Page 11 of My Little Doe
I raised my eyes from the floor and looked at him—at where he was pointing his finger—to the blood that covered his shoulder.
“I’m sorry…” I said. I was, but I wasn’t. I was only trying to fight for my life.
“You’re not,” he said, then he turned around—
“Wait!” I yelled.
He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“What are you going to tell them?” I said.
“The truth,” he said, before moving forward and pulling the door shut.
Something clicked into place outside the door, and his footsteps trailed off. I walked to the door and tried to pull it open, but it didn’t budge, not even a shake. I let out a loud, deep scream, coming from deep within me. My knees buckled, and I fell to the floor. Sobs came out of me, tears mixed with the blood on my face. My breath was ragged in between the cries.
I don’t know how long I’d been sobbing on the cold floor before the door opened and hit me. As soon as it pushed into me, it stopped. Someone gasped. I wanted to lift my head and look at them, but I felt weak. My head pounded, and spots flashed through my vision.
“Quinn!” a female voice shouted.
“I didn’t do this,” he said, his voice low.
“But you’re part of this,” she said.
“Not by choice,” he whispered.
“Help me get her out of here!” she shouted at him.
“No!” he said, louder and stern.
“Ple…plleaseee,” I begged.
“Then why did you bring me here?” she asked.
“She has a gash on her head—”
“What the fuck did you do?” she cut him off.
“I didn’t do it, I swear it,” he said.
She let out a low growl. I remained balled up on the floor, still crying, when I felt a hand on my back. My breath hitched, my body froze.
“You’re okay,” she said calmly. Her hand moved up and down on my back.
“No…” I managed to say.
“Can we get you back—” she inhaled a loud breath “—onto the bed?”
I shook my head up and down before placing my palms onto the cold ground and pushing myself up. I slowly tried to stand before lights and stars took over my vision. Everything felt disorienting. The little light in the room started to fade, and my eyes closed. Arms wrapped around me, my eyes shot open again, and my body froze. Then everything went dark again.
Something cold splashed my face, and I slowly opened my eyes. I was confused, my head turned to the side, and I was lying on the mattress. My eyes shifted to the female sitting right next to me, a wet washcloth in her hand. I didn’t say anything, just stared at her, taking in all of her features.
She had black, tight curls past her shoulders and darker brown eyes similar to mine. Her skin was warm brown, a shade or two deeper than Quinnlyn's golden tone, with freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheekbones. Beautiful. She moved the washcloth to my forehead.
“It’s not that deep, superficial really, but probably why it bled something awful,” she said.
“Does she need stitches?” he asked.
“No, a Steri-Strip should be good enough. She will need some wound cream to make sure it doesn’t get infected, because… It’s disgusting down here.”
