Doll

{SPLATTERPUNK TRIGGER-WARNING!! this erotica is dark and depraved. romanticized gore and horror. it's NOT pretty. it's NOT fluffy-romantic. it is a pure unleashing of my darkest ideas turned into a story. written with Unbridled Abandon. DO NOT read this if you are at all triggered by: blood & gore in a sexual situation, consensual/non-consensual abuse, or death of any kind, including suicide. abandon all fluff, you who enter here.}

For as long as I could remember, I had my doll.

I was about five or so when she'd been given to me. Not for my birthday or anything, just a "just-because" kind of gift. And I loved her more than anything.

Her hair was black as ink, and her skin was the color of umber, just like mine. But back then, that's where our similarities stopped.

More than anything, I wanted to be like her when I grew up: pretty and smiling, with long, slim legs and mysterious eyes.

I named her January, and she was perfect.

No matter where I went, January would go with me. There wasn't anywhere I wouldn't go that I wouldn't take her along. I even took her to bed with me, where I'd hide up under my covers and talk to her for what felt like hours! Even when my dad would come in and tell me to "go to sleep." I'd just be silent, at least until I was sure he was back in his own room and in his bed. Then I'd resume talking to my January, on and on until I'd pass out, exhausted.

This went on for years.

January was my life.

When she was dirty, I would wash her. And when her hair was a mess, I would groom her. I always kept my January beautiful; washing her clothes with mine, and mending them whenever they tore or frayed. With practice, I started making clothes for her. And, since I could, I made outfits for myself to match.

As I grew, I started modeling myself to look more like my January. With her hair as long as it was, I started growing mine out. And, when it was long enough, I styled our hair the same.

For my sixteenth birthday, my father offered to take me to get the piercings I'd been wanting for some time – and I was ecstatic!

I remember the energy of the studio the first time I'd walked inside, and how it was absolutely electric! And, it wasn't just the buzz of the tattoo guns hard at work on the clients. Yeah, of course, it was that, but it was also the fact that my own body was abuzz and absolutely vibrating from head to toe! I was so hyped, like the blood in my veins was pure caffeine.

From where they were standing, the piercer was staring at me, wide-eyed, and wondering if I was fidgeting as I contemplated my plan to bolt. But no, it was just the opposite.

Two dimple-dermals; one in each cheek.

I was primed and ready to go!

As soon as the skin of my first cheek was pierced, I felt my body ease, and I rode that rush of endorphins as my fingers stopped their twitching and began to dig slowly into the arms of the chair. Not from fear of the pain, but from the deep gratification I felt from my being pierced. Then again as my other cheek was pierced, with another fresh needle being pushed into my cheek.

Beside me, my dad put his hand on my arm. Concerned, he asked if I was okay.

I smiled like a fool, then winced as the thoughtless gesture pulled at my fresh dermals, causing a sting that, at that moment, I wished I could feel forever. "Better than okay," I told him. And it was the most honest I had ever been in all my life.

Sitting up, I swung my legs off of the chair just as the piercer was handing me a mirror. She asked how I felt, and if I liked the placement.

I nodded. "Everything is perfect."