Chapter 1: The Tightrope of Silence
My eyes flick across the street to the hotel. It’s been four days since I’ve seen Liam. It has me off balance and teetering as if I’m about to fall off a tightrope and plunge into the darkest streets of the city, legs first. It’s stupid. I insisted on time apart, but his silence is a presence I can’t shake—a looming demon promising doom has me within its grasp.
“Well, aren’t you something special,” a man purrs.
I see another doll glance at him and take a step forward before pouting. The man looks at me and cocks his head to the side. “A doll with emotion on her face, what a rarity.”
“We’re not,” I argue, an instinctual need to protect other dolls, to fit in, to not be exposed.
“Genuine emotion is. Two hours,” he says.
There’s no reason to say no. No clients have booked with me today since I was keeping it open for Liam, but he hasn’t reached out, and I shouldn’t want him to. I shouldn’t be worried about him unless he’s in front of me. Even if I’ve felt another ember of hope fizzle every morning that I have nothing from him.
And there’s something about this man. He’s shockingly… normal. If anyone asked me to describe someone normal, it would be him. Plain brown hair, brown eyes, a common enough face, no mustache, no beard, no scars. The last one makes me pause.
“You want two hours?” I ask slowly.
“I do. How do you feel about dinner? I’m eager for quality French food. You’re dressed perfectly, and afterwards, we can see what happens,” he says.
Normal he looks, but normal is not how he talks. It twists me into a tighter knot that feels more like a snare than a net. That’s how people do it. They get a grip on your ankle and pull when you least expect it, and despite knowing that, there’s something so soft and open about him that I crave the taste of the word “yes.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
“Wonderful,” he says, looping my arm through his. “You’re pretty—something I’m sure you hear often—but seeing the way your mind works behind those eyes… You haven’t tasted or shot up a single drug, have you? No need to answer, it’s obvious. You have a working mind, and that’s far more attractive than your curves.”
I incline my head in thanks but almost give a real smile.
Those are for Liam, a little mental voice argues, but I shake it off.
There’s no crime in enjoying time with a client. There’s no crime in enjoying my work. There’s only a crime in forgetting what I am to these men. Considering how devastated Lacy is after losing a client, it’s more important than ever to remember my place.
Chapter 2: The Mask of the Perfect Doll
So I play the role I’m being offered. I’m the perfect date, happily letting my man of the hour decide the restaurant, the appetizers, and the wine while giggling at his jokes, running the toe of my shoe over his leg, and asking about him.
“You have the hardest job in all of Danger City,” he says as our wine is poured.
My fingers stutter over the stem of the glass instead of stroking seductively like they’re supposed to. I shift and lean forward, showing my cleavage to try to hide my slip. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“It must be exhausting to be a doll. Don’t you get tired of reading a client and making yourself exactly what they want? Into something they don’t even realize they need? So much mental work, so much emotional work. Whatever you’re being paid, you deserve more,” he says before taking a hearty drink from his wine.
“It’s harder with some, like you,” I say flirtatiously. “You haven’t even given me a name yet, sir. I can’t start to read you.”
“Oh, I’m an easy one,” he says with a chuckle. “I just want company.”
“No one only wants company,” I argue playfully. “They only think they do.”
“A mind reader too. Please, tell me what you’ve picked up on me from the start. Don’t hold back. I’m truly curious,” he says.
His obvious excitement, that shine in his eyes, calms my hackles. I’ve had clients like him. They think they’re different because they’re curious about life, because they want a peek behind the curtain. No one does.
I open my mouth, but he pushes my wine towards me. “The only rule for tonight is that if you’re about to tell me what you think I want to hear instead of a real answer, you drink.”
“You’re trying to get me drunk,” I tease.
“Only as a secondary goal. My first is to understand,” he says.
I narrow my eyes despite my smile. His genuine excitement relaxes my shoulders. “You really want to know what I’ve read into you.”
“Consider my curiosity piqued,” he answers, obviously putting his elbows on the table and leaning towards me.
It’s shockingly immature, and it nearly makes me laugh. I take another drink from the wine glass, dragging the lip of it against my mouth. He watches with rapt attention, as if it’s him who will read my mind. I let him stew until he smiles brightly.
“Your silence is answer enough,” he chuckles. “You’re still reading.”
“Who says they understand a book before they’ve gotten to the ending?” I ask.
“No one who is worth knowing.”
I raise my glass to him. “Exactly. What I have picked up from you is that you are either naïve or you’re shockingly smart. You’re either fun or dangerous.”
“Ah, a dangerous balance. How do I manage to walk that line?” he chuckles.
I point at him. “Just like that. You have a talent for making people feel at ease by offering more up front, and you have a charming attitude.”
“That just might be a compliment,” he says.
“It might just be a real one,” I flirt.
“Is that real?”
“A good doll never tells.”
“A better doll does to salvage an innocent man’s heart.”
I laugh, a real laugh. His eyes widen, making me laugh again. How long has it been since I’ve actually laughed? I haven’t laughed with a client in what feels like years. He grins and sits back.
“That’s real. I like it.”
“You’re funny,” I say with an easier smile. “Maybe I won’t charge you double.”
“Oh, please do. My ego doesn’t need any help. If anything, it needs to be butchered,” he says.
Chapter 3: Fingers on the Rim
We eat, and instead of angling for more, he asks me about my job, about my life, if I thought about being a doll before jumping into it. He’s looking for friendship in the wrong places, but considering the perpetual doom panting and drooling over me like it’s sizing up a good meal has fled, I’m not sure I dislike it.
“Are you a doll?” I ask when he orders dessert.
He arches an eyebrow. “A new read, interesting. Share the thoughts that brought you there.”
I’m more than a little tipsy—far more than I let myself get with anyone—and I blame my candor on the liquid courage or liquid stupidity (I’ll decide which one depending on how this plays out). “The way you talk, how bold and blunt you are, how real you are about answers… it makes me think you used to be one of us.”
He tuts. “I haven’t been so lucky.”
I scoff and lean back. “That’s the first lie you’ve told me.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Is it?”
“No one wants to be a doll. They need to be a doll.”
Just like that, his smile is gone. He leans towards me while I trace the top of the glass. I shake my head at the sound, drink a bit more, and nod when the melody is softer, more in tune. “The only people who want to be a doll are those who don’t know what it’s like. They don’t realize what it takes from you. All the ways it makes a person cold.”
“And here I thought love replenished itself like a fountain.”
“Fountains run dry, and love isn’t real with a price tag,” I say softly.
“Even if you want it to be?” he asks.
I keep watching my finger. The sound is so musical. I lean my head to the side. “I’ve never wanted it to be real because I know it can’t be. If it is, it’s a danger. Love itself is dangerous. All it does is hurt people, make them vulnerable, make them weak.”
“Bitter—another fun development. Has anyone ever asked what you want?”
“No one who wants a real answer,” I say, bringing my palm down on the top of the glass and looking at the man. “It’s been an hour and a half.”
“You haven’t looked at a clock,” he says, eyes widening.
“Because I’m a good doll who doesn’t need to. Ask the waiter. I started our time when we came in. We’ve had three courses, and we’re waiting on the fourth one,” I note.
When he asks the waiter, I’m proven right. I clear my throat and try to shake the wine from my head. I give a bashful smile, but the man holds his hand up. “I’m asking, Asami. What do you want to be? Where do you wish you were right now? What word best describes you—since I know ‘doll’ is a job title?”
I blink at him and think about his questions. He wants to know too much. And I want to let him. I want someone to know me. Someone who’s not dangerous, who can’t make me question things. This man is so… normal in so many ways, so impossible to fall for, it feels almost natural to tell him.
“I want to be proud of myself,” I say. My brow furrows. I don’t think that’s what I meant to say. “I want to be safe, and I want to be known for my music, not what I can do with my body. I’m plenty of things that everyone is—a friend, a daughter, an artist, someone who wants to escape this city, and… and right now, I’m perfectly content being here.”
He arches an eyebrow and nods as he sits back. “I’m impressed.”
“Now you,” I motion to him. “For my own curiosity.”
He smiles. “I am very happy doing exactly what I am in life. I wish we had our dessert in front of us. And I think my name describes me best. Norman.”
“Norman the normal,” I tease.
He laughs. “Perhaps.”
Chapter 4: The Hole Where Magic Dies
“Normal is a trick, isn’t it?” I ask while leaning on the table and looking him over. “Because normal is never normal. It’s always an illusion.”
“We both know illusions are what people prefer because it’s what we want to see. Why shouldn’t a doll enjoy it occasionally too?”
“We do. But once you learn how the illusion works, the magic is gone.”
“Is it?”
“Oh yes,” I breathe. “Because the illusion is impossible to maintain forever. Everyone thinks they’ll be the one to get through it first, to find real magic, but all they find is disappointment.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” he comments.
My mind slips to Lacy. Lacy, who can’t pull herself from her paintings because it’s easier than accepting the guilt she feels, the what-ifs that weigh her shoulders down, and the taste of love that’s made her entire chest collapse.
My mind slips to River. River, who loves someone she’ll never be able to have. Instead of grieving it, she’s hardened herself, accepts pain because it’s real and she can fix it, and there’s no chance of falling for someone that hurts her.
My mind slips to Liam. Liam, who makes me feel too many things, things I can’t describe, all because he pours the truth into every touch and half-sentence and almost until neither of us can trust ourselves.
“Asami?” Norman asks.
“Experience is a bitch,” I whisper. “And you know it.”
“I do,” he agrees soberly. “You’re not the first doll I’ve met.”
“I know.”
“You’re all missing something, and so many of you want to find it, and if you can’t, you fill the hole.”
“I’m not missing anything,” I whisper. “I feed myself. I take time off. I refuse clients. I—”
“You crave freedom, and being a doll doesn’t give it to you. It gives you masters that rotate by the hour. Sure, you work for yourself and set the hours, you don’t have a madam or pimp to keep happy, but this isn’t what you want, and being a doll keeps you from plenty, doesn’t it?”
My throat bobs.
“It’s okay,” Norman assures, reaching across the table to rub my hand. “That’s not unique to dolls. It’s not. Everyone has something they are sure will fill them. Your clients think it’s sex. They think it’s control. They think it’s standing out and making you fall for them because they’re different. Dolls think it’s love they can eventually have, a full belly, stability.”
“You know too much.”
“I talk to a lot of people.”
“And?”
“And everyone wants something, but that something is usually bad for them, Asami. It’s an illusion,” he says gently.
When dessert comes, he shakes his head. “In a box, for her, please. And the bill. I wouldn’t want to touch the two-hour mark.”
“But you have two hours,” I argue, my brow furrowed. My mind keeps churning. I can’t make sense of this man. He’s simple, but not. He’s normal, but not. How am I supposed to get him out of my head when he’s so honest and truly seems to want nothing but company? “Two hours to the minute.”
“And if I leave a few minutes hanging, it means we’ll talk again. I’m not used to dolls being so open and direct. I like it. I like smart people. You’re interesting and have something to offer the world and to offer me. I’d like to keep exploring that.”
“You don’t want sex?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Goodness, no. I want something much more dangerous.”
His eyes shine again, but instead of afraid, I feel confused, almost entranced. What does a man want if he doesn’t want to touch me, use me? My answers and our conversation are so…
“I want your time and your real answers. I want your real thoughts. Unfiltered and direct, just as you have been. You have no idea what a gem you are,” he sighs.
Chapter 5: The Hunger of Curiosity
My eyes follow him as he sets money down on the table without the bill, then walks around to look at me. He strokes my cheek. “You’ll be tempted to chase some man into The Core, to slip into marriage.”
“How do you—”
“It’s too normal a story. A wealthy man in the Core falls for the love he can tame, locks you down, then… then, like a wildflower, you wilt. You need the sun, you need the rain, you survive by spreading your roots. Such a shame.”
I want to ask him about it, but he slips into the crowd and disappears. My eyes try to follow him, but the confirmation of his payment echoes through my watch. I shudder. Love is easy to ignore. Lust less dangerous. But curiosity… it’s ravenous and begs to be fed.
Taking the to-go box, I head outside, still confused. Normal Norman leaves me feeling empty. Because I know nothing about him. I don’t have any context. How did I spend two hours with a man and not know what he does for a living? I know his name. I know he was never a doll. And that’s all.
“Asami,” someone calls.
I turn and nearly fall into Liam. He looks at the to-go bag in my hand, and his mouth twists down. “Are you just leaving a date?”
“A job.”
“It’s not a job if you spend the whole time at a restaurant. We haven’t done that,” Liam growls. “Who was it?”
“I don’t talk about clients with you, Liam. You know that. We—”
“I’ve been trying to message you all day,” he growls.
We stare at one another, something sizzling between us, then there’s a hand on my arm. Norman is there. “Sorry, sir. I still have a few minutes to use. Asami, I just wanted to thank you for such a wonderful conversation. Your laugh is beautiful, so is your ability to turn a wine glass into music.”
“Oh… um… you’re welcome,” I say. “Next time, we’re going to talk about you.”
“I’m not nearly as interesting as you are. I truly appreciate your honesty and look forward to next time,” Norman says.
“You didn’t give me a phone number or a way to contact you, sir. How will we set up another meeting?” I ask. It’s stupid to ask. I know how to handle situations better when I have two clients in front of me, but Norman doesn’t feel like a client… he feels like a therapist.
“Coincidence is a beautiful thing. I like to think there’s something truly magical in happenstance,” he says before slipping back into the crowd.
My brow furrows as I try to make sense of him. A man who is everywhere and nowhere at once, who makes not one dramatic exit but two, isn’t a man to trust, yet everything in me wants to trust him even more than I want to trust Liam. Liam wears danger on his sleeve, namely in how intense he is, but Norman…
Liam tugs me against him and looks down at me. “You’re mine tonight.”
“Liam, we didn’t—”
“Four days apart,” he reminds me. “I already paid.”
I look at my watch and realize Norman didn’t pay me. And oddly, stupidly, I’m not upset about it despite the fact I should be. Having dinner with him hardly felt like work; it felt like a release, a true therapy session that was long overdue.
“Okay,” I breathe.
Chapter 6: The Garden of Lies
Liam leads me to our normal hotel, but to a new room. This one is filled with flowers and plants. I drink it in, breathe it in, savor it, yet when I touch a flower and feel it’s real, I suck in a breath and turn around. Liam walks towards me, stripping himself of his blazer, his tie, and his coat while the guards on his face fall away.
“I’ve brought The Zone to you, every beautiful aspect, other than a stream,” he hums.
“Liam, this is too much, it’s too—”
“How honest were you with that man?” he asks while stroking my cheek.
“Very honest,” I answer.
His eyes sharpen. “About what?”
I snort and push his hand away. “He didn’t ask about you or any other client.”
“Asami, there’s a reason I can’t take you to places like that anymore. I can’t take you to the hookah lounge, I can’t—”
“I haven’t asked you!” I interrupt, turning on him. “Because we’re not dating. I am doing a job.”
Liam stares at me. I look away. I never say that. Never to a client. I sit on the bed and run my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
“Is that how you see us? A client and a doll?”
“If I see us any other way… it’s not possible. You know that. I’m mine,” I’ve said it so often to him that the words hardly feel like words anymore. How many times does a person say something before it loses power and becomes meaningless? “I have to be.”
He approaches slowly. “You are yours. I’ve never asked you to be anything else.”
I motion to the flowers. “Do this for your wife, for your girlfriend, for whoever you’re hiding me from. I’m a guilty pleasure. I’m your peace. You use me, and I use you. Even if we enjoy it, we’re using each other. That’s the truth. The truth that matters between us.”
“You’re drunk.”
“It’s still true,” I say, lifting my head to look at him. “You don’t want the truth.”
“I hate that you’re convinced that’s what’s happening between us. What the fuck did he tell you?”
“He was just as honest as I was. Shockingly,” I huff. “I don’t want to be a doll, but I have to be. You don’t want to be in business, but you have to be. No matter what choices we make, sometimes we’re stuck. You’re stuck in the Core, I’m stuck…”
Liam offers me a lily like he’s offering a white flag. My hand shakes when I take it. I close my eyes for a moment and turn to him. “I’m riled, Liam. I’m sorry. This isn’t what you wanted or paid for.”
“I want to be with you, Asami,” he whispers. “I don’t like that you’re only this honest after spending two hours being honest with someone else.”
“Being honest with you is dangerous. You are dangerous, and there’s no avoiding that. So let’s lie to each other. And just keep lying. Keep being together and enjoying it,” I whisper.
Liam lifts my chin and stares into my eyes. He wants to fight it; that’s his nature. He’s a man who can’t or won’t accept that there are areas where he lacks control. Liam leans forward and rests his forehead against mine.
“I hate you, Asami. I hate that you’re like this.”
I start to pull away, but he whispers “lie,” making me settle, then continues. “You’re dangerous and have no idea exactly how dangerous you are to me, and it makes me insane that you just won’t get terrible enough for me to be done. I’d rather hate you. I’d rather be pissed knowing you’re laughing with someone else, looking more relaxed with someone else, and still thinking about someone else than give you up.”
“That better be a lie,” I whisper.
“Sure,” he shrugs. “Whatever’s easier. Go look at the flowers and tell me which is your favorite.”
Chapter 7: The Weight of Honesty
I do exactly that. I pull out my favorites and show them to Liam. He keeps his emotions to himself, which makes me feel even more off. I’m the one who puts up walls. I’m the one who’s supposed to keep control, but the fact that he’s suddenly so cold and untouchable makes me want to warm him.
But Norman’s voice is still in my head, telling me that Liam won’t fill the space within me. Liam won’t do anything but let me wilt when he takes me home and leaves me in a corner without sunlight or room to grow. I’ll be a neglected houseplant in his care if I let him have his way.
That doesn’t stop me from straddling him and kissing his neck. It doesn’t stop me from trying to seduce him even though I may as well be cuddling a glacier.
“Liam,” I whisper.
“I don’t want you out of obligation. I don’t want you to do this out of obligation,” he says.
He can’t even pretend it’s a lie, which riles me more. “I never said I don’t enjoy being with you. I never said I don’t like our time.”
“Then where do you want to be, Asami? Tell me the truth, not whatever you normally do,” he says.
I narrow my eyes and get off him. “Who do you think I answer to, huh?”
“Asami.”
“I answer to myself, Liam. I don’t tell you things because I have to. I don’t tell you not to kiss me because a pimp will hit me. I don’t tell you what we both are because I have to! I’m trying to protect us both the only way I know how, and if that means the kindest thing I can do to you is hurt you, I will.”
Liam stands up, panting as he moves closer to me, steadily backing me to the window.
“I will hurt you. I will keep everything inside because the second you take me, the second you break me like you want to, you’ll sweep me into the Core, realize I’m an embarrassment, and lock me away like a pet you don’t want anymore. You’ll ignore me, and that’s worse than hating me,” I say.
“Shut up,” he growls, his palm coming down on the window.
“That’s what you’ll do! You’ll confuse me like my client did. You’ll twist me up until I think I matter. You’ll get too much out of me, and then I’ll be yours, and that will make me nothing,” I say, hitting his chest.
He grabs my wrist, holds it over my head, and presses his face to mine. I feel the rush of his breath across my lips. My eyes water. Why am I being honest? Why am I forgetting every lesson I’ve ever learned? Why is all of this pouring out of me?
Liam’s lips move against mine as he speaks. “Were you given a fucking truth serum, Asami?”
I whimper. “I don’t know. I feel… like I have to be honest. Like not being honest will hurt me.”
“Never see that client again,” Liam says, lifting my chin as his lips rub against my jaw and towards my ear. “He’s not a good man.”
“You don’t know, you don’t—”
“I pay attention because of you, Asami. He’s met with too many dolls that end up hurt, that end up ruining themselves. There’s no such thing as coincidence with him, not twice,” Liam says. “And I don’t want to share you with someone like that.”
“You’re too greedy. You don’t get to have me like that. You don’t get the truth. You don’t get me all night. You don’t get me when the sun comes up. You don’t want me. You don’t! You just think you do because some part of you is empty, and you think you can fit me into the shape you need, but you—”
Liam turns my chin, and staring at him, into his gorgeous eyes, his face so alive and suddenly not cold at all, makes a whine leave my throat. My eyes water until he blurs and feels less terrible, less real. I grip his shirt.
“You’ll break me if I ever let you. You’ll move on and make me watch while saying you’re doing something good because I’m not a doll, and I’d rather be a doll than be forgotten,” I say, unable to shut up.
“There’s no way you’d ever let me do that,” he whispers.
I sniffle. “Sure.”
Chapter 8: Petals Against the Glass
Liam groans and grips my hair. “Put your hand over your mouth now.”
I obey just in time for him to kiss my fingers instead of my mouth. His tongue strokes through my fingers again, but this time it brushes over my lips. My own lips, rebellious and determined, move against my hand like I can kiss him back. He would taste so much better than my hand, feel so much better than my fingers, and not tasting him, keeping something between us, only makes me want him more.
Liam pants and kisses my forehead, my neck, then jerks my dress up and spreads his hand over my ass. He kisses my neck, my jaw, the corner of my mouth when my fingers move, and pants. “Never see him again.”
“Never,” I whimper as he forces my panties down my legs.
“How dare you think you’re forgettable,” he snarls as he lifts my dress over my head, then grabs my thigh and hikes it over his hip. He undoes his pants and shoves them down. “How dare you be so fucking honest with me.”
I gasp as he thrusts against me. He grinds and teases me with every thrust before gripping my hair and jerking back so our breath mingles. “How dare you make me want you more.”
“You don’t want me. You just think you do,” I whisper.
He fills me with one sharp snap of his hips, and my head falls back. Liam pants with me. “I want to live right here, Asami. I want to brand myself on you. I want to own every moan, every laugh, every smile. I want to come home to you. I want you screaming my name. I want to show you off while everyone knows you’re mine, that I chose you.”
“Liam!” I yelp as he fucks me harder, like he can punish me if he does it just right. “You don’t—”
“Norman is a fucking liar. He wants your truth to make his own lies better. You’re not empty, angel. You’re salvation itself. You’re real. You can do anything you want. You’re not a flower that will wilt; you’re a person who would kick me in the dick if I ever disrespected you.”
I want to believe him. Some part of me knows it’s true, but Norman’s words haunt me. His smile, the glint in his eyes, his even tone has replaced the looming demon ready to crush me with doom. Even with Liam fucking me like he hates that he loves me, all I think of is the hole opening up in my chest wider and wider, being chipped open by every memory of an “innocent” conversation with a man I just promised I’d never see again.
