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The walls bear down upon her as she sits silently in the corner of the dank room, looking out of a nearby window from the third-story room. Her eyes sit at half-mast, and tears run down her face, unchecked. Her mascara is smeared, her lips are swollen, her naked, emaciated body is covered with bruises and scratches, the red showing painfully clear against the snow of her skin, looking to all the world as if she had gotten into a fight with a rosebush, and lost. She might as well have. As this thought crosses her mind, her face crumples and she thinks of David. Beautiful, glorious, godly David. Alluring as the scent of a rose, his aura had pulled her in, closer and closer, until she couldn't escape his dangerous, dazzling eyes. As a result, she sits still as a mannequin in the corner of her room, waiting ever so patiently, so lovingly, for his imminent return.
She tries to distract herself with the music of her childhood, but not even the booming requiem of her own twin's death can pull her thoughts away from last night. Thoughts of his lovely face twisted in anger - anger directed at her - make her breath hitch, and tears flow faster. She knows it was all her fault. She is only sorry that she made him angry. He'd hit her, slapped her, kicked her in the ribs, in the stomach until she'd thrown up what little she had eaten for supper. She'd sobbed, I'm so sorry, so sorry, it was all my fault! until he finally slowed and picked her up, and held her, cried I'm sorry, too, so sorry, my porcelain doll, and they went upstairs to make love.
She smiles. He truly is amazing, she thinks, if he can love me after I made him cry.
She feels that he would be able to break her if he wanted to, and the thought slowly occurs to her, Maybe...maybe this isn't what it seems. She is repelled by the thought, but it only pulls her closer. Maybe...he doesn't love me? A sob rips from her throat as she physically tries to get away from the thought. She curls up in the corner, mentally screaming, No! No, he does love me! He...he loved me, just last night...
But the velvet voice of doubt whispers, But look at yourself. You're all locked up in a nasty room, naked, covered in bruises from him hitting you. Does that seem like love?
I...I deserved it! I spilled the leftovers...all over the floor...
But, you cooked the food, did you not? He bumped your elbow, did he not? You know you're not a clumsy person. He's using you.
She curls even tighter into herself, wild animal noises ripping from her throat as she tries to hold onto the pieces of her cracking heart, her breaking soul. HE LOVES ME! He loves me, he loves me, he...loves...?
And she can take it no more. She tears at her white-blond hair as she races around the room, pacing, trying to get away from the doubt, trying to keep herself together, the edges of her mind fraying. HE loves me, he LOVES me, He? loves ME! Loves me, What I don't, I can't he, he, he...He...Loved...Me? Ever?
She continues to pace the perimeter of the room, frantically, an animal in a cage. Her crazed eyes see an exit, and easy get away.
An older woman, her mother, a glass doll in a coffin.
She starts for the window.
Her twin brother, frozen ice, melting away in the crematorium.
She braces herself for the blow, too far gone.
Her doctor, Dr. David, rescuing her, taking her home.
She breaks through.
Waves of pleasure as David loves her.
She's flying, freer than she's been since she was put into the glass case, an expensive doll for all to see, but not touch.
Waves of pain as David hates her.
She breaks on contact, her mind, soul, heart in a million pieces.
Freedom, finally, nothing to hold her down.
She breaks, just like porcelain.
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