Her New Doll (Completed)

Chapter Eight: Getting Stronger (+18)

The blood seeping from Natalya's stomach laceration were not enough to risk summoning the priestess over. Donna herself sought out the Duke in order to buy some medical supplies.

Sitting in the bathtub in her underclothes Natalya cracks the rugged smile that Donna finds herself daydreaming about.

"I'll be okay, I know you've got things to do."

Donna shakes her head, sitting up straighter on the chair she drug in.

"Okay. Just promise me you'll leave if you get squeamish," Natalya starts by peeling her tank top up and lying back to have a better view in the dim light. The laceration itself is shaped like a fork in the road that stretches just this side of the middle of her body and all the way across dangerously close to her liver.

As Natalya presses experimentally something dark pokes out. She plucks at it with her fingers, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. Bracing herself she yanks it out in one movement. Donna grabs her wrist, watching in morbid fascination as her housemate laughs.

"Damn. I've heard of doctors losing watches in patients but this one's mine." Though she's chuckling Natalya knows no one would be fooled, she's in an enormous amount of pain. "Alright."

Moving on to her limbs she takes rubbing alcohol on cotton balls to clean and debride them while she waits. If she works any further on her abdomen she'll pass out from the pain and seeing how badly Donna reacted to finding her on the floor she's not keen on seeing her react to fainting.

"I wonder if I'll ever get to show off my abs again. I worked my ass off to do it the first time," Natalya murmurs as she gently dabs with the cotton ball. Her hand shakes and she spits under her breath, "Shit."

Down on her knees Donna takes the cotton ball from Natalya's hand. In reality she has the ulterior motive of using this as an excuse to touch her housemate. Natalya doesn't seem to have caught on.

"Be gentle with me."

If Donna Beneviento is anything, it's gentle. Her hand is steady as she makes featherlight sweeps back and forth. She gets so lost in staring at Natalya's skin and memorizing her moles that it's only her soft chuckle that draws Donna out of her thoughts.

"Thinking about something?"

The way Natalya sits back, hair askew and all languid, rugged grace has Donna's face burning like a fever.

"N-No," Donna tosses the cotton ball aside. Now she wishes Natalya was healed. At this very moment she feels brave enough she might actually act on her feelings. Somehow. Anyhow.

"I'm just going to rest for a bit. I'm sore all over."

Donna nods awkwardly, reaching up to push her hair over her ear. It dries there and is the only curl in all her locks.

"You don't have to answer," Natalya licks her lips and tries to appear as gentle as possible, "Why do you wear the, what is that? Why do you cover your face?"

Donna's heart pounds and her hands hover over her chest. Suddenly Angie is there between them shrieking in Natalya's face.

"It's none of your business!"

"I didn't ask you," Natalya replies calmly, "And you don't have to answer, like I said. I'm just curious."

"No."

When Natalya can see Donna because Angie has decided to move she's shaking her head. She pauses, then shakes more fervently, tugging the veil down, "No. The veil stays."

"Okay. As long as you're happy."

Natalya follows Donna to the workshop where she removes her legs again. As much as she'd like to walk, the pressure on still healing wounds isn't a good idea.

With her subject close Donna is able to take measurements of Natalya's arm. Natalya watches like an old watch dog, content to simply observe until danger is present.

Donna's note taking is studious. Everything is organized in perfect lines and her handwriting could be a font. The pen rests lightly in her fingers and her hands are deft at picking it up and setting it down. With so little to do Natalya has ample time to notice these things.

While Donna works Angie sits on the table next to Natalya. Sometimes she will wander. Other times she will stare at Natalya with unblinking eyes. Now, however, she's risen up and is running her fingers through Natalya's hair.

"So you work? Day in and day out?"

Donna hesitates. She sets her pen down and her hands rest in her lap, "No. Sometimes, I read. Or garden."

"I love gardening-"

"No!"

Donna's hands slam down on the table. The tension is palpable. She comes around to table to grab Natalya's face in her strong hand and force her head up.

"You will not touch the garden. No one ever goes in the garden."

"Let go of my face," Natalya growls.

"Don't tell her what to do!" Angie shrieks.

In the blink of an eye Natalya grabs Donna's wrist. She tries to pull back but Natalya's grip is too strong and she's too heavy. Instead she's trapped staring down at her.

"I do not mind being your housemate. I don't mind that you won't talk to me. I don't mind that I'm now your oversized doll. I will not sit and be abused. I'm a living person, and I will bite back."

As soon as Natalya releases Donna's hand it snaps across her face in a stinging slap that makes her ears ring. Taking Angie Donna flees somewhere in the house. The unseen threads pull Natalya's legs out of reach and quickly tangle, binding her to the chair.

As soon as Natalya released Donna's wrist she was kicking herself. Something is profoundly wrong with this woman. Surely being in this village she has some sort of trauma, probably of the worst sort. At the same time she knows Donna grabbing her will leave bruises on her face and she will not tolerate being a punching bag. A doll, fine but not an abused captive.

For several days Donna doesn't speak a word. Whenever Natalya tries to initiate a conversation Angie shrieks childish nursery rhymes at the top of her lungs to drown her out.

By the end of the week Natalya has started talking to the dolls in her room just to stay sane. She knows they move and watch her.

"Fuck!"

Unable to work out or walk for extended periods or even shower there is literally nothing for Natalya to do when she isn't cooking their crude meals or struggling to wash the dishes. Donna's prototype arms are all fundamentally flawed so far.

All the books are in foreign languages, so she can't read. She'd explore and clean the house except she can't lift anything or maneuver. Instead she's left waiting for the stitches in her stomach to be removed and god only knows when mother Miranda will be back. She's not particularly looking forward to seeing the priestess again.

The built up energy has her climbing the walls, tossing and turning in bed.

Strange as this place is, it is home now. Natalya has accepted that. She's lived in worse conditions for longer. She can deal with this. But she needs some relief.

After listening for Donna's footsteps throughout the house and hearing nothing, Natalya takes a deep breath and dips her hand under the hem of her boxers.