Elizabeth
A SMILE TILTS MY LIPS at the aromas filling the air. I place the lid over the pot and give the salad one last toss. Getting ready took me ages. Even though Master didn’t want me going to any trouble, I felt the need to embrace who I am…what he calls me. I put on my best doll makeup and a pretty dress—white, matching the panties I’m wearing. My socks cover my knees, and the plain Mary Jane’s glisten from their polish.
My feet carry me back to the new gift that was waiting for me on the porch when I returned from shopping. Another precious doll. Although, none are as incredible as the first one he gave me. It’s my favorite. My stomach somersaults at the thought of asking Master if he is indeed the one who writes to me under the username Dollkeeper and sends me the gifts. It makes the most sense—the reason things moved so quickly from meeting. Really, this had been building for a while. But then that means he did seek me out. Searched and found me. Imbedded himself into my life. A thrill of appreciation shoots through me.
A text alerts from my cell on the counter, gaining my attention.
Master: I’ll be there soon. Be ready.
My heart skips, and I check myself once more in the mirror. The door handle twists open, and my excitement is palpable in the air around me. As the wood door swings open, my heart sinks. Elise waltzes in, accompanied by friends—lots of them. She looks me up and down, then grabs my elbow before marching me into the back room out of view from the people still piling into the house.
Releasing me, she glares up and down my body once more. “This has to stop! Look at you. You look like a porn child,” she screeches.
What the hell is a porn child?
“I’m a doll,” I clarify.
“No, Beth, you’re a person—a damaged one after finding out about our sick, twisted brother and his doll fetish.”
“This isn’t about that,” I lie. In truth, that is exactly where this deep-rooted fixation started.
“Do you have no respect for the people he killed? The women he stole? Jade, for Christ’s sake?” she hollers, and shame shrouds me.
This isn’t like that. They didn’t have a choice. This isn’t for our dead brother. This…this is for me.
And Master.
“Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be at the dorms?” I snap, irritation stealing away the high from moments before.
She flinches at the force of my tone. “You know I’m trying to avoid the guy I was seeing. He will go there looking for me, I just need some time.”
“Well, you could have asked,” I sass. She’s going to ruin everything, like usual.
“This is my home too,” she argues. “I just like staying at the dorms. And, as a matter of fact, I did ask Mom.”
Of course perfect little Elise asked Mom.
“Who are all those people?”
“I’m having a little party. Mom won’t be home until Sunday. She said it was fine. I need this, Beth. Don’t be a brat.”
Me? I need to not be the brat? I want to scream at her at the top of my lungs.
“And, Beth,” she calls, stopping at the doorway, “Jason is invited, so play nice.”
“Screw you, Elise,” I screech, anger, frustration, and hurt colliding inside me. How can my own sister push the subject of stupid, ugly, wandering hands Jason Dickface so hard?
Her mouth hangs open like a blow-up doll waiting for some old weirdo’s dick. A snigger slips from my lips at the thought, and I rush past her to grab my cell. I need to beg Master to take me away from here. From her. From everyone.
When the front door opens again and Dillon stands there looking grim, my heart sinks, my stomach knotting at the thought of what must have caused the expression on his usually perfect face.
“What is it?” I breathe, expecting bad news—waiting for it.
He frowns and closes the door, his eyes skirting over to the now bustling kitchen. “You having a dinner party?”
My special dinner. Ruined. Fucking Elise.
Elise shakes her head no and ushers him into the back room. I follow behind them and close the door. “What is it, D? You’re scaring me.”
“I just came from downtown,” he utters, his voice strained. “We believe a suicide.”
Oh God. Who? Why are you here, dammit?
“I’m sorry, Elise,” he says. “It’s a kid I’ve seen you running around with before. Jason Bronson.”
Her gasp echoes in the silence. Dillon looks over to me, but I don’t have anything to offer him. I hated Jason. I didn’t wish death on him, but I don’t feel differently about him because he’s dead. I’m numb to the news. I feel nothing.
“Why?” she questions, shock shaking her voice.
“Who knows, sweetheart. It’s usually a multitude of things that could have easily been remedied if the person had gotten the help they clearly needed. No one is to blame here,” he states, his eyes focusing on me, pinning me to the spot I’m standing in.
“Is that all?” I ask, desperate to leave so I can call Master.
“Elizabeth,” Elise wheezes, her tear-ridden eyes judging me.
“He was your friend, not mine,” I inform her.
“You’re so heartless! Who are you?” she yells, coming at me with her hand splayed. The hit happens quick, stinging like flames across my cheek, sending my face jerking sharply to the side from the impact.
Bitch!
Rage roars inside my head like a violently hungry lion, begging me to break loose and tear her throat out. I’m tired of her—so fucking tired. My temper flares to uncontainable intensity and the urge to yank her stupid fake hair out consumes me, but Dillon encases her in his broad arms before I can react. Snuffs my blazing plans with one simple action of protection. He thinks he’s protecting me from her. Truth is, though, she needs protection from me.
“Look at her,” Elise screams, disgust in her tone. “This creepy doll thing. It’s out of hand. Someone was taking photos of me the other day, and it’s because they think I’m this…this…”
“This what?” I shout back at her spoiled outburst.
“This killer loving doll freak,” she spits at me.
“That’s enough,” Dillon barks, and she stops squirming in his hold as she cries into his chest. Who’s the brat, really?
“I want to talk to you, Beth—about all of this. But not tonight. I think maybe one of you should come home with me to give the other space for the evening.”
I’m nineteen years old for God’s sake, and as much as I appreciate him looking out for me—for us—he isn’t our father.
“No,” I state, bitterness in my tone. I have somewhere I can go. Grabbing my cell, I bolt up the stairs.