His Broken Doll's Second Chance

Ten minutes later, the bedroom door opened again. Alois walked in holding a white medical kit. He had taken off his suit jacket. He was wearing a white dress shirt, the fabric slightly wrinkled, with the top two buttons undone, exposing his collarbone. Hayden sat obediently on the edge of the mattress. Seeing him come back made her heart slam against her ribs. Alois pulled a velvet armchair over and sat directly in front of her. He popped the latches on the medical kit. He pulled out a bottle of dark, medicinal oil. "Expose the shoulder you bruised in the car," he ordered, his voice low and flat. Hayden's cheeks flushed hot. She reached up and pulled the thin left strap of her silk gown down, exposing her bare, rounded shoulder. A massive, ugly purple bruise marred her pale skin. Alois's eyes darkened. He poured the thick oil into his palm and rubbed his hands together violently, creating heat through friction. He pressed his large, calloused palm against her bare shoulder. The burning heat of his skin sent a shockwave straight down Hayden's spine. Alois began to massage the bruise with firm, heavy pressure. "Your acting is getting worse," Alois said, his tone dripping with casual cruelty. "Is this how Erick teaches you to please a man?" Hayden's body went stiff. She opened her mouth to argue, but Alois’s hand remained firmly on her shoulder, a silent, heavy weight. The pressure was a question, a challenge that needed no words. It was a deeply invasive, territorial gesture. A silent, physical test. Alois stared dead into her eyes. His voice dropped to a dangerous, raspy whisper. "Does he touch you like this too?" The second those words hit her brain, a dam broke inside Hayden's mind. The horrific memories of her past life violently hijacked her senses. She saw Erick's twisted face in the asylum. She felt his hands wrapping around her throat, slamming her head against the freezing concrete wall as he forced pills down her throat. A wave of pure, visceral terror and absolute disgust seized her stomach. Hayden's face turned the color of ash. She violently shoved Alois's hand away and slapped both her hands over her mouth. She leaned over the edge of the bed and began to dry heave violently. Her stomach cramped, trying to empty itself of the phantom sickness. Alois froze. His hand hung suspended in the air, his fingers trembling slightly. He stared at her shaking back. He watched her body violently reject the idea of another man touching her. The temperature in his eyes dropped to absolute zero. In Alois's mind, the logic was perfectly clear: Hayden was so deeply in love with Erick that the mere thought of another man-of Alois-touching her made her physically sick. She was guarding her body for Erick. A bitter, self-deprecating smirk twisted his lips. A wave of destructive, violent rage boiled in his blood. Alois grabbed a tissue and wiped the oil off his hands. His movements were harsh and aggressive, as if he were wiping away something filthy. He stood up. He looked down at Hayden, who was still gasping for air. "If my touch makes you that sick," Alois said, his voice freezing the air in the room, "why did you force yourself to jump into my arms earlier?" Hayden choked. She forced her nausea down and snapped her head up. Tears streamed down her face. "No," she gasped out, shaking her head. "No, I was thinking about Erick. He makes me sick." Alois didn't believe a single word. He grabbed the handle of the medical kit. He turned his back to her and took long, heavy strides toward the door. "Save your tears," he threw over his shoulder, his tone laced with venom. "Keep them for your precious Erick."