She nods faintly, a silent acknowledgment of the gift, her emotions playing across her face as she absorbs the weight of its meaning.
“You made it?” she whispers back with a tremble in her bottom lip.
I give a small nod in return, and she pounces, her lips slamming against mine which catches me off guard. She wraps her arms around the back of my neck while slipping her tongue into my mouth, instantly merging with mine and I growl, sliding my hands up the sides of her thighs beneath her shirt.
I’m not the mushy type, and Dolly knows exactly how twisted I am, but I need her to understand that I want her. If baring these little parts of myself means I get to see that look on her pretty face again—the one that just sent a tremor down my fucking spine—then I'll do it. It’s now the same intoxicating rush I get when I pleasure, hurt, and degrade her. I am utterly addicted to every emotion she has, every reaction she gives.
Waking up in the morning, the brightness of the day filters through the shutters. I gradually open my heavy eyes, my head thumping, a hangover creeping in. I lift my head, glancing around at my surroundings until I spot E still beside me in the same position as last night, facing away from me. Rolling onto my back, my head sinks into the pillow as I replay how Hell took me last night in ways I didn’t know my body could handle.
After everything I endured in my childhood and early twenties, Hell is the only man I’ve ever met who I’d willingly allow to do these unholy things to my body under his control. No man has ever wanted both my body and my soul. Except for E, but it's not the same. Hell is far more superior in that respect.
When I feel something beside me, I peek under the duvet to see the mini dolly he made for me. My eyes ease, and I gently lift her out, analyzing every inch of her strange looks, noticing how much she resembles me. It’s things like this, knowing he made this for me, it brings intense comfort to my shaded heart.
Little does Hell know, I was on the edge of bursting into tears when he gave it to me. He will never understand how much it meant. I can't even remember the last time I was given anything, let alone something made with such meaning. Growing up, I often didn’t know what day or time of year it was. Birthdays and Christmases were all non-existent; gifts disappeared after my mom died. So, this tiny dolly means the entire world to me.
I lie there, placing her on my stomach, moving the arms like a little girl with her favorite toy, a tear slipping down my cheek. While lost in thought for some time, I find myself thinking about tomorrow, Dark Night, and how I will finally face everything. I have a twisted sense that I want some kind of control over the situation. I want to play games. So, tonight, I will be plotting a way to take Hellion before he takes me, because I can play too, right?
I visualize scenarios where I outmanoeuvre him, where I can hold the upper hand, if only for a moment. I imagine the look on his face when he realizes he had underestimated me. I want to show every single one of them that I belong here. This isn't just about the physical act—it's also about proving to myself that I am not weak and that I can stand up to any darkness within any man and meet it head-on. It’s not about power; it's about survival, about reclaiming some part of myself that’s been lost in the chaos of my past.
If I am ever going to fully trust Hell or even Hellion, then this is how it needs to be. I need to face everything on my terms. I will not be a fucking victim; I will be a force to be reckoned with.
Eli suddenly stirs beside me, and I quickly hide mini dolly beneath the duvet. Wiping the tear off my cheek, I start to sit up. He groans, rolling onto his back, and as I rest against the headboard, I side-eye him, feeling awkward. He turns his head, giving me a brief glance before facing away again.
“You came to bed?” he asks, his voice gruff.
I throw the duvet off me. “Yes,” I answer before standing up. I walk around the bed, his eyes following my every move as I head toward the wardrobe, wanting to find some clean clothes to wear after a shower. As I search through it, I give him a sidelong glance and he sits up with another groan, looking hungover.
“I didn't see you at the carnival last night. Didn't you go to work?” I probe, trying to keep my tone casual.
Eli rubs his temples and sighs, “Yeah, I did, but I just finished earlier than usual.” His eyes narrow slightly as he studies me. “What about you? Looks like you had a rough night.”
I pull out a shirt and jeans, avoiding his gaze. “Blush and I decided to have some fun and headed to the carnival. I needed a break from everything,” I say, hoping he doesn't press further.
He tosses the duvet off himself, and I avoid eye contact, my mind consumed by the events of last night with Hell and how uneasy I feel. As he walks around the bed, I hear him suddenly gasp and I whirl around.
“What the fuck is all this blood?” he exclaims, his eyes locked onto the stain—a mixture of Hell's blood and our dried cum.
Panic floods me. Why didn't I think about this last night? He bends over, lifting the sheet to inspect it more closely, and I cringe before bolting forward, slapping it away from his hand. “You know what it is, Eli,” I say flatly, my cheeks burning with shame.
His eyes meet mine briefly before they fall to my bare thighs, hidden beneath the long shirt I am wearing. I cleaned myself up last night, but I can feel his scrutiny. His gaze hardens before he stands tall, but something catches my eye on his arm.A red dot.
I reach out, but he quickly pulls away and my wide eyes flash to his, then narrow in a scowl.
“But I am the one who will self-destruct, right?” I hiss, knowing exactly what it is.
He scoffs, waving me off before walking away. “Your time is coming, Noir,” he shouts back, the warning lingering in the air as he exits the room. I stare blankly at the door, confusion and frustration churning inside me, but my instincts scream that I should be there for him, especially if it's my fault he's like this, maybe it’s a cry for help. I just can't keep holding someone else up when I'm barely carrying myself most days, especially without my meds now. I need to start putting myself first.
With Eli out again tonight, I decide to do my own kind of investigating and as I weave in and out of trailers, I am quiet as I head towards the Hollow's trailer. The trailer looms ahead, its silhouette barely noticeable in the dark except for the haunting painted skull.
Once I have stopped, I peer from behind an empty trailer, waiting for his appearance and after some time, I finally see the front door opening. Hell steps out, closing the door behind him and lights a cigarette, the brief flare illuminating his painted face before he pulls his hood over his head.
When he is ready, he starts to walk, and I gradually back further into the shadows until he is passing me. While following him, I don’t make a sound, like a ninja in the night, my breath held as I maintain a careful distance. He moves with a sense of purpose, his tall, toned figure cutting through the dim light like a phantom.
What does he do when he's not watching me? I want to know. I need to know what I am truly up against.
When we enter the woods, I slow down, but the glow of his cigarette serves as my beacon, guiding me. Once he strolls through a clearing, I stop behind a tree trunk, ducking and peeking around it. My heart skips a beat as I realize this is where we were the night I rode his knife. The bright full moon casts a glow upon him as he strides across the small field. My brows knit together in confusion as he stops dead in the center.
Leaning down, he grasps something with both hands with his cig tucked between his lips. When he pulls open two doors hidden in the ground, I am shocked.
