The Dollhouse (6 page)

“No,” I said, firmly. I couldn’t take her money. It would just be the same problem again in a month when Momma was due for her next treatment. And I couldn’t imagine ever being able to pay Miranda back.

“Thanks, though.”

“You’ll get through it, sweetheart. You’re a survivor.”

I smiled wanly, not wanting to tell her that surviving was all it felt like I did these days. “If you say so.”

“Nowhere to go but up, pretty girl.”

The shift remained slow for most of the evening, as if I needed any further confirmation that God had a sick sense of humor. I robotically served my few tables, mind perpetually consumed by dark thoughts of the future.

It was near to closing when the bell above the door jangled harshly as it was shoved open.

“Dalea!”

My brother’s friend Marco was standing in the doorway, thin chest heaving under the white tank-top that he wore. Marco ran with my brother and his little gang of friends. They always got into trouble together.

“Marco? What’s going on…”

He sharply cut me off, his breath coming in harsh gasps. “You have to come right now.”

My heart picked up its beat, stuttering into a too-quick rhythm. “Why?”

“It’s Luis.” Marco looked quickly behind him, as if worried that he was being chased, probably not an inaccurate assumption. “He just got arrested.”

“
H
is bail is
twelve hundred dollars?”

Momma sat at the kitchen table, up for the first time in days. My happiness at her improvement was hampered by the impossibility of our circumstances. Her face was pale and the headscarf she wore didn’t hide a line of brown fuzz around the edges which was all that was left of her beautiful hair.

“According to the judge.”

I couldn’t quite believe this was actually happened. It was like something out of a soap opera, all drama and impossible choices. My brother had been arrested for trying to rob a convenience store. Nobody had been hurt, thank God, but he would stay at the juvenile detention center until the trial unless we could make his bail.

“Well, we’ll have to figure it out,” Momma said softly.

I stared at her, anger bubbling in me like a pot of water threatening to boil over. There were so many things that she didn’t know, too many secrets that I had to keep. She was the mother and I was supposed to be the child, why was I the one protecting her?

“I make fifty bucks on a good night at the diner, Momma,” I said, my voice clipped. “Where do you think the money’s going to come from?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

I’ll figure it out
, I thought caustically. “Okay, Momma.”

I knew my anger was born out of desperation, but that didn’t stop the emotion from brewing inside of me. Why did everything have to be my responsibility?

She touched my cheek, hand trembling with the effort. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, baby.

The anger predictably dissolved into wretchedness and I immediately felt bad for my uncharitable thoughts. “I know.”

Momma slowly stood, hanging onto the chair for balance. I watched her walk to the living room and collapse onto the couch. Being up for a few minutes had sapped all of her energy.

Her clinic appointment was scheduled for the next day. The money for it, our last, had already been set aside.

Money that I could also use to bail Luis out of jail.

But it wasn’t enough for both.

I slammed my hand on the table in frustration, loud enough that I heard Momma stir on the couch.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Go back to sleep.”

All I wanted was to be able to forget about all of this, even if it was just for a little while. Between the bills piling up, Momma’s expensive treatments and now Luis’s legal troubles, it felt like I was drowning and couldn’t come up for air.

I went to the fridge and stood on tiptoe until I could just grab the shoebox off the top with the tips of my fingers. Then I upended it on the table, bills printed on red paper and final notices falling onto the chipped surface.

There were so many — most past due and threatening — that it nearly dwarfed my ability to comprehend. Something was stuck in the corner of the box and I pried it off with my fingernails.

The black business card that the Procurer had given me all those weeks ago was in my hand, its edges worn and faded from repeated handling. I traced the raised phone number with the pad of one thumb — my mind consumed with the possibility.

He doesn’t respond well to being told no.

I abruptly pushed back from the table, nearly toppling over in my haste to stand. It terrified me how quickly my thoughts turned to my patron — to
Julian
. It wasn’t just that I sold myself for money, that I was no different than the pathetic women who walked up and down the streets at night, taking what little they had and offering it up to all takers for some quick cash.

No, what terrified me the most was how much I wanted it. I wanted the pleasure, but I also wanted his anger. I wanted his relentless and unforgiving hands on my body – wanted the pain of it. Anything to take me away from my real life, at least for a little while.

I wanted to know what he would do to me.

And we desperately needed the money.

I knew I had made a promise to Luis and to myself, but that was before the idiot went and got himself arrested. I was the only one left to make the difficult decisions.

My hand picked up the phone of its own volition. I had dialed the number and had the phone pressed to my ear without conscious thought. It wasn’t until I heard the sound of ringing that I realized what I’d done.

“Yes?” A cultured, female voice answered.

“My name is Dalea Moreno.” I swallowed hard against the sudden lump that had formed in my throat. “I want to come back to the Dollhouse.”

* * *

I
t was different this time
. An air of coldness pervaded the car as we drove, the always mute driver somehow more ominously silent than usual. I tried to dismiss the feeling of foreboding but it remained with me.

The Procurer did not meet me at the entrance, instead a stone-faced guard manned the doorway and the expression on his face was detached and unsympathetic. I was brusquely ushered inside of the Dollhouse, the grip on my arm nearly bruising.

Instead of escorting me upstairs like usual, I was taken to the small room off the staircase that served as a dressing room. Racks of clothing lined the walls and a slanted mirror stood in the middle of the room. An outfit was slung over the back of a tufted armchair that sat next to the mirror.

“You will dress,” was the terse instruction before the door shut behind me and I was alone.

I hesitantly stepped further into the room, heart pounding. Something wasn’t right, but I didn’t know what. Uncertainty made me afraid.

But it wasn’t fear that I felt when I took a closer look at the clothing that had been laid out for me.

“What the fuck?”

It could barely even be called an outfit. A black corseted bodice that came high enough to just barely cover my breasts and would likely push them up to my chin. A lacy pair of panties, thigh-high stockings and a garter were the only thing that I had been given to cover myself, along with a pair of patent leather stilettos.

I wasn’t going anywhere dressed like this, if you could even call it being dressed at all. My skin pinked into a blush at the very thought of it.

What about Julian?
I could only assume that he had picked this out for me — that he wanted to see me in it. Thinking of his eyes on me, drinking me in, made my belly tighten.

I quickly disrobed, not wanting to be naked when the guards came back. I donned the corset first and had to hold my breath to tighten the clasps in the front. I slipped into the panties and then pulled up the stockings which whispered like silk against my skin. The shoes came last.

I studied my reflection in the mirror. The makeup on my face was at a minimum, like always. A touch of mascara was around my eyes and light blush on my cheeks, matched with a pink gloss on my lips that was so pale it was nearly sheer.

My dark brown hair was loose, curls and waves spilling across my shoulders and down my back. I had been right about the corset, it lifted and separated my breasts into lurid prominence until there was an almost impossible expanse of smooth, creamy flesh. The stockings stopped high on my thigh, circling the top in a line of heavy black lace. And the little strip of fabric that served as underwear left little to the imagination.

I watched my mouth fall open in a gasp and my eyes widen. Spots of color appeared high in my cheeks as I regarded myself in the full-length mirror.

The delicate balance of seduction and innocence that I presented was apparent even to me. What would Julian think when he saw me like this? What would he want to do to me. I slipped into the black pumps, wincing as they pinched my toes.

I was startled enough to stumble on the high heels when the door opened suddenly behind me. The reflection of my patron appeared in the mirror, his expression dark and unreadable.

“
Julian—“
My voice was a near-whisper before I caught myself. “I mean, sir.”

He came up behind me before I could turn to face him, not touching but so close that only the space of a breath separated us. He was like a well of heat against my back. I had to resist the urge to fall back into him.

The expensive black suit that he wore was perfectly fitted and hugged his body in all of the right places. He didn’t have on a tie and the charcoal gray shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the top, giving me a tantalizing view of his throat and upper chest.

“Quite lovely.”

I shivered. His voice was like a brand that I could feel on the thin tissue of my heart. The room seemed to shrink around me, the walls closing in. I felt trapped by the pressure of his body at my back and the intense desire I felt to have his hands on my skin.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Would you like me to tell you what will happen tonight?”

My heart shuddered to a stop. “Y-yes, sir.”

He touched me then, his hand barely skimming the corset where it flattened against my belly. “I was very unhappy with you when you declined to return to me.”

“What—?” And it hit me then that he would be upset at my refusal to return to the Dollhouse. I had only ever gotten the one day’s notice, of course. Had he been waiting for me? How upset had he been when I never showed up?

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’m sure you are.” His hand tightened on my waist, hard enough that it wrenched a gasp of pain from me. “But it was quite a public embarrassment, you see, so I think that your punishment should be public as well.”

Punishment!
I crossed my arms over my chest, instinctively wanting to protect myself from the thought. His gaze never left mine, eyes hard and unrelenting in the reflection on the mirror.

“By defying my wishes, you showed your disrespect for me.” The hand at my belly moved lower, brushing too lightly over my inner thigh and lingering on the lace edge of my stocking. “That is worthy of punishment, wouldn’t you say?”

Burning tears welled in the corners of my eyes and threatened to spill down my cheeks. “Please, no..sir.”

“I will allow you to wear this clothing when you walk to the main room, but you will be completely nude for your punishment.” His voice was implacable and the reflection of his relentless gaze burned through me.

I squeezed my eyes tight, willing myself to wake from the nightmare. Where had my attentive patron gone, the one who provided me with both pain and pleasure — the one who almost seemed to care?

A coldness pervaded the room, making me shiver. It was as if the detached nature of his regard had sapped all of the life from me.

The hand that wasn’t gently stroking my thigh moved from behind his back to reveal what he held in his hand. A long instrument curled in his fist. It looked like a braided rope made of thick leather that divided into smaller cords at the end. It swung ominously to and fro with each movement of his hand.

“This is a cat of nine tails.” He twitched it sharply and the leather cords snapped through the air, close enough to my skin that I felt the air move harshly over me. “I won’t lie to you. It will hurt more than the belt.”

I pulled away, finally turning to face him. His face was even more handsome than my memory had crafted it, as if I couldn’t quite comprehend his beauty until I was confronted by it.

But the same face that haunted my dreams now stared at me, expressionless and cold as marble.

“You can always walk away, of course. All of this still requires your consent.” The hand holding the whip reached out to stroke down my cheek, the softness of his skin juxtaposed against the harsh texture of the leather. “Submit and you will be rewarded.”

I didn’t realize how far I had stepped back until my spine struck the glass, whispers of pain ran through me. “No!”

“Leave if you wish.” His sardonic gesture indicated the door. “But you won’t ever be able to return.”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat, more terrified than I had ever been before. He moved closer and my heart beat harder with each step that he took. I don’t know what I expected but his free hand only rose so his fingertips brushed across my lips.

“Say yes.”

My lips were dry and my throat sore. I wanted to scream or run as far away as I could until my legs collapsed underneath me. I hadn’t prepared myself for this and the situation was so foreign as to be surreal. But I wanted his hands on my skin — whether in reverence or anger didn’t matter. I wasn’t physically capable of walking away.

“Yes.”