Chassity felt something like a drop of rain fall on her shoulder. It came again, wet, cold...sticky. Not rain. Something else. But what? She opened her eyes and shook her head to clear her dreams away. She looked up. Leaning over her was Roger, her master. Apparently he had decided to give her a rude wake up call…for the second time that week. He said nothing. His hands were shaking as he clutched them together. His eyes were wide and stir-crazy. And…
It wasn’t rain dripping down onto her. It was something else.
Quickly, the girl sat up in her bed and tossed the heavy green blankets aside. They were very scratchy, not because of their make necessarily, but because of Chassity’s wooden texture and the longevity of her rests in that bed, and they made static popping noises as they rubbed against each other.
She took hold of Roger’s trembling hands, smearing herself with his blood as she did so. He balked. “Yyy-oou d-d-didn’t try to a-a-gain? D-d-d-diiid yoou?” she asked in a voice far from human.
Tears, as sparkling as tinsel in the artificial light, streaked down his careworn face. Desolate pools, his eyes. Lost in the grey, his soul. Oh…how she pitied her poor, poor master. She could not comprehend why. She could not prevent or assist. But she had been grafted with enough of a heart to pity. Now trembling herself, she tightened her grip on him and got out of bed. Action. She had to take action. Pulling and shoving with all her strength, trying to block out all reason that told her to let him deal with it himself, making progress as steadily as the flow of an hourglass, the doll eventually managed to corral her master into the bathroom. She washed the blood off in the basin. Then, as she studied the extent of his injuries, she found she could only cringe at just how deep those injuries were. A sigh.
“Y-y-yoou d-do k-k-knoow t-t-that…i-if y-you r-r-really want t-to kill y-y-y-yooourself…it d-d-doesn’t h-h-h-h-help to come s-stand over m-me a-after y-y-you t-t-trrry i-it. B-because then I-I have to f-fix you.” She started to clean him up with a white cloth doused in insta-healing medicine. The medicine had been purposefully set by the sink the night before...this was not the first time.
Roger replied with his best form of reasoning. “You’re my slave. You feel like you have to protect and help me. I made you that way.” He jerked as the astringent-smelling medicine alighted upon the cuts on his wrists, causing a stinging stream of shock to pass through his skinny body. “But I missed where I was aiming. Couldn’t even go deep enough to nab a vein. Too scared,” he continued matter-of-factly.
Tiny smile of forgiveness playing across her almost non-existent lips, the doll reached up with her free hand and stroked his ruby-red hair. The long locks felt soothing to her. She then moved on to straighten the collar of his white button up and adjust the black goggles set atop his head. He was a human. A very suicidal human. But a lovable one.
“I-I-I d-don’t t-think y-you r-r-r-realllly w-want to die. I t-thiink you l-l-like me t-too m-much to n-not s-s-stick around.”