Doll Eyes (Not Continued)

11: The Fork Is Prettier Than Me

A/N:

I would like to commend and thank ChameleonRBoss for taking the time to make this story a cool cover. :)

Enjoy!

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I stood there in belief and shock.

No.

Emily?

It almost scared the wits out of me, the first split-second I saw it. Because, duh, it's a doll. Just to remind you, I'm scared of them. Again.

But in the next split-second, as much as I wanted it to vanish from the world's surface, I just couldn't stay scared of it.

It couldn't be her.

Because if Emily was here, displayed as one of the dusty, fragile figurines of ballerinas- It meant that...

He was here.

Him.

I shook my head.

I wasn't going to let that feeling ruin this day.

Maybe it was... coincidence? There's probably a lot of dolls like her- bought it in the same store or brand, I presume.

Yeah. Keep lying to yourself, Violet.

A thought more powerful overpowered my system- and because of that, I was relieved, but a part of me hated myself being so... myself.

That thought was only described in one word: Hunger.

Because of hunger, I forced myself to not care about the doll in front of me. Because of hunger, my painful thoughts have been -temporarily- blown away into dust.

So then, I must say, Hunger is very powerful. It saves you from terrible tines.

Note to self: Starve self more often.

"Do you think?"

I almost forgot Christian was with me ( I tend to forget him more often recently ).

I turned my head to face him, but then slowly looked away again. "Uh. I agree. Very."

"Right!" Christian smacked his forehead audibly, smiling apologetically, "I'm sorry. I forgot. You're scared of dolls. We could eat somewhere else or--"

I interrupted him, "No. We almost died finding this place. It doesn't really matter."

"Okay, then." He replied back, pulling me towards a table slightly at the corner. It was fit for two, "I guess we're good here. You can't see the doll."

That was very nice of him- much of a gentleman. He actually cared about my fears.

But it would have been much nicer if he helped me overcome it.

My subconscious was screaming, and I had a hard time shushing it. I smiled at him gratefully, "Thank you, Christian."

"I'm taking the honey chicken. And a strawberry milkshake."

"Cool. I'm taking the same thing."

Minutes later after we ordered our food, a lean guy with braces, who was having a hard time balancing a plate-filled tray, approached us.

"Here's your- woah," He jolted forward as the tray uncontollably trembled from his hand, "- Order." As he scurried away, his face was all red from embarrassment.

We saw lots of meat and vegetables- but no honey chicken. And in the place of strawberry milkshakes, it was fizzly fire engines.

Chrisimtian and I gave eahc other a confused look- but with his look much sassier; an eyebrow was raised.