Knock three Times

Not all who wander

are lost just avoiding life

whatever the cost

Hiding in the closet, small as I can be, my only company, my rag doll Polly. I imagine my heart exploding into little pieces and bursting out through my rib cage. He is getting annoyed now I’m getting used to the various tones of his calls. Some days he wheedles and coaxes no matter how long it takes, today his patience with me is thin, and it will get worse for me the longer it takes him to find me. Fear and loathing still make me stay, no matter how bad it became I will never willingly hand myself over to him.

He is my big brother Andy, and I used to love him, that was before his special games. His first game was with my cat, he always called it pussy and made jokes I didn’t get for a long time, I was too innocent, I get them only too well now. The torturous treatment that cat had to endure I was relieved when she died. Polly is replacing her in my affections. Polly does not squeal or cry in pain, so he has no interest in her. Polly is safe and she’s all mine.

It’s a well-established routine now one which I will forever dread, and the games have increased in length and intensity. It’s not made any easier now that I know what’s ahead for me. It used to be called Knock the Dolly after a while it became Knock the Dolly Up. I was too young at first to have a clue what was going on. I just was happy my big brother gave me some of his time and played with my Dolly. As I got older, he started getting me to prepare Dolly for the game.

Knickers were already removed we’d already gone past the tickling Polly into submission stage.

Since I’ve finished school Polly is just an observer, I’m now the only one he plays with. Some will say at eighteen I am way too old to play with dolls, but she is my only comfort. I am not allowed a phone or access to the internet. The one time I escaped and tried to tell someone I was battered into submission by Andy and my mom. I will never forget that.

Oh, how I wish we were back to playing with Dolly days now I’m his latest craze. I often cover her eyes some things are too horrible for her to see. I will never forget the first time he upped the ante and introduced other parts of my anatomy to his. I used to just do things with my hands and mouth now that I’ve reached an age other parts of me get to play.

He sat me on his knee I settled contentedly. He removed my pants I gave him a confused glance. It’s usually his pants that come off and I jiggle until he says enough, that is just something we do this is something completely new. His hands are where I pee, he is really hurting me. I squirm he gets more excited says, “good girl I knew you’d be delighted.” He rubs in some cream, his eyes with hunger gleam. He hoists me up and my bottom he cups. I giggle because it seems silly, Andy trying to put me on his willy. It stops being silly because oh lord that bleeding hurts, I feel like I’m going to burst. I scream in absolute agony he abruptly removes me. He rubs my face so gently, takes me and slowly washes me. He keeps whispering it’s okay, no more play today. He puts me to bed stroking my forehead, wiping my eyelids dry, says baby girl please don’t cry. Later that night I bandaged my dolly’s bum I had no idea what was to come.

I’ve no idea why he became so gentle that night, maybe he gave himself a fright. Thought there would be consequences of some sort but no my life and his went on as normal. That was only the start of his games before I started using different names.

Sometimes I make sure Polly can’t see and cover her eyes, others I have a need to make sure she sees and later re-enact the terrible series of events on her. I couldn’t tell you why, but I do feel guilt-ridden and terrible after. I can’t bring myself to look in the mirror or at Polly, but I shower both of us and use hair clips on Polly. She’s allowed a look at herself and to use some gloss. I try to make it up to her by literally putting make-up on her, maybe like me, she needs a mask. I wash her clothes as best I can with soap in the sink, I’ve no new ones to put on her but give her a pair of my underwear, their swimming on her but better than nothing, just while hers dry.

I digress back to the game. It’s been renamed simply The Knocking game. Its rules are always simple and to be obeyed:

Rule No. 1. I tell no-one or everyone including me is dead.

Rule No. 2. When games are being played, I tell him I love him, convincingly, at least three times.

Rule No. 3. I know the sequence of knocks and what they mean.

He hasn’t played in a while I think he’s busy with college. I hope he meets someone that keeps him away from me. I’ve been feeling a bit of security lately it’s been so long. That feeling falls on top of me with a resounding bang when I’m awoken by the knock.

One knock means he’s cased the house and were okay no one will interrupt our game. I wonder if today he is going to arrive. He sometimes likes to do the knock and fill me with dread, and I can him laughing to himself as the second knock never materializes, that day it’s just playing with my mind which is in the main preferable.

Two knocks mean I’ve to get ready. Knickers are removed.

Three knocks he’s in and I leave the building spiritually, but my body remains.

It started just with humping and I would often wake up remembering the night before, covered in sweat, I’m soaking wet. I relive Andy’s weight bearing down, his smell overpowering. I’d float away to another place, as he repeated over and over that I was a pretty girl with a pretty face. Andy would keep humping until the moaning began, I used to hate that sound but now wish for it as it means it’s coming to an end. He’d wipe himself on my nightgown, kiss me, replace my eiderdown, as I hum in my mind, I’m a pretty girl with a pretty face.

Andy would leave with a smile and Mammy would come in a while. She’d ask had I wet again? I’d apologise again, humming I’m a pretty girl with a pretty face. That day my name was Elaine, in my head, I was playing.

Once I reached eighteen, he got rougher and more demanding, it was no long humping and he said I should be enjoying it, I’m finally experiencing the real thing. He often complains it’s taken too long for him to reach the desired ending and he doesn’t like my new curves. He’s started to turn me around now and I want to scream with pain, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I feel like I’m going to snap in two but at least it’s over quicker. With each thrust, a plan is forming. I’m creating my own game and I will be the winner, not the loser.

I change my name and take on a different personality. I can play the game because it’s now no longer me. I can take his heavy breathing and his clammy hands because I have left the building, I’m sailing foreign lands. One day I’ll return here, when I’m feeling stronger and I’ll make him burn, his sentence will be longer than any judge could give him. He’ll remember my name I’ll show no mercy for him, I’ll place all the blame on him until then I’m in purgatory.