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If you were a doll, you thought, would it be better?
Your bag was carelessly thrown on the floor before you melted on the couch. There wasn’t enough energy in you left to care.
You knew he would take perfect care of you.
If you were a doll, if you sat perfectly still like one when your hair was roughly brushed and pulled at, would it be better?
Alkaid wouldn’t be so rough. He’d take your hair locks in his hands and brush them ever so gently, starting from the ends upwards. He’d compliment you as he do so, even though all you’ve done was exist. There would not be a lecture with it. There would be no tears to fight back, no feelings to be mixed up and felt.
The couch remained one with you until Alkaid came back home.
His eyes warmed up at the sight of you, and words just as warm greeted you. The two cats meowed at him back enthusiastically. In contrast, your gaze only floated to him, and blinked.
He set his bag down and walked over, towering over you now. You didn’t move. He moved a lock of hair away from your face. You stared. He said you must be tired; he’s not wrong, you are. He said, command him as you wish, and you shifted your gaze away from that flawless face.
Because it's stupid, because he had just returned home, so he must be tired too. You should know better than to trouble him.
He peppered a kiss on your head, and whispered that he’s always here. You could smell the detergent from his clothes, and you could smell the shampoo from his hair.
Finally, in a voice barely a whisper, you bestowed your command: “Free me.”
He smiled and answered, “My honor.”
If you were a doll, if you sat perfectly silent like one when spoken to, would it have been better?
Alkaid set the bath up before scooping you into it. Warm water poured over you and his tender touch followed with bubbled washcloth. He massaged the cloth against your neck and your shoulder. You sat still as he did. He wiped past the cracks on your arms, on your legs, and shared his day as he did. You let him.
You are not a perfect doll. Would your silence redeem some points for you? Could it make up for the ugly blemishes you have, or all the haunting choices you made?
He cupped your water eroded face, and wiped away the stains there too. “So lovable.”
There were no tears or cries of regret aimed at you. No wrong actions or answers. If you speak, he would listen. If you don’t, there would be words of adore from his lips all the same.
Water washed over your skin once again, leaving behind a chilling echo of its warmth. Like a womb, you thought. Like, the one that you were from.
If you were a doll, if you were easily obedient and controllable, would it have been better?
Alkaid dressed you in your favorite pajama. One chosen out of your will, and met with only support from him. You thought it’s silly of you to place such level of importance on that fact, but you do. He didn’t laugh at you—that’s a small thing too—but you cared.
Alkaid asked you to raise your hands, you did. When he asked you to shift a little to the right, you did. Whatever he asked of you, you did. He pressed a light kiss by your cheeks after every request completed.
You didn’t do anything, but he praised you nonetheless. You felt like a baby that was praised for existence, and nothing but existence. This feeling weighed you down on your chest.
Are babies loved the most at their birth? To have a being so easily controllable, so helpless at every word and wish. They could only take what was handed to them, the good and the bad alike. No autonomy, no challenges.
Would you be lovable like that? Are you lovable like this? If you swallowed your own thoughts, and only followed what was told, would you be loved again like you once were?
If you were a doll, if you had a manual on how to love you, would it have been better?
Alkaid sat you down on the carpet floor, and returned with a hairdryer. He sprayed heat protectant onto your hair, and combed through them to detangle any knots. You barely felt anything but his soft touches, and when the hairdryer roared to life, it drowned out the thoughts in your mind.
He finished your hair with a thorough care of hair oil, and brushed them to compliance. No tugging at your hair, no tears to fight back, and no mix feelings to be felt. He kissed your hair too, and left another phrase of adoration.
Like you knew he would.
He switched to help you with your skincare. He remembered all the steps and all the correct products to use at each steps. He patted each product into your skin, and you leaned into his hand.
Then you froze, because you're not supposed to. You were not told to. Why couldn’t you ever listen? Why are you always so rebellious?
You closed your eyes, waiting for a punishment—
—that never came.
No frustrated yelling, no heavy impact against your head or body—no pain. Just his soothing voice, and hands, and the unnerving drums of your heart. The drumming faded into bitter, needling guilt.
He remembered your routine, cared for you like second nature. How ungrateful you are, to have an ounce of doubt at him. Yet, you could feel the burning sensation ghosting where he cradled your face. It burned like an itch. A part of you wanted to scream; another wished he would fulfill that burning, looming, deja vu.
If it’s from him, could the memories be replaced with a kinder pain?
Alkaid led you onto the bed. “Very good,” he said, nuzzling his forehead with yours. He caressed your face—”Pretty”—laced his hands into yours—”Adorable.”
And you wondered, how did he remember to care for you as he did, with all the details, all the thoughts. How could words be so genuine? How could touch be so safe?
How? You wondered, and wondered, and wondered.
You remembered, when you held in your tears and swallowed your thoughts; when you buried your feelings and obeyed their wishes; when you chained yourself in interrogation sections after sections, trying to uncover what is enough, when is enough. You gave up your choices and gave up your body. They want it all, and they wanted your future in the palm of their hands too.
It’s wrong, you know. It’s wrong and sometimes you wished you didn’t know. If you didn’t, you could drown yourself in their honeyed poison with blind eyes and deaf ears.
But you know, the truth is nothing would change if you were a doll.
They have no use for a doll, because a doll holds no value to them. They would not be happier, or treat you with anymore care than to keep you bounded to their own whims. A self written manual of love has no reason to exist in order to be loved.
Facing Alkaid, you wondered, were you loved then? You were loved, you believed. But a love so conditional could not support what it grows.
He brought your intertwined hands to a kiss. His breaths and yours hummed as one. You are loved now, you think.
You are loved now, you are loved now.