I’ve watched for long enough.
Waited for long enough.
The time has come to take the next step.
My beautiful doll has been growing up into a woman every day in front of my very eyes. She’s been becoming this next upgrade I cannot wait to touch, to run my fingers over.
To taste.
The problem with my pretty little doll is that she spends a lot of time with non-important people like her bitch mother whose only good quality is that she gave birth to her.
Or those friends who make her look stupid when she’s anything but.
My doll will keep growing up, and the more I see her, the surer I become about how she deserves to be number one in my collection.
The others aren’t like her. They never will be.
I used to be fine watching from the sidelines, being proud of my creation and of how she was turning out.
I liked the fact I knew about her and she didn’t know about me.
Isn’t invisibility a wonderful thing?
I’d played it before when I hid from my father. All I had to do was look at my doll and pretend he wasn’t there.
Other days, I’d go to the closet.
Hiding in the dark isn’t hard. At first, you see nothing. Then you might get scared. Then you feel things pulling you by the limbs, and soon enough, you become friends with those things.
The monster under the bed understood me when no one else did. He listened to me when no one else would, and for that reason, he’s my friend. All my demons are my friends. They sit with me when I plan and they’re there when I watch my pretty little doll.
But my demons and I don’t like being ignored. We’ve been on the sidelines for years now, watching quietly without making a sound.
A few weeks ago, I decided my pretty little doll should start getting acquainted with her master.
I chose an untraceable method, of course. So even if she freaked out and told her daddy about me, they wouldn’t be able to find me.
She didn’t.
My little doll can be an attention whore, which is understandable with the bitchy mother she has. My first text to her was, ‘You played the piano perfectly today.’
She read it with a furrowed brow and then she smiled. She lost that day and no one tells those who came second that they played perfectly. All they say is better luck next time.
However, Silver didn’t need luck. She needed encouragement and I gave her that.
Ever since then, I send her texts to compliment her, but also to tell her without being specific that I’m close. Maybe not enough to smell her — her scent is of cherry and Chanel most days — but I’m there.
I watch her.
I listen to her.
And one day, I’ll own her.
