The Broken Doll (Brahms x Reader)

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

A few minutes pass as I take a good look around the room. The first time I found his hideout, I didn't get to see much. It left me curious as to why he chooses to stay here most of the time when there were so many other rooms—enough that he could pick a different one to sleep in for every day of the month.

Brahms tilts his head and squints at me in confusion; probably wondering what I was still doing there now that I have my camera back. I ignore it and continue to scan the entire area inside his lair.

The room is illuminated dimly by lamps and fairy lights. There's a single shining star above his bed that sticks out to me, for added pizzazz maybe? The walls were layered with egg crate soundproof foam. To my guess, it was put up to help minimize any noise from coming in or out. Everything was in the open; meaning that there were no walls separating the kitchen from the bathroom. It was just one big open space. The room was pretty organized aside from it being crammed with so much stuff.

I guess I see why he likes it in here. It feels a lot more cozy and homely in these walls than it did out there. This wasn't just some secret hiding spot, it was a home; Brahms made it that way.

I walk over to his bed. I remember that night I found him on it, asleep. It was uncomfortably small for someone his size and yet, he still slept soundly.

There was a hump protruding from above the dark grey and black striped cotton blanket that covered it. It's shape made me suspicious. Unlike an ordinary pillow, the lump was long and took the form of a human being.

Was someone hiding under there?

I grab at the top of the blanket with shaking hands and slowly pull down. The first thing I see, peaking out from beneath the covers, is what looks like hair. But not just any hair, human hair. I ripped the blanket fully off, eyes-wide, expecting to find a person. Instead, I find a life sized doll pillow. The hair was actually a (h/c) wig the doll wore on it's head. It was almost the same shade and length as mine. There was no mistaking it was me. It even had on my favorite (f/c) dress which—When did he steal that? Probably the same time he took the camera! What other things of mine has he taken?

I inspect the doll. A disturbing replica of myself. My lips curl in disgust as scenarios run through my mind of the things he could have done with it. My eyes were glued to the spot between the legs of the doll. Thinking the worst, I needed to see what's under to confirm it was, indeed used for sexual purposes. I take the dress by the hem and lift, bravely taking a peak inside. To my discovery...there were no holes of, well...insertion. What I thought to be a sex doll; is actually just a body pillow?

"Brahms," I call to him.

He doesn't respond.

I turn my head to look back at him. Brahms was standing, back-slouched, next to me. His head down and faced off to the side to avoid eye contact — as if embarrassed or ashamed.

"Brahms," I say once more.

He hesitates before finally facing towards me.

"It was really lonely for you, staying here for all those years, wasn't it?" I ask.

He nods and I nod back. And—we decide to leave it off there. At least for now.

A creature staring at me from a distance captures my attention. I make my way over to which I find a taxidermy owl perched high above an artificial tree branch. Seeing how the bird looked so much alive yet it wasn't, made me feel uneasy. There is something unsettling about stuffing dead animals. I wonder how it died? Was it snuffed out by a bullet, was it roadkill, or perhaps neither and died a natural cause of death.

I turn to Brahms, "Did you do this yourself?" I ask.

He nods.

"-As a hobby?"

He pauses to think before giving a confusing answer as he shrugs his shoulders and nods.

"How did you get it?..."

"I hunt," he says, voice deadpan, "I kill them myself."

Biting at the inner lining of my cheeks, I try to stop myself from making any faces that might show signs of my disgust.

Brahms points slightly above the owls head. What I see are large pieces of steel dangling from the ceiling.

"That's an interesting choice of decor..." I tell him.

He shakes his head, "Traps."

I observe the hanging steel once more. I wasn't able to recognize what it was at first without the sharp teeth these traps usually have, resembling that of a shark's jaw. It made me feel better thinking they were put up as a strange choice of decor since—they sure were displayed like one. But, it turns out that these were the devices he used to trap whatever other animals he likes to practice taxidermy on. These traps were made for larger animals like bears and deer. Brahms had so many of them. It makes me wonder how many innocent animals he had killed. Come to think of it, I've seen quite a few taxidermy animals throughout the house.

Beside the hanging traps were bird cages which, I assume are also used to capture them. It made me even more disturbed knowing he used these kinds of traps since it wasn't used to kill. Instead, the animal would get something caught in it that'd make them go flailing and wailing about. Then it's left to suffer in pain until it gets finished off. And, oh god. I didn't want to think of the methods Brahms used to do the job.

My eyes fixate on the owl once more, feeling sympathy towards it. It belonged in the paintings of a children's book. Its ear-like tufts were reminiscent of a teddy bear. Its once soul-full eyes had been replaced with black glass and without the oils of a living bird, the feathers were dull. It had been transformed from something bewitching to a ghastly ornament for its killer. I looked at its talons. This was a predator capable of taking down mammals larger than itself, like humans. Except for Brahms though. For him, predators become prey.

...Perhaps I was Brahms' prey too.

Was I just an owl that fell into another one of his traps?