When the Dark Wins

Laughing Steve grabbed my hair. “You like that don’t you, Darla.”

My. Name. Is. Jane. JANE!

My vision went black for a moment then cleared. Before me I saw the startled gaze of Steve turn to horror.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Steve flung me off his lap. I fell to the floor, limp and lifeless, the bottle still thrust painfully inside of me.

“The doll blinked!”

“What?”

“The doll fucking blinked!”

“Dude, you’re high and drunk.”

“I’m telling you, man, it blinked!”

John picked me up by my hair. Shaking my body this way and that, he shouted at Steve. “It’s just a sex doll, man. It’s not real!”

Steve was pacing back and forth in the small room. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his hair before rubbing his hand down his face. “You’re right. You’re right! I’m just fucking tripping out.”

John dropped me to the ground.

“Look, just throw it in the closet. I’m done with it tonight.”

John snickered. “You’re such a fucking pussy.”

“Just do it!”

John picked my limp body off the ground. Opening the closet, he thrust me inside, head first. My body lay in a crumpled heap. Just as he was about to close the door, he said, “Wait. Can’t forget this.”

With cold callousness, he wrenched the bottle out of my ass. Leaving the small hole gaping.

The closet door closed.

I was thrust into the quiet darkness once more, but this time was different. I was different.

I had blinked.

Chapter 7

I no longer counted the days. No longer heard the whir of the air conditioner.

I didn’t care.

I had blinked.

I had fucking blinked.

Nursing my anger as if it were a newborn babe, I held it close to my chest. I fed it and coddled it. Glorying in how it grew. It heated me when I was chilled. It comforted me when I was lonely. My anger shone bright in the darkness.

First it was my eyelids. Then a finger. Then the whole hand. Then an arm. My lips.

Eventually, I was able to push myself up to a seated position inside the closet. I wanted to cry and laugh and sing when I was able to turn my head. It was a small thing, but it was mine. At least I could control something again. The old me. My life. My identity. All the memories I clung to so desperately started to recede. There was no room for sentimentality. I only had room in my thoughts for my anger. It was mine. Mine.

After several weeks, Steve returned.