Then he moved behind me.

The empty stand took my weight when he guided my hands to the uprights. Cool metal. My own copies on either side. His chest against my back. The thick, wet head of him sliding through the mess between my thighs until he found me again and stayed there, not in, just pressed to the place he had already opened.

I looked at the new doll because he had told me to. It was like looking at a witness who could not blink.

“Still want this?” he asked against my hair.

I should have said I wanted to go home. But instead, I nodded.

He pushed...