This Barbie Doll Keeps Staring at Me (2) (Patreon)

A/N: Second installment of barbie doll! 

Katerina’s eyes were fixed upon him, unblinking—not unlike Carrie’s lifeless gaze. It was a creepy resemblance. She was staring at him with a piercing intensity that seemed to search the depths of his soul.

The food on her plate lay untouched. She was so still, that, coupled with the porcelain pallor of her skin, she looked like a doll. Damiano already had one in his possession, he didn’t want to deal with another.

With a deep sigh, he set down his cutleries. “What's the problem?” Straight to the point. He wasn’t one to ignore such a red flag.

“There is no problem.” Katerina responded stoically, before she resumed picking at her food — it was more to distract herself than to actually eat. Some of the food had fallen off the edge of her plate. Normal, considering that her eyes, after all, were insistently glued on his face. Another red flag. “You should quit school.” And then she dropped those words, as if they weren’t a tripwire that detonated into his ears.

He stilled. Quit school? Just like that? She wasn’t one to joke around like that. Certainly not so soon, with Carmen’s death still casting a gloomy expression on her pretty face.

Leaning back, Damiano met his mother’s eyes, so special in nature, frightening, even. They were completely black, but with an otherworldly light that didn’t feel… humane. There was something primal in those bottomless pits, ancient, something that defied the laws of nature and reason.

If the eyes were the windows to the soul, he wondered where hers was.

A frown seized his face. “Why? That's all I have left…”

“You have me.” She tilted her chin up, eyes fully locked on him. Something akin to an emotion flashed in those dark pools. “We can move out. Start anew somewhere–”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Damiano cut through her charade, mercilessly. “I’m not going anywhere.” He would never abandon the place that housed so many memories. If the ship was destined to go down, he’d go down with it.

And he felt like leaving the house would be like abandoning Carmen.

It was for that very reason that he couldn’t understand why his mother was suggesting such an outrageous idea. Was she trying to run away from the pain?

The distance would not make the memories fade.

Taping a wound without giving it time to heal was not going to make the pain less prominent.

“Damiano…” Katerina’s hands slammed the table. She sprung up, leaning forward, tipping the plate off the edge as she did so. It shattered, yet it didn’t as much put a frown on that beautiful face, so reminiscent of Carmen. “Please. You don’t understand…”

There was a tense moment where Damiano alternated his gaze between the broken, porcelain pieces strewn on the floor, and Katerina’s soft eyes. What was he supposed to do?

It was not in his nature to panic when things went in an unexpected direction. ‘Calm down. Steady your breathing. She’s not in the right state of mind. Think before you speak.’

“Mom…” Damiano allowed a brief pause, to gather his thoughts. He momentarily looked out of the window. Katerina did the same. The rain was not letting up. Each drop hitting as hard as the previous one, fully voicing out nature’s vengeful personality. “Put yourself in my shoes for a moment. Imagine yourself sitting here, in my place, grieving over your sister’s death… and your mother says that you should move out. Why? You don’t know. She’s not telling you. She expects you to shut up, do it, and not hold a grudge.”

“...”

Katerina sat back down, eyes closed.

“What kind of reaction would you show?” Damiano continued as he got up, crouched over the shattered remains of Katerina’s plate, and began to pick up the pieces. They might as well have represented his heart at the moment. “Because I don’t know anymore, mom. Of course, I’ll do as you say… because I love you, and it’s my job as your only son to take care of you. Dad didn’t stick around for the job, but I won’t do the same. I’m not like him.”

And then he walked off.

“...”

....

...

..

.

“Uhuh… didn’t expect you to take me right here.” A smug voice filled his ears, one that Damiano didn’t want to hear for more than what was situationally necessary.

Unfortunately, considering the circumstances, hearing it was an obligation he couldn’t simply turn down. “I’m glad though… we can finally be alone.”

Clair—a woman Damiano knew was harboring a huge crush on him. In layman's terms, it was quite easy to charm her into having an animated talk underneath the sheets.

She was not exactly beautiful. Just slightly above average. With a pleasant enough face and a body that was neither fat nor thin.

Clair. Oh, poor Clair. ‘I feel bad for using you…’

He just needed to take his mind off of his sister.

It’s been a month already, yet the wound wasn’t anywhere closing.

“You’re not the type to slog through a dinner, a movie, and a cheesy pick-up line, are you?”

“God, no!” Clair laughed, eyes big and lively. A good writer might have compared them to the flickering flames of a bonfire, dancing and leaping with wild abandon. Damiano was not a good writer, but he could easily read her emotions like a script. “I know you don't like me that way, Dami. I'm fine with just being with you… for one night."

"..."

It was at that moment, right when Clair tilted her head, that the sight of a battered doll sitting quite standoffish-ly atop a wall shelf caught her attention. Perhaps it was the discrepancy of a toy like that in an otherwise bland room that made it stick out.

Clair stared at Carrie, as if a force field had ensnared her gaze.

“Say, Dami…” She reached a hand out, trying to pluck the resting Barbie off her throne. “Why do you—” A firm grip stopped her hand’s advance. She turned her eyes to Damiano, who was smiling disarmingly.

His eyes, however, were a steely darkness that robbed the light of its shadow.

“It used to belong to my sister.” He blinked, and the world was in harmony again. The abyss she had chanced a glance into didn’t claim her. “Come on, Clair. You’ve been undressing me with your eyes, why don’t you use your hands instead?”

The momentary pang of fear was forgotten in lieu of her more physical needs.

She let her eyes dance over Damiano’s form, tracing every curve and angle with the precision of a master artist. It was as if generations of beauty had converged to create this singular, perfect human being.

Human, perhaps not. There was an intrinsic lack of humanity in that masculine face. Such a marvel, it was. Each feature was perfectly balanced and proportioned. The lines of his nose were so artfully sculpted, they could have been plucked from an ancient Greek statue.

Her hands trembled with excitement as they reached for the collar of his shirt, eager to explore the masterpiece that lay beneath. With a confident tug and a willing assist from Damiano, she revealed the breathtaking canvas of his skin, a work of art that left her breathless and wanting more.

As they rolled into the bed, losing themselves in the throes of ecstasy, the watchful eyes of Carrie, along with that plastic, artificial smile, were fixed on their writhing forms.

….

…

..

.

As the morning light crept into the room, Damiano began to stir awake. However, the moment his consciousness settled in, he became immediately aware of a pungent, metallic odor. It was so strong that any thoughts of returning back to sleep were momentarily postponed until he could pinpoint the source of that powerful tang and get rid of it.

His eyes cracked open. The ceiling came into view, partially lit up by a shaft of sunlight. He was lying on his back—he was forced to, considering that Clair had claimed half of his body as some sort of peace offering for going a bit too rough on her last night. Besides, she liked to cuddle.

The weight on top of him was incredibly stiff, not to mention clad in fluids.

Fluids?

Damiano veered his head to the left, slowly, as if some sort of realization had begun to sink in at a rate that left him in disbelief.

Clair’s face, peaceful and serene, was bathed in blood.

And so was the rest of her body.

“...”

His eyes widened as he took in her naked, and very dead, form. From head to toe, Clair was covered in deep scratches, all of them causing severe bleeding. If hundreds of stray cats were to torture someone, that would be what he imagined the result to be like.

“What…”

Damiano pulled away, staring at the arm that had acted as a pillow for Clair’s head. It was soaked with life juice. ‘Did…I do this?’ He’d surely have heard if someone had intruded through the window or the door and killed Clair. It must have not been painless either, so why didn’t he hear her scream?

He climbed out of the bed, almost tumbling down from the haste.

His eyes scoured desperately all over the room, searching for a clue — anything that could have shed some insight into Clair’s death. Everything was in place, as it was when he and Clair had begun to make a mess of the bed.

‘How did it happen…?’

‘Just like Carmen’s death…’

Instinctively, his eyes made a sweep for Carrie.

The doll sat in its usual perch atop the wall shelf, beautiful and smiling away, an expression that would be forever stitched on that tiny face. Except that there were slight differences this time. Carrie was leaning back instead of forward. Her head was tilted up.

She was staring ahead, right at him.

And as miniscule as she might have been, there was no mistaking the blood in her plastic fingers.