To Love and Care For

1. No Guests

Her love for the doll had grown gradually and clandestine until she lived and breathed for Brahms, the sweet and lonely spirit boy that adored her and made her PB&J sandwiches. As she watched the scene unfold before her, she felt that love melt away, leaving only the dry dead husk of her heart.

"Kiss?" he whimpered, his fragile voice plucking at her heartstrings like the delicate fingers of a harpist.

She stared at the deranged man in contempt, bile rising in her throat at the deceiving childlike element of his artificial voice. She had trembled in fear when he first appeared through the walls, but the fear had begun to carve a path of destruction to the purest form of hatred she had ever felt.

Over the past month, she had longed so fiercely to gain Brahms trust, to be able to hear her beloved porcelain doll speak and move in front of her. But not like this. She never wanted to hear this man, this manipulative sociopath, ever speak again.

She forced a calm exterior. "No kiss tonight Brahms. It's your punishment. Okay? I'm sorry"

She forced a smile, and quickly turned away before the man could see her jaw clench in disgust, not just for him but for herself. She was sating a grown man's perverted desires by talking to him as if he were a child. She was breathing life into his sick twisted fantasy, and her blood curdled at the thought of what he had been doing with the Greta-doll in the wall-

She froze when warm calloused fingers wrapped around her wrist, gentle yet firm.

"Kiss" he rasped, more a warning than a demand. His fingers tightened ever so slightly and a cold dread lanced her body.

As the man had stood before her previously, she knew how huge he truly was, towering over her even when he was hunched down to smell her hair. She remembered being eye-level at his shoulders, fearfully staring at the curly rivulets of dark hair spanning across the freakishly huge breadth of his chest. She had witnessed his brute strength mere minutes ago when he had thrown a 90kg man across the room after breaking through wall, wood, and glass.

If he were to lose his self-restraint to unbridled rage again, he'd leave her wrist a broken bloody mess.

"Okay" she breathed, recognising the threat for what it was.

The finality of the word caused him to drop his guard and sink into the bed almost instantaneously as if he believed Greta would never deceive him. It reminded her of a child's naivety  believing the empty promises of adults. His ash-grey eyes watched her with a round innocence of a child, and it contrasted almost comically to the rest of him- the body hair, the full beard, and the musk of a grown testosterone-induced man.

She approached him warily, leaning close to him, and stifled a surprised yelp when he held her shoulders and pulled her closer, her chest thudding solidly into contact with his. She was close enough to read the emotions in his eyes, and right now they were wide in wonderment. With overwhelming gentleness, he leaned his face closer to hers, and her breath hitched with fear and confusion. If it weren't for Cole's blood flecked across his porcelain mask, Greta could almost forget his true nature when she looked into those deceivingly pure eyes.

She pecked his cheek and attempted to pull away. But alas, his true nature resurfaced.

He forced her head down until the searing cold mouth of the porcelain mask mashed painfully against her lips, and as she pulled away, he pushed forward to chase the kiss in a final act of touch-starved desperation. Greta gagged on the taste of blood, all salt and rusted iron that had now crusted over the mask. He made a sound, a whimper of thrill-seeking pleasure, completely impervious to her discomfort and pain.