by Dori Lavelle
My skin prickles with disgust as his palm strokes my sensitive skin. For a second, my body remembers the man he used to be and the things he used to make me feel. The desire to pull away from him burns inside me like a raging fire, but he’s sleeping with a gun under his pillow. He made sure I saw it before he switched off the light.
I close my eyes and grit my teeth, forcing my body to refuse the temptation of reacting to his touch. As his hand moves to my other breast, I pretend we’re back in the past when everything was good, when we were happy. I pretend we’re back in Houston, in the house I used to love and a marriage I didn’t know was toxic. Giving myself to him is a small price to pay if it will keep me alive. He has made it clear over and over again that the thing he wants the most is me.
Pretending is hard, especially when I know he’s a murderer. The fact that he went as far as drugging me in front of Rosemary and her friends a few hours ago, only goes to show how dangerous he is. He will stop at nothing to keep me in his life.
“I miss you, baby,” he whispers into the nape of my neck. His warm breath sends shivers down my spine, but I stay put. “Do you miss me?” he asks.
At first, I hesitate, then I remind myself that I have no choice. In order to be safe, I need to give him what he wants.
“Yes,” I say through the tightness in my throat. “I miss you.” It’s not actually a lie. I do miss him, the man he used to be, the illusion.
“Then show me.” He turns me around to face him. I’m glad the room is dark so I don’t have to see his ugly features.
Feeling as though I’m betraying myself and my friends who have suffered at his hands, I lean forward and press my lips to his. Before coming to bed, he drank a glass off whiskey. I can still smell it on his breath.
“Fuck me,” he says, his hands cupping my ass, pulling me closer.
“Only if we use a condom,” I say, knowing very well this could set him off. But if he wants me, he has to agree to it.
He already had sex with me without protection and every day I pray that I’m not pregnant with his child. When I finally get away from him, I don’t want anything or anyone to ever remind me of him again.
He must be so desperate to have me because he doesn’t question my request. Instead, he turns away and opens his bedside drawer. Moments later, a wrapper rustles in the silence between us. Since my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I follow his movements as he slides the condom over himself. As soon as he’s done, he pulls me close again and nibbles my bottom lip.
“Is this what you want?” I ask, throwing myself on top of him. “You want me, is that it?”
He grips my ass tight. “More than anything.”
I have never been the kind of person who gets rough during sex, but suddenly a part of me emerges that I don’t recognize. I shove his penis inside me, ignoring the bursts of sensations that take over my body. This is not about me wanting sex or wanting him. This is about me getting some of my power back.
As my hips sway from side to side and back to front, I slap him hard on the face. Then I panic. What if I piss him off?
I’m surprised when he grins.
“That’s right, baby. Give it to me. I want all of you.”
I give him another slap on the cheek. The pain makes him inhale sharply. I don’t stop. From his cheek I move to his chest, digging my nails into his flesh, pummeling him with my fists.
“Whoa!” he says, laughing. “I always knew there was a wild side to you, but I had no idea how rough you like it.”
Instead of responding, I close my eyes and fight the sensations, but I’m losing control. I can’t stop my muscles from clenching around him. When he puts his hands on my waist and slides me up and down his shaft, I cry out.
“That’s right. That’s exactly what I want from you. I want you to be a whore in the bedroom and a perfect wife everywhere else.” Just when I’m on the brink of being overwhelmed by ecstasy, he forces me to my hands and knees. As he enters me again, he buries a hand into my hair and grips it too tight. I grit my teeth to contain the pain. I’m done showing him my weak side. If I have to do what he wants, I’ll do it without showing any weakness until my time comes to punish him for everything he did to me.
He comes before I do. His warm sweat drips on my back as he jerks, stops, then jerks again. At his final thrust, I lose my control completely and orgasm as well. But unlike in the past, I don’t call out his name. How could I? I don’t even know who he is.
When it’s over, he carries me to the bathroom and washes every inch of my body. Then he returns me to the bedroom, changes the dressing on my head and lays me down.
“This is all I ever wanted,” he says, looking down at me as I lie naked and curled up underneath the covers, feeling dirty even after being cleaned. The power I was looking for by having sex with him was only momentary. Even though his cheeks are still red from my attacks and the marks of my fingernails are visible on his chest, I don’t feel victorious. In fact, I feel even worse than before. But I have to continue pretending. It’s a matter of life and death.
“What?” I ask because he’s waiting for me to respond.
“I wanted it to be just us. There’s no one standing in the way now, and no job taking your focus away from our marriage. This is what perfect looks like.”
When I don’t say anything, he leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “I have a gift for you. I was waiting for the right moment. I think this is it. Now that you have returned to me, it’s time for us to move to the next level.”
In silence, I watch him cross the room toward the wardrobe. He reaches into it and comes out holding a large box covered in silver and black wrapping paper. He places it on the bed next to me.
“Open it, but be gentle,” he says.
I’m tempted to tell him I don’t need anything from him except my freedom, but I know better. So, I sit up in bed, my bare breasts bouncing with each movement. Then I place the box on my lap and tug at the silver ribbon.
My mind thinks it might be something to wear, that maybe he changed his mind about making me wear the same ugly clothes every day. But when I lift the lid, I gasp. Lying in a bed of silk is what looks like a baby. But it’s not. It’s a perfect and beautiful female doll with hair that looks just like mine.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Hunter lifts the doll from the box and cradles it in his arms as if it were a real baby. “I had her custom-made. I think she’s a perfect combination of you and me. She even has your hair.” He kisses the doll’s head. “When I cut off your hair, I didn’t want it to go to waste. Then I came up with the idea that our baby should have it.”
My hair? He used my hair to have a doll made? I have underestimated just how sick he is.
“What is this?” I ask without thinking. “What are you doing?”
“I want us to start a family and this baby makes it so much easier. You don’t have to go through nine months of pregnancy, and we can have the family we’ve always wanted.”
“Hunter—”
“Dave,” he says, kissing the doll again. “Never call me Hunter again.”
I swallow hard. “Sorry, Dave.” I chew a corner of my lip. “That’s a doll.”
He looks at me with a look that makes my stomach turn with anxiety. “Don’t ever say that again.” He draws the doll closer to his chest. “This is Sally, our daughter. And she needs her mother.”
My body jolts when a sharp cry hits my eardrums, like that of a newborn baby. To my horror, the doll starts screaming in his arms. The whole scene creeps me out.
“See,” he says. “She needs you, Amanda.”
Maybe it isn’t so bad for me to be called Amanda because Bree, the woman I used to be, would never allow herself to be controlled and abused by a man. I don’t want my real name to be tainted by Hunter’s evil.
He puts the doll in my arms and it starts to squirm as it continues to cry, its eyes opening and closing as though they were real. When I look into them, my stomach clenches with
discomfort. They’re identical to Hunter’s. He has really created a fake baby that could have been ours.
What he says next leaves me cold.
“She won’t stop crying until you breastfeed her. Come on, put your nipple into her mouth.”
“Is this a joke?” I ask, forgetting my plan to obey him.
“It’s not a joke,” he says. “Feed our baby or she will continue to cry.”
The crying grows louder, grating my ears, creeping me out even more. The idea of putting my nipple into a fake baby’s mouth makes my skin crawl.
To get me to do what he wants, Hunter reaches under the pillow and pulls out the gun. He places it on top of the pillow, a silent warning.
The message is loud and clear. Feeling sick to my stomach, I push my nipple into the doll’s mouth and close my eyes.
Thankfully, even though the doll doesn’t actually suck, it stops crying immediately and starts making sucking noises.
“Perfect,” Hunter says. “Perfect wife. Perfect baby. Perfect family.”
Chapter 9
HUNTER
Feeling content like never before in my life, I lean back in the armchair by the window while Amanda breastfeeds our baby. This is it. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.
The moment is too beautiful to slip by without being captured, so I pull out my phone and take a photo. Amanda flinches, but she doesn’t look up. She hasn’t met my eyes since the day I introduced her to Sally. That’s okay. She just needs time to adjust to motherhood. It has only been two days since she met her daughter.
The important thing is that she has stopped resisting our life together. My job is done. She now knows who’s in charge. I’ll make sure it stays that way.
I push myself out of the armchair and slide into bed next to my little family.
Amanda pulls Sally away from her breast and I reach out for her.
“She’s so beautiful, just like her mother,” I say, lowering the baby into the crib I built her by hand. Giving her Amanda’s hair was a genius idea.
“She’s sleeping now,” I say, sliding back into bed next to my wife. She’s lying down now and her back is turned to me. She’s just tired. She’s been waking up several times at night to feed the baby. Sally is programmed to wake up every two hours during the night for feeding.
Even though Amanda has not said anything to me about how she feels about being a mother, she’s doing a pretty good job and I’m proud of her.
I pull the comforter over her, covering her shoulders to keep her warm. As long as she continues to take care of me and the baby, I’ll take great care of her.
When her breathing starts being gentle and I know she’s sleeping, I switch off the light and put my arms around her.
Not long after I close my eyes, the sound of a baby crying wakes me. It’s morning and Sally is ready for her breakfast.
Drowsy with sleep, I get out of bed and lift her from her crib to hand her to Amanda, who’s still asleep.
“Good morning, my love,” I say, kissing her cheek.
She says nothing as she sits up and accepts Sally into her arms. She slips a nipple into the baby’s mouth while staring straight ahead.
“I said, good morning.” My chest tightens. I hate having to repeat myself. If she starts misbehaving again, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from hurting her, or worse.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
My annoyance dissipates and I reach out to stroke her hair.
As soon as she finishes breastfeeding, I bring her Sally’s diaper. Knowing the drill, Amanda changes Sally in silence. When she’s done, I follow her downstairs to the kitchen, where she puts Sally in the highchair and starts making breakfast.
This is as good as life gets, I tell myself. Surely, it can’t get better than this.
After breakfast, we spend time in the living room as a family. While I read the local paper, Sally is sleeping on a pink blanket on the couch and Amanda is watching TV.
“Are you in the mood for a quickie?” I ask, rolling up the newspaper. As much as I love being a dad, life with a baby has a way of getting in the way of romance.
When Amanda takes too long to respond, I reach for her arm and lift her to her feet. “Come on, let’s do it in the kitchen while Sally is sleeping. I’ll be fast.”
She follows me to the kitchen like an obedient wife and I bend her over the kitchen island. I’ve started carrying a condom in my pocket for unexpected moments like these. One baby is enough for now. Sally is the perfect solution for both of us.
Keeping my promise, I keep it quick. Five minutes after I enter her, I come. I don’t think she did. It doesn’t matter. There’s no time for both of us to climax. Besides, Amanda takes too long to orgasm these days.
I kiss her back and smooth down her long dress. I love knowing that everything underneath it is only for my eyes. It turns me on like nothing ever has before.
When I raise my gaze and peer past Amanda’s shoulder, I catch a movement. I might be mistaken, but I think someone might have been watching us.
Shit. I forgot to close the blinds.
Holding Amanda’s arm firmly, I take her with me to the front door and hide her behind it. I’m one hundred percent sure that someone was watching us fuck. I want to know who it is. No one trespasses on my property without consequences.
I swing the door open and to my surprise, the peeping Tom is standing right in front of me, on the doorstep.
“Randy,” I say, clearing my throat. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brooks, but we need to talk.”
“Yes, I think we do.” I cross my arms in front of my chest and hold his gaze. “I was under the impression that you rented this cottage to me. Nowhere in the contract did you mention that you have the freedom to come and go as you please.”
To my satisfaction, he lowers his gaze, but lifts it again almost immediately. “Mr. Brooks, I came here hoping to speak to you about the contract. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Leave?” My hand grips the doorframe. “What do you mean by that?”
He glances behind him, then back at me. “The neighbors don’t feel comfortable with you and your wife living here.” He scratches his beard. “You have to understand that this is a child-friendly neighborhood and your wife’s behavior—”
“Fuck the neighbors. I paid you a lot of money to rent this place out to me.”
“Yes, but your wife-–”
“My wife is sick. She’s sick and depressed and she does not need to be discriminated against.”
“And for that I’m very sorry.” Randy pushes to his full height and lifts his chin. “But she also walked around naked in the neighborhood. And you... well, you had intimate moments without closing the blinds.”
“You mean you saw me fucking my wife?” I laugh out loud.
“I prefer to use other words,” he says. “The point is, I made a mistake. The neighbors are pressuring me to—”
“Kick me out?”
“No, to kindly ask you to leave.” He pauses. “You have two days to vacate the cottage. And I’ll be happy to refund you a portion of the rent.”
“Fuck you,” I say, my blood rushing through my ears. “Fuck all of you who think you’re better than everyone else. I’m sure you only want me gone because it makes you uncomfortable to have a young, handsome man in the neighborhood, someone who might end up fucking your wife. I bet your shriveled little dick doesn’t give her what she wants.”
“I changed my mind,” Randy says, his fists curled, his face red with rage. “I need you gone by morning, or I’ll be forced to call the cops.”
I slam the door in his face and come face to face with Amanda.
“Pack the baby’s things,” I say to her. “We’re leaving tonight.”
Chapter 10
BREE
I’m panicking.
If Hunter takes me away from the cottage, he could take me to some isolated place, where it wo
uld be hard for anyone to find me.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks when I stop folding the doll’s clothes, holding a pink onesie in my hand while staring into space.
“Sorry,” I murmur and fold up the tiny piece of clothing.
I need to find a way out of this madness, to escape before he takes me away.
The neighbors already know that something is wrong with me. I just need to find a way to convince them of how I got this way, how I acted the way I did in front of them, that I was manipulated.
As soon as I finish packing the clothes into a small suitcase Hunter gave me, the stupid doll starts crying. I fight the urge to grab it and throw it against the wall, but acting up when Hunter is in a stinking mood could get me killed.
Instead of putting myself in danger, I pick up the toy and bring it to my breast, my stomach churning with disgust. Each time I do it, I come closer to going crazy. Who the hell breastfeeds a damn doll?
It stops crying immediately and the sucking noises start. They have the same effect on me as nails on a chalkboard.
Hunter stands next to a large suitcase, looking on, a satisfied expression on his face.
I’m not even sure anymore whether he needs to go to prison, or if he belongs in a mental institution. Something is clearly broken inside him.
I need to get away from him before I turn out like him, before he distorts my reality and I no longer recognize myself or remember the person I used to be.
“Where will we go?” I ask in the hopes that talking will distract me from hearing the sickening sound of the doll sucking.
The past few days, I said very little to Hunter. The idea that he would make me pretend to be the mother of a doll left me speechless. I only spoke when I absolutely had to and never struck up a conversation.
That’s why he now looks up in surprise and his features soften.
“We’ll spend a few nights in a nice hotel while I arrange a more permanent home for us somewhere where no one can disturb us.”