Twenty-Nine Dolls [H.S. AU]

4. Callie - 2012

Sometimes falling,

hurts less than healing.

2012

I was allowed to walk. It was a blessing compared to how he treated me. The horrid dress I wore, the horrid food I had to eat, the horrid way that he didn't proclaim his name... It all had me so confused. The days and nights scurried on as my time was being wasted. I could have been studying for that mock exam, I could have been talking to my parents about my aspiration, I could have been talking to Conor.

My dearest and most trusted companion in the world, who I truly missed, was playing on my mind. His face sketched perfectly in my imagination as I closed my eyes and pictured him embracing me safely. All I wanted was safety. Despite how much effort the man put in to convince me that that was the case, all I could consider was the opposite. 

Conor would stand by my house as I'd look down from my window. His leather jacket and ripped skinny jeans complimented his sandy, shaggy hair, and pale skin. We were all bloody pale in the area where we lived in. I'd scurry down the stairs and rush out of the door after saying a quick "Conor'shereI'llseeyousoonloveyoubyeeeeeee!", leaving them puzzled.

"Where today?" I'd ask him, zipping up my hoodie to fight back the cold air encircling me. He usually wouldn't answer, just a small smirk would do the trick as he took my hand and we'd go on another adven-

"Cassie?" His gruff voice caused my to open my eyes and look at the pale, broken ceiling. Realising that I could hear him, he walked further towards me and sat on the bed. I didn't know I had it in me to sit up so fast and leap off the bed, but I did. I scurried to the wall but that's the last thing he wanted. "I just wanted to see if you were okay? Is that so wrong?"

"I was fine before I was here!" I muttered, sitting down on the floor with my back against the wall. My fingers fiddled with the ends of my salmonly sickly skirt. He had given me my tights after hours of begging him but the rips  were getting bigger by the second. It was only a matter of time before there was nothing but string left. The man moved towards me slowly, sitting on the other side of the bed to be able to have his preferred view of me.

"I've made sandwiches. Eat with me." He whispered. I winced at the kindness of his words 

There were ill intentions behind them. 

I was sure of it.

"No. And, it's Callie." I corrected him. His eyes lingered on my face for a moment before he looked away. It gave me a chance to analyse his features properly. If he was younger, if he was saner, I would have called him handsome. His forest green eyes were something I'd love to get lost in. The stubble on his chin, the way he pushed back his long hair as it ruffled through his fingers, it all seemed magical. If only he wasn't so delusional. 

He reminded me of Conor. 

Conor and his leather jacket. 

Conor and the way he moved. 

The one difference I could see for the time being was that Conor smoked like a chimney and drunk to the day's end. This man was clean. He smelt like peppermint tea.

"I'm sorry Callie." He stammered, leaning against the wall, moving his head to look forward and away from me. His structure, the way he spoke, even his accent, they all mirrored Conor. But Conor wasn't around anymore. Conor wouldn't care if I lived or died. Looking up to this man, I noticed he was deep in thought as well. Was it his choice of words?

"Are you?" I whispered, immediately regretting what I said. The man whipped his head round to glare at me, fixing his posture. He seemed composed for a second, as if he was going to stop himself from lunging forward and beating me to death. I'd rather that over the position I was in.