1“Vaffanculo,”I spat.
He touched his cheek, biting his lip as a small laugh escaped him. “Feisty.”
Then his hand shot out, wrapping around my throat. He pulled me close, his grip tightening until air became a struggle, his lips brushing mine.
“Try that again, and you’ll lose your hand.”
He let go, eyes still fixed on me. “Get fucking dressed.” He tossed the key onto the mattress.
“You’ve got an hour, Doll. Try not to disappoint me.” He turned away. “Show me you’re worth the price.”
He headed toward the staircase, and as he descended, he shouted back. “And don’t even think about escaping. You won’t make it to the front gate.”
I groaned.
He laughed.
Then the door slammed.
“Fuck you!” I shouted, grabbing the key and fumbling to unlock the cuff around my wrist.
As soon as it clicked open, I ran for the stairs. But the moment I swung the door wide, I crashed straight into his bare chest.
“You really thought you could escape?” he said, laughing, one brow raised. He lifted me effortlessly, moving up the stairs and throwing me back onto the bed.
“Get dressed!” he barked, turning away and heading down again.
The door closed behind him with a thud.
“Cazzo!”I screamed.
I had no choice.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
This was the war I had to lose. Maybe I was never meant to be free. Maybe this was always my destiny, some twisted path before everything would finally be okay. But maybe this wasn’t my story at all. Maybe I was only acameo role.
I took off my jeans, then my black T-shirt, and stared into the mirror in front of me. A fragile, insecure girl stared back. The same girl who once hid her body, afraid to show her curves. Now that girl looked hollow, all life drained out of her until she was nothing but skin and bone. I had lost so much weight I could barely recognize myself.
I used to dream of becoming this version of me, and now I would give anything to go back to who I was a year ago.
It’s strange how we are never happy with ourselves. We always find flaws. And damn, we are all flawed. Maybe I am the most flawed of them all.
Looking at who I’ve become, maybe he was right.
Maybe that’s all I am, just a doll someone needed to give purpose to. Now I was just a lifeless thing, a worn body wrapped in skin the way a rag doll wears her fading cloth.
I picked up the skirt. It was short, red, with a fabric made of thin tulle. I pulled it on. It fit perfectly, as if he had made it for me. Before the corset, I grabbed the socks. One was patterned with red and black squares, the other striped in the same colors. They didn’t match, but maybe that was the point.
I took off my bra, slid the corset over my head, and tugged it down over my chest. The cups pushed my breasts up, my ribs tightening as I pulled the laces in the back, twisting to tie them until my waist looked even smaller than before.
He had also left red ribbons. I let my hair fall from the messybun, then braided the ribbons with my hair into two braids, one on each side.
“He got his wish,” I whispered. “You got your doll.”
I walked to the back, to the sink. I wanted to wash my face, but when I saw the paint, I reached for it instead.
I didn’t use much. Just dipped two fingers into the black paint and dragged arrows down from each eye, smearing them until they formed jagged triangles that cut through the shimmer beneath. A brush was near the paint. I dipped it into the red paint and drew curling lines from the corners of my lips, then filled them in, coating my mouth until it turned a deep, glossy red.
