Broken Dolls (4 page)

She slips her boot through one of the holes in the scissors and bends over so that her enviably long hair dangles against the tip.

“Lisa! Lisa, don’t be stupid. Your hair won’t grow back!”

“Good.” Her voice is husky again; it’s like a demon is wedged inside her throat. She snips the right side of her hair and in an instant, it detaches and falls to the ground. That’s so disappointing–her hair was lovely. She snips it again, evening the other side out so that she has a short bob. “He made me how he wanted me to be. I’m not his doll!”

Lisa stands, flicking her new hair. She smiles, as though a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

She walks purposefully to the other side of the table where there’s a tub of pens and brushes and old pots of paint. She heaves a brush from the tub and awkwardly maneuvers it into one of the colors, but I can’t make out which one in the dark. She shifts the paintbrush so that it’s pointed at her face. Before I have time to object, she presses her eye into the tip. “I don’t have blue eyes!” She shrieks, blinding herself further when she pushes her other eye into the brush. “He made me have blue eyes! They’re
not mine
!
THEY’RE NOT MINE!
”

I pull the tissue over my head and curl into a ball, covering my ears, desperate to block her out. I don’t understand why her moods leap from happy to crazy in an instant–it’s, well yeah, it’s crazy. Maybe if I get lost in my own thoughts, she’ll disappear. I’ll think of birds… and butterflies… and the calming ocean tides.

“
MY BRAIN IS SCATTERED, MY HEART IS BATTERED!
” Lisa cries, popping open the lid to a pot of paint.

Birds…

Butterflies…

Calming ocean tides…

hat do you mean you’ve
lost
her?” The professor has never raised his voice before. Not to me, anyway.

“Well, I’ve been sleeping in the tissue box all week, haven’t I? Haven’t been in my room for days! She’s around somewhere, I’m sure. She can’t go far…”

The professor rubs his cheeks and mouth. He hasn’t shaved in days, and it only makes him look disheveled. “True. She would only be in this room. When was the last time you saw her?”

I shrug. It’s Wednesday, and I’m due for a new leotard. I’m sick of orange. “Five days ago, maybe. She cut her hair.”

“What!”

“Yeah. To about here.” I raise my hand to my chin. “And she found one of your old paintbrushes and tattooed her arms. She looked ridiculous trying to use that thing; it was as big as her. The tattoos are just squiggly and messy. Like all tattoos, I suppose.”

The professor picks me up from the table and tightens his grip, which makes me feel like I could break at any minute. “Show me where she was.”

“Professor, please, your hand. I don’t like it.”

“Show me where you last saw her!”

“Professor,” I squeak, trying to wriggle from his grip, but I’m stuck. A burning pulse wraps around my waist the more he squeezes. “Please let go!”

“Ella!”

Salty tears don’t run down my cheeks like in the movies, but I let out pained moans and howl. I think… I think this is what crying is.

The professor is shocked. He lowers me to the table, kisses my head, and tickles my chin, but it doesn’t stop me from crying. I wrap my arms around my waist, the pain from his grip throbbing.

“Why are you crying?” His tone is softer now.

“It hurts,” I say between sobs. “It hurts so much!”

“What hurts? You’re a doll! You’re not supposed to hurt!”

I point at my sides, certain that this is what bruising must be. “I know!” Wait a minute. It hurts. I’m actually feeling something! I smile through the pain. “Wow. I can
feel
! Ouch.”

“Not for years…” The professor’s voice is almost a whisper. He sighs. “Everything’s gone wrong since I activated Lisa. Sianne warned me about the experiment. I’m just an obsessed, old man.”

“Who’s Sianne?”

“No one.” He clears his throat. “Are you still hurting?”

“Yes, but it’s bearable now.”

The professor scratches at his stubble. “Good, good.” He begins to say something, but changes his mind. “Well, um, I should get ready for Gabby. You’ll keep an eye out for Lisa?”

I nod. “I will. Gabby’s your granddaughter, right?”

“Yes, and she will be here soon. You know, I introduced you to Lisa in the hopes that you could finally have a friend other than me,” the professor trails off, staring at me like a crazed animal. “Maybe Gabby will be your friend.”

I must’ve misheard him. “Sorry?”

“Gabby. She’s your age, you know. I mean, a year younger, but I think you’ll really like one another.”

I struggle to form words. “But, she’s human, right?”

The professor picks me up, cradling me gently in his hands. He walks towards the chest and opens it, lowering me onto my bed. “Yes. Just like you were.”

“But you always said humans wouldn’t understand talking dolls! That’s why you keep me up here!”

“I think Gabby might be an exception. She’s good at keeping secrets. It’s time you had someone else to talk to besides me.”

“But…” I don’t get a chance to respond before he kisses my head, switches my lamp on, and closes the chest.

I don’t know how I feel about meeting another human. It’s one thing to watch them on TV, but to interact with them is kinda daunting. I’m more worried about how she will feel about me–the professor said it’s not exactly common for dolls to be alive. The TV seems to support this notion.

Gah, I’m overthinking. My mind feels jumbled after crying, like it’s not working right or something. I must be tired.

It feels nice to be back in my bedroom after being forced into the tissue-box bed for a full week. I snuggle into the covers and stretch out as far as I can. I’ve never appreciated the comforting glow of the lamp before, or the butterfly stickers on the walls.

I’m home.

I’m lost. A long road stretches out beyond what I can see. I’m cold, but I don’t move. I just sit in the middle of it, unable to see beyond my own hand in the darkness.

There’s no moon, no stars, no life. The only sound is my heart pounding in my ears.

I’m wet, but not from water. The substance is sticky and thick.

I’m dying.

“Ella!”

It takes a while for me to snap out of the dream. I almost don’t recognize Lisa now that she has such short hair. She didn’t do a great job cutting it. It’s jagged, and somehow makes her look older.

“Where have you been?” I whisper as if it’s the dead of night.

“Hiding,” Lisa whispers in return, darting her eyes around the chest. “Ella, do dolls feel things?”

“Like confusion and frustration? Yeah.”

“No!” she snaps. “Do you feel pain or warmth?”

I pause, uncertain as to how I should respond. “We’re not supposed to.”

“But do you?”

“I did today.” I meet Lisa’s manic gaze. “What did you do? Where have you been?”

Lisa studies the floor and bites her nails, which have been messily splattered with purple paint. Crazed with excitement, her eyes are no longer aqua like mine. She’s painted them violet, covering the white sparkle and shrinking her once big pupils. She doesn’t look like me anymore. “I got into the lab!”

“
How
?” I struggle to keep my voice low.

“Dilapidated place like this is bound to have a maze of mouse holes. I’ve been experimenting in there,” she mutters.

“Experimenting with what?”

“Broken dolls.”

She smirks at me as she pulls herself up the ladder and out of the chest. I don’t ask where she’s going. I can only hope she doesn’t come back.