Not His Doll

Chapter 4

| Playing Doctor |

The air was frigid, as she shivered against the cold. Her head pulsated from injury mixed with dehydration. Each time she swallowed her throat would scratch causing immense discomfort.
She tried sitting up to examine her surroundings, but found herself restrained. The loud shackles followed her movement as she pulled against them. Her back ached from discomfort, due to being pressed against hard wood for a long period of time. The vulnerablility of the dark and cold room robbed the warmth from her body.

When she would tug against her chains her energy betrayed her. Y/n was exhausted and her will to fight was depleting.

How long have I been unconscious?

Wherever she was it was pitch black with no light in sight. If she were still in the house, this was a room she hadn't recognized. The air was heavy and it was freezing.

Her constant shivering stimulated her thigh into aching more than before. At this point it's been hours since the initial blood loss, and she wasn't sure how much more pain she could endure.

The man who kidnapped her, he had proved himself dangerous from their first meet. He murdered one of the men after her, who knows what happened to the next. Maybe he managed to escape, and the police were on their way this instant. A helpless victim could only dream. Whoever this masked killer was she had no idea, or interest in finding out. This being was not one to be trifled with.

Within a split second the atmosphere had changed. He was quiet, but she was smart. His dark aura gave way of his prescense as he emerged from within the wall. Although she couldn't see him, she knew he was there.
The anticipation was becoming overwhelming.

"H-hello?" She whispered.
Long periods of silence always made her uncomfortable.

Brahms tensed at the sound of her voice. He had heard it before, but he was beginning to enjoy it's tone. The fear in her voice comforted him, in an odd, fucked-up way. The way she called out to him, asking for assurance that he was there; Brahms adored it.

He took a couple steps towards her but she wouldn't have known. It wasn't until she felt his hand graze her arm. His touch startled her, and her body repulsed. He liked how his touch had affected her, and only so soon.
Brahms circled her table a couple times, like a shark preying on it's meal. He guided his hand to each restraint; checking that they were secured and even shortened the chain length.

"Please." She pleaded.
His eyes bore into her as he tightened the last restraint.

Brahms pitied her, poor bird. She was trapped in chains and put in a cage, his cage. He knew the feeling, unfortunately, but there was nothing he could do. She was the one who had brought herself here and she was the one who presented herself to him. If she never wanted this, than why did fate bring her to him?

Grabbing a lantern which hung from the ceiling, Brahms lit a match and held the fire against the burner; igniting a flame. Soon there was a soft glow of light which ignited the jet black room. Her eyes squinted at the light and she blinked as to adjust her vision. He was fumbling with tools within a tin box. The sight was unnerving.

She gazed in intimidation over his stature and build. Now that they weren't in total darkness, Y/n had a better look at her kidnapper. He was insanely tall. She wasn't sure of his exact height, but knew it was over six foot. He wore a bloodied, once-white tanktop, and grey-wool pants. They appeared bigger on him as he had suspenders supporting them from falling.

Then there was the obvious shocking factor, the mask that concealed his face. It was creepy to say the least, with cracks decorating each square inch. He appeared as a full grown man with an impressive beard along with body hair on his chest and arms. His hands looked rough with calluses all over, dirty nails, and some dried blood.

What psycho wears a mask so casually? .. A serial killer I suppose.

Brahms held a knife to the lantern, examining it closely. He rotated the blade in a manner that felt purposely threatening. To add fuel to the fire he glanced over at the girl. She imagined a sick smile on his face, the bastard.

"Just what are your intentions?!" She blurted aloud, yanking against her restraints.

Her courage was running thin and her fake confidence in getting out alive was turning. If he wanted to kill her why hadn't he done it already? Is this part of it, his show? Was he just a sadistic fool who felt pleasure in mind games? Y/n was never one to follow other's rules. He ignored her and continued rummaging through his mystery box.

"If you're going to kill me than get it over with!"
She regretted saying the words as they fell, but she meant them. She couldn't stand waiting and not being able to do control her own fate.

He responded with a deep exhale and grabbed the lantern. In a quick pace he hooked it to the short ceiling above the girl. The light emitted the both of them. They locked eye-contact for a brief moment before she looked away, a habit from her past and she hated it.
He grabbed the kit from before and smacked it down to the surface beside her, startling her once more.

He removed a pair of scissors, a needle, some thread, a blade, bandages, and a half empty container of alcohol. In a surprisingly organized manner he displayed the tools to the girl.
"I will fix you." He spoke in a low voice.

Brahms' ominous response unsettled her. He took one of the blades in hand, and placed it point first onto her stomach. She flinched, flexing her abdomen as he applied slight pressure.
He then moved the blade trailing it towards her breasts. It hovered over chest as he pondered his next move. Eventually, Brahms placed the knife back onto the table. Without warning he instead took her shirt in hands and ripped the fabric. The shirt tore from her skin effortlessly, revealing her vulnerable in a black bra.

Gasping in response of the sudden action, she continued protesting against her restraints.
"Now how was that at all necessary?!" She spat, shooting him a glare of hate.

Brahms ignored her and trailed his hands to her jeans. He studied the ripped fabric tied around her thigh, and felt around the wound. His touch ached but he was surprisingly gentle. As sweet as the gesture was it didn't last long as he removed it, and proceeded to unbutton her pants.

Y/n was at a loss for words. There were no snarky remarks that could prevent this. She kicked back in an attempt of defense but he harshly grabbed her thighs, as she gasped in pain. He brought his face close to hers,
"Stop. Moving." He spoke in intervals.

Brahms proceeded to strip her, making sure to peel the fabric gently around her gash. Y/n was displayed for his eyes to explore in just her underwear and bra. The exposure of her skin against the cold air made her shiver. She wore a black-lace two peice, which was wrapped in a complimentary manner around her body.

She groaned in frustration over the control he had over her. He hadn't touched her inappropriately yet, but who knew when that would change. This man couldn't be trusted, nonetheless with her near naked body.

He took the bottle of alcohol pouring it over his hands. It wasn't a very effective sanitization, but it was better than nothing. He took her thigh in hand, rotating it to where she was more exposed than before. Y/n looked away, angry with how flustered he made her.
Without warning once more, he poured it onto her gaping wound. She hissed in pain, groaning as her chest heaved. She took deep breaths as the bubbles sizzling her wound.

"W-wait", she gasped.
"You're going to stitch me up? Here, and right now?!"

She looked to him no longer with a look of hate, but fear.

~

Author's Note

Thank you guys for 150+ reads. Apologies for the late update as senior year has been busy.
Hope you enjoyed.
Stay tuned! <3