Lola opened her eyes with chest thundering. She planned to pretend that she passed out but felt that the floor was too cold and hard. She quickly scampered towards the far corner of the room, burying herself under the huge empty fish crates. Color left her face not because she was scared of what might happen to her but because the smell of rotten fish filled her nose, it was almost impossible to breathe. She went back where she bonked her head before and started to think.
Nothing.
She clinched that it was probably because of her fall but she quickly realized that she felt no difference; her mind was always like that. She sighed, concentrated, and did the yoga pose. She heard the loud motor of the yacht, the squeals of seagulls and the angry grumble of her tummy. After a minute of calming enlightenment, she came up with a list of plans:
1. Shoot seagulls, too noisy, can’t concentrate
2. Eat seagulls, too hungry, can’t think
3. Sucks aiming at flying things
4. Shoot Douglas instead
5. Eat Douglas
6. Find gun
7. (looked around) No gun
8. Whack with baseball bat
9. (looked around) No bat
10. Can’t…think…need…food
She whimpered, her tummy ached of need.
Lola didn’t know that behind the doors where she put her weight, Douglas was listening, also aching with need. He thought that Lola’s moans sounded lovely. If only he was the cause of those sweet moans…
'Coitus!' He cursed, gritting his teeth.
He unzipped his pants. Lola looked like a Barbie doll. Actually, she was the epitome of a gorgeous doll, a reality, something he always wanted but would never get. Douglas had a fetish for dolls, and though Lola was real, he thought that liking her started to make him grow up. His mother who thought that he was a worthless piece of shit always told him to grow up and get a life, but he just loved Barbie’s legs that he couldn’t move on. But his mother wouldn’t know about this anymore. She was after all, one of his dolls.
One night he was desperate for love, but there were no Barbies around where his car broke down. He saw an old gasoline station and an old house next to it. He saw a doll inside the house when he went looking for food, but it was a baby doll. He grabbed the baby and thought that was enough to satisfy his need. It was still a doll, he thought.
What he did was what a pedophile does, he realized. He felt sick and ashamed of himself, and murdered the baby doll. When he finished dismembering it, the eyes were still blinking, it drove him crazy that he kept stabbing.
That was when he saw Lola watching him. She looked like a goddess under the moonlight. That was also when he realized he wanted her so badly.
'Uhhhrrrmmm-uhhh ohhhh.' Lola moaned.
Douglas pressed his ear closer against the cold metal door and whispered to himself, 'Oh my Einstein! Why must Lola subsist as a blistering, burning at boiling point amatory beast of a woman?'
Hands now inside his pants, he closed his eyes, and his mouth watered as he imagined all the things he would do with Lola, given the chance.
Just as he was about to reach the zenith of pleasure, Lola stopped moaning. She stopped making any sound at all. Like a flower not watered for a week, what Douglas held wilted. He was in the verge of crying, but stopped himself and knocked.
'Are you still prevailing?' No answer.
'Lola?' Still no answer.
Douglas backed away several meters, his face that of a charging rhino. He then raced towards the door at full speed, his shoulders aimed against it. The door swiftly opened, it wasn’t locked after all. Still, he hit something blocking the door before it banged on the wall. A painful shriek was heard, and then everything was silent again.
Stepping inside, Douglas saw Lola lying face down a few steps away from the door, her limbs twisted in a funny manner, and her hair all over. He felt his throat tighten as he slowly walked towards Lola’s pallid body. He gathered her into his arms and consoled her hoping to hear her say something. When she didn’t, he broke into tears. Crying over her chest, he felt weird in a good way. He thought of crying more so that his tears would soak her clothes making it possible to take a peek on what was underneath. When he caught himself with those horrible thoughts, he pinched himself and wailed.
After a few moments, Douglas felt a hard tug on his hair. It was so painful that he dropped Lola’s body. Looking down on her, he saw that her bloodshot eyes were wide open, and her lips purple. She was so white, except for the dark red blood flowing down her nostril.
Douglas backed away shaking with fear. Lola came back from the underworld to haunt him, she might also try to kill him like what his mother tried to do, he thought.
'You stupid bastard.' Lola hissed.
'Don’t loom in my proximity!' Douglas’ voice came out jagged.
'I’m so hungry I could just tear a piece of you off.' Lola was mad with hunger, not to mention that it was his fault why her head felt like splitting.
Lola stood up wavering, she leaned on the wall near the stinking crates. Douglas was shaking like crazy, his face looked agitated and petrified. She wondered what was wrong with him, but realized he was scared because he thought she was back from the dead. She laughed at the idea of scaring him and felt proud for forming a way of escape.
'Graaaggrrrghh!' Lola roared gutturally. Raising her arms slightly overhead, she sauntered towards him.
Douglas shrieked like a woman. Grabbing a pipe lying on the floor, he struck Lola on her side which made her kneel and squirm in pain. 'What’s wrong with you?' She shouted angrily.
He held the pipe tightly with both hands and swung once more, hitting Lola on the head. It was so forceful that she fell on the floor, unable to perceive what was happening. Before her mind closed in on her, she felt warm liquid dripping down her forehead, into her lashes and down her cheeks. She was momentarily blinded, but was able to see Douglas' evil grin as he continued beating her with the bloody pipe. She also heard him repeatedly say, ‘you’re gonna be my doll.’
It ends here
Douglas rocked his chair back and forth, smiling contentedly as he blew smoke. He reached towards the chair next to him where his lovely wife sat. His hand slowly encased hers, carefully, as not to tear off the fragile skin. He caressed her still face, all beautiful and preserved. He traced her smile, and thought that this was the most beautiful thing he had created, well, apart from his mom. His hand slid down her cold neck and before he knew it, he was carrying her back to bed.
