The Doll

The Doll

I woke up, eyes open, but still nothing. Same routine every damn morning—open my eyes, hope for the impossible. All I get are these faint, wavy shapes on the ceiling, like ghosts playing tag. How long has it been since I last saw anything? Too long to count. Days turned into years, and yeah, my master nun wasn’t wrong—my senses sharpened, all of them. I got up, no cane needed; my brain’s mapped this place out like a GPS. Maybe it’s just a habit, doing the same thing day in, day out. The anger? Still there, simmering under the surface, screaming for release. But I’ve gotten good at keeping it locked down.

He trained me well. Started out as just some girl brought for prep but now? Now I’m a woman who’s learned to navigate my little world with every sense but that one.

My cane’s made of white oak, and my master nun carved these little calming doodles into it—like therapy in wood form. Helps when I’m about to explode. I stepped into the backyard, bare feet sinking into the cold, wet grass. The smell of pine, sharp and clean, followed by the sun warming my skin. And then it hit me—yeah, I’m still pissed. Not about the vision thing, not really. It’s the not knowing who I am. Not the name they gave me, Sophia, but who I actually am. And here’s the kicker: this new sense of mine? It’s like a built-in lie detector. I can feel it when someone’s feeding me bullshit, or when danger’s lurking nearby. It’s almost ridiculous—like some half-baked superpower. But it doesn’t tell me what I really want to know: why do I feel like Sophia isn’t me?

Out in the backyard, I started my morning with Tai Chi, trying to ease into what was bound to be another monotonous day.

I hear the guards’ footsteps in the background—always four of them. Cameras? Oh, they’re watching me 24/7. How do I know? They made sure to tell me. The last guard who laid a hand on me? They killed him right in front of me. Blood sprayed everywhere—my face, my body, the whole damn scene. Who am I? A doll. And what’s a doll? A sex slave waiting to be sold. Guess my “value” went up after that little incident. How did I end up here? No clue. They blind us, wipe our memories clean. Perfect slaves—can’t run, can’t see, can’t remember who we were before this hell. How old am I? Maybe 20? Who knows. When I first woke up here, all I could do was scream. Went through the stages of grief like I’d lost someone—shock first, then denial. Anger? Oh, that one’s still hanging around. Bargaining? I didn’t really get a chance for that—no one to bargain with anyway. Depression? Yeah, that hit hard. Testing? That’s where I learned my lesson the hard way. Acceptance? Almost there… almost.

Today’s spa day—big fucking deal. They pamper us like we’re royalty: massages, manicures, pedicures, the whole circus act. Even the food’s decent, but no one’s allowed to talk to me. Ask a question? They’ll kill ‘em. So yeah, I keep my mouth shut. No corpses on my conscience, thanks. I follow their rules—for now. But that little voice whispering run or die? It’s not going anywhere. Just gotta keep it locked down until I figure a way out. After the spa, they dragged me off somewhere new. I didn’t need eyes to know it wasn’t good.

"You promised me, Joe," she hissed, fists clenched.

"Lilly, sweetheart," he said, tone slick, "we just got a $20 million offer for her. Virgin, stunning—worth every penny. I’d keep her for myself if it weren’t for the cash, he thought to himself

"She’s your goddaughter!" Lilly shouted, voice cracking.

"And we killed her parents," Joe shot back, his voice sharp. "It’s been two years. She’s ready."

Lilly dropped to her knees, desperation twisting her face. "Please, I’m begging you."

"No," Joe said flatly. "That’s retirement money. End of story."

"You don’t really believe that" she said, her voice hollow. "I turned a blind eye to all of this. I let you do whatever you want."

"Let me?" He stepped closer, looming over her. "You enjoyed it too, you hypocrite."

"That’s not fair," she muttered, looking away.

"She’s getting picked up today," Joe said, finality in his tone. "Private jet’s already on the way. The deal’s done."

Someone started dressing me, the faint scent of perfume hitting my nose—probably a woman or girl. They went to town on my face, mascara and eyeliner slapped on, then silence. Next thing I knew, hands gripped my arms, shoved me into a car. We drove for what felt like forever, the sound of airplanes growing louder. Airport. So, this is it—I’ve been sold. Fuck. Now I’m stuck wondering which creepy old bastard bought me. The flight dragged on, maybe ten hours? They threw some food and champagne at me—oh wow, real classy. Trying to calm me down? Hilarious. I wanted to cry, but nah, no more tears left in me.

After landing, another car ride. When I stepped out, a warm breeze hit me, heavy with the scent of flowers. Some woman with an accent said, “Take my hand. I’ll take you to your room—and Mr. Amir’s room.” Great. Middle Eastern oil money. Just my luck.

She led me inside, dumped me in a bathtub, scrubbed me down like I was a prize pig at a county fair, then dressed me up and fixed my hair. They sat me in a chair, and I waited—maybe half an hour, maybe forever. Finally, the door creaked open, and footsteps echoed in the room.

My heart kicked into overdrive. This is it, I thought. You’d be scared too, don’t lie.\

He got closer. “Hi, Sophia,” he said, his voice smooth, almost soothing.

I stayed quiet.

“You can talk,” he added. “No guards, no cameras. You’ll be my wife in about an hour. Ask me anything.”

His hand brushed mine, and I flinched like he’d burned me.

“Sophia,” he said gently, “don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

“Mr. Amir,” I finally managed, my voice shaky. “Why are you marrying me?”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied without missing a beat. “A perfect addition to my collection.” He chuckled like it was some inside joke.

“And to save you,” he added casually. “Otherwise, I’d have to return you.”

My chest tightened like a vise. I couldn’t breathe. Then everything went black.

When I came to, it was the same old nothing—just shadows and silence. I tried to sit up, but a hand pressed lightly on my shoulder.

“Rest,” he said quietly. “And eat something.”

"No, I’m fine," I said, forcing a calm tone. "Sorry about that."

He hesitated. "Are you sure? We can delay if you need time."

"I’m ready," I lied, my voice steady. "But can I ask—how much did I cost?"

"Twenty million," he said, almost proudly. "I outbid everyone. I wanted you that much."

I didn’t know what to say to that. What do you even say?

He left the room without another word, and two women came in. They stripped me down and slipped me into a long dress—elegant, heavy fabric. "Is this a wedding dress?" I asked, my voice flat.

"Yes, dear," one of them replied cheerfully. "You look stunning. Smile now."

The ceremony was a blur of Arabic words I didn’t understand. I muttered a single "yes" when prompted, and just like that, it was over. They led me to a room, sat me on the edge of the bed, and left. I stared into the void, fighting the urge to cry. No, I told myself. You could’ve ended up worse.

I heard footsteps, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. He walked in, barked something I didn’t catch, and the two women returned. They peeled off my dress and slid me into a nightgown—soft, silky, way too nice for this godforsaken situation. They left, and he came back.

He scooped me up, laid me on the bed, and tucked me in like some fragile doll. Then he climbed in beside me. “Good night,” he said, like this was all perfectly normal.

What? I survived another day. Great. But why? Why even bother thinking about it? I shifted uncomfortably, and he broke the silence. “Questions?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice steady but wary. “Plenty. And I’m terrified to ask.”

He chuckled. “I told you I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

“Then why drop twenty million on me if you don’t even want me?” I asked bluntly.

“Oh, I want you,” he said casually. “Just not like that. You’re my cover.”

“Cover?” I frowned, confused.

“I’m not into women,” he said matter-of-factly. “Could be, just prefer the other team.”

I blinked, stunned. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” he said, sounding amused.

“Well,” I muttered after a beat, “guess I hit the jackpot.”

“Sophia,” he said gently, “tomorrow you’ll get your sight back. Consider it my wedding gift.”

I froze, then the tears came—couldn’t stop them. Was this guy for real? No one gets this lucky.

“May I?” he asked quietly. Before I could answer, he pulled me into his arms. All I could do was cry—right when I’d finally made peace with being blind forever.