, breathing deep to handle the pain.

“I like cleaning her up with my mouth. I get the best reactions from her.”

And then his tongue replaces his thumb. His finger pushes inside me and I block it out for as long as possible until the nerve endings spark and my body deceives me. I’m so lost, drifting in confusion and trying to navigate away from the bliss my body seeks—teetering over the edge of sanity, overlooking the depths of the abyss of dark lunacy that’s always lurking.

He sucks on my clit and I jolt. I can’t hold off the sensations flooding my body and without permission, I fly over the edge. My cries become moans without consent. Benny becomes my pleasurer and not my torturer…even if only for a moment. And I hate him more than I ever had.

I’m getting out of here or I’ll die trying.

“WAKE UP.”DILLON’S HOTbreath tickles my ear. “I have your dress ready.”

I’ve been awake for a while, but haven’t left the bed. Dillon carried me back here last night and we both just lay there and held each other in a firm, unbreakable embrace.

Going through the motions, I push back the sheet and make my way to the shower, ignoring the reflection screaming at me to get more sleep.

The hot spray rains over me and I wash my body and then step out into a towel Dillon is holding up for me. He pats over my skin, drying me, and then throws the towel to the bed. Picking up my clean panties he laid out, he taps one leg and then the other, dressing me like I’m a child. And I feel too numb to stop him. I lift my legs so he can roll the black pantyhose up my calves and then thighs. Lifting my arms, he slips my dress over and it falls around me, stopping just below the knee.

I force my feet into a pair of black ballet pumps and pull my hair back into a neat bun.

“You ready?”

I nod.

But I’ll never be ready to bury my parents.

They died because of me.

Watching their matching caskets get lowered into the ground knowing the headstones they had chosen for Macy and I when they assumed we were dead will be put there for them when the ground has settled is a surreal moment.

Will I have to bury Macy next to them?

No.

Recognizing people surrounding their now gravesite but not actually knowing anyone anymore hurts deep inside my bones. I refused to go to the wake last night because of these people who are all now staring, wondering, accusing. I’m barely keeping it together around them.

“Can you take me to the bar for a drink before we go back home?” I ask, curling into Dillon’s side. His arm wraps around me tight, keeping me standing.

“Don’t you want to go to the reception, baby?”

“No.” Shaking my head, I leave the warmth of his safety and move toward his car.

He doesn’t speak the entire ride over to a bar near the precinct that is a favorite among my colleagues, but his hand holds mine firmly against his thigh. “You sure you can handle this lot?” He smirks, tilting his head toward Josie’s Bar.

“Yeah, it will be a good distraction.”

The voices boom and vibrate off the walls as the jukebox lulls in the background to their volume. Liquor and leather assault my senses, and I smile. I need this.

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