Violation had a way with them both. Making love, fucking, raping—it all meant the same thing. Barely distinguishable acts meant to raise them both out of their ennui. To think of sex in this way proved he was broken and always had been. The Broker was right.

He should’ve been drowned at birth.

Narcissus continued practiced seduction for a spiteful audience of one. He dipped his cock inside her for a moment before moving upwards. His turgid head circled the tiny piece of flesh, willing it to swell and bloom for him. Narcissus carried on for minutes, losing himself in the pain created by denial.

His mind flashed violently. It recycled through the memories of Lisette and Chessie. Diana appeared as well.

Warmth without lust unfurled inside him. Diana’s counsel had sustained him in the decades after Lisette’s suicide. She was the only woman he could say he cared for without the need of carnal knowledge.

You never tried to stop me from this folly. You understood I could never be swayed any more than I could sway you to stop whoring. It was vital to us both. You tried to tell me to open myself to this terrible, disgusting pain. You swore I would be better for it.

Why did you lie to me, Diana?

Bits of time, moments with and without significance, continued to spin inside his mind.

Lisette was his treasure, one he shared with any and everyone. Chessie was his delight, one he displayed as an ornament on his wall. Sophie was his conscience, one he never acknowledged until the damage was done.

And now I’m going to destroy Chessie for Sophie. I would’ve done it anyways. I just needed the right kind of push.

Narcissus wondered what his insides looked like. Were they blackened like his intentions?

He surged forward. Chessie’s cunt swallowed him whole. He wished he could’ve disappeared then. Narcissus kissed her mouth, tasting his memories forever. Knowing it was all he could ever hope for now that he’d become entrapped in his own uselessness.

He slid his hands up her arms, pushing them up over her head. His fingers entwined hers. His hips rocked against Chessie’s. He remained silent. His vocal cords symbolically severed in echo of hers.

Pleasure without substance. Ecstasy in emptiness. Tiny mimicries of a life never spent well.

Narcissus wondered if his mother had suffered like this. He had spent his entire existence without much thought to the woman who had given birth to him before fading away. Now he couldn’t help but feel kinship to Echo. Had she fallen so completely in love with his father she couldn’t see any way to exist without him?

Am I really my father’s image? Or my mother’s shadow? I can’t help but love her knowing…feeling…this. We are the same, Echo. I’m only sorry that I never thought of you more often.

Narcissus pressed his mouth against Chessie’s. He opened his eyes and saw Sophie staring at him.

“Does it feel good? Does it make you feel anything at all?”

“I don’t know.” His hips continued their meaningless dance. “I don’t think so.”

Her lips carried a secret promise. She moved behind him and whispered in his ear. “I like the way you make love, Narcissus. It’s so beautiful.”

Narcissus stiffened. The words were wrong. There was nothing of beauty in what he was doing to the Chessie doll.

“You strangle my hate, Narcissus, when you think of someone other than yourself.” Sophie kissed his lobe. “When you think of me.”

Narcissus wrenched out of the dead girl. He stumbled back until he hit the wall. Tools scattered and tables overturned. Entangled in hopeless sanity, Narcissus raised his arms in entreaty. Face the color of stone, eyes dilated until they became blackened holes in his head, mouth agape, Narcissus wanted to die right then and there.

_________________________________________________________

This is the last public update for Suicide Doll. I hope you’ve all enjoyed the overload of angst. Originally I intended for Suicide Doll to be a full-length novel. However, the story demanded something else. I will be releasing it soon as a 20k-22k short story.

I’ve already got another WIP ready to take Suicide Doll’s place so please be on the lookout.

“All right. I’ll  do it. I’ll do it, Sophie. I’ll do anything as long as you come back. Please.”

Narcissus’ hope wilted. The damning specter remained tucked away from him. He looked about the sterile room, hoping to find Sophie hovering above in wretched condemnation. No such luck.

He turned his beaten gaze to the pretty slab of meat lying on the table. Narcissus rolled his shoulders back in precise deliberation. He buried the sensations tickling his heart. He quieted the voice telling him he should’ve never tried. His exquisite eyes deepened to a maudlin shade of bruise.

Narcissus became the man he had never left behind.

A lascivious grin molded his full lips. Dirty intentions smothered purity, leaving him to stretch his body over Chessie.

He felt vulgar. He felt trashed. He felt like himself.

He feathered his lips over Chessie’s. Her cool skin tasted of candy. Narcissus slid his tongue past the lips guarding her insides. He slinked inside like a man walking over a grave—cautious, quick, and more than a little afraid.

Memories blacked his mind in staccato bursts. In and out like his tongue. Narcissus kept his eyes closed. He traveled over Chessie, mouth tasting, never forgetting, but sometimes mixing Lisette with her new-old form.

He had never had the pleasure of Chessie keeping so still. She had always been a violent storm wrapped in a tiny box. Biting, scratching, and slapping her favorite tokens of affection. Making love to Chessie now without pain seemed a benevolent gift from Sophie. Perhaps, he had been too hasty in thinking this profane.

“Oh, sweetheart, you taste so good.” Narcissus sighed this against her gashed neck. His lips pressed against the split skin, seeing it as another way inside Chessie. Old blood withered his restraint. His fangs elongated, greedy to impale dead flesh.

“Chessie, open for me.”

“Wider.”

“More.”

“Don’t be shy, my darling. Just a bit more.”

He whispered each entreaty deeper inside her. His fingers scrabbled past the shroud. They bared Chessie’s small nipples to his adoring touch. Narcissus worked them, rolling, pinching, pulling in a maddened desire to coax her body back to life.

“Chessie, you like this don’t you?”

“You feel me, darling? You feel what you do to me?”

“I would love you forever, sweetheart.”

“I can’t remember why you would cut yourself open for me.”

Narcissus grinded against her. He panted, hissed, moaned. He imagined the wet squelch beneath his lips was Chessie answering in tandem.

He unbuttoned his slacks with practiced fingers. His cock strained against the briefs holding him back. Narcissus widened his legs to stretch hers. They pushed open, small lily feet falling off the table.

Reality murdered lofty notions of impossibility. Desiccated bits of flesh littered the ground. Rust colored stains pitted the floor in a crooked circle. Toes, once perfect with petite proportions, allowed bone to peek from between bloated flesh. Green skin pocked the darker fabric in random markings from hem to neck.

A rope, thick, ugly, and ominous, hung from the rafter. A mop of beautiful hair anchored it. The urge to lift up the head possessed Narcissus. He obeyed with shuffling feet and violent shaking. He reached out, praying and swearing, hoping for a reprieve.

Lisette, please, please don’t be here. Please let this be someone else. I don’t care who. Just don’t be you.

His hand touched the tangled curls and lifted carefully. The hair remained in place, solid and familiar. It could’ve been any other time he had done this in throes of passion or fits of pique. The only unnerving difference was he had never been able to meet her eye-to-eye while standing. Now that he could he wished for anything else.

Narcissus studied the swollen face, bulging eyes, and blackened tongue. He searched for the proof of a stranger. He couldn’t possibly find the exquisite Lisette in this disgusting mass of humanity.

And yet her face stared back at him in condemnation.

Copious tears welled up. They became thousands. Narcissus dropped the doll, HER doll, and wrapped his arms about the decayed copy of his beloved. The smell, the horrible, terrible smell, fought to push him away. Narcissus burrowed his face in her hair, helplessly seeking some hint of her perfumed scent. Something moved beneath his hand. Narcissus looked up with crazed hope.

Squeaks rose in pitch as he closed his fist. A warm body wiggled in frenzy. Narcissus brought it forward. His face twisted in a sickened snarl. He flung the rat against the far wall. It exploded from the inhumane force.

Narcissus heard the rhythmic pounding of many feet coming closer. He wondered with detached curiosity of how they knew where to find him. It was only when Lane touched him on the arm did Narcissus hear his agonized screams.

He bowed beneath the pressure of his grief. He roared incoherent words of love. The footmen guided him away. Narcissus looked over his shoulder and bellowed for them not to leave her. He made them promise to bring her down and let her lay in his bed, the bed she always crept into especially when scared or lonely.

The servants fluttered with imperfect purpose. They promised him everything and nothing.

Once again he forgot the doll.

“Chessie…Sophie…I can’t do it.”

“Of course you can.” She slinked pass his shoulder. Sophie leaned forward to rest her lips against his ear. The skin burned with frost. “I saw you, Narcissus.”

“Saw me doing what?”

“I saw what you did to me when you first saw me again.”

“When, Sophie?”

“When I was Lisette.” She maneuvered in front of him. “You hugged me, rotted that I was. You squeezed me and cried. Do you know what I felt? Nothing. I felt absolutely nothing for you. I hung there for days and I waited. I waited for you to find me.”

“Then you know how crazed I became.”

“I know.”

Narcissus ruffled her ephemeral hair. It felt nothing like the hair in his dreams.