THE REVENGE OF THE RAGDOLL

I’d lied to my therapist about the episodes—those moments when I lashed out and destroyed everything around me. The drugs had stopped working a while ago, and my refusal to switch to something stronger—to stop the hallucinations, blackouts, and the growing gaps in my memory—was finally coming back to smack me in the face.

My old excuse was that the pills were just empty promises. Now, I had a new excuse. A bigger one. A problem I could no longer ignore.

The shards of glass and ceramic dropped from my hand as my face twisted in horror. Images from my past surged through my mind, blow after blow, each one fanning the flames of hatred in my chest. Hatred that had filled the hollow space where love and life once bloomed. I gritted my teeth and pressed my palms against the sides of my head.

Clamping my eyes shut, I let out a guttural scream—one loud enough to alert the neighbors.

“No… no. This can’t be happening,” I whimpered as tears spilled down my cheeks. This feeling of fear, of helplessness... it never got easier. The thought of that evil man showing up at my door again terrified me. But what terrified me even more was the fact that I was completely and utterly alone in the world.

Staggering out of the kitchen, I whimpered, my makeup streaking down my face in ruin.

Then I noticed it.

A red light blinking ominously on the connection box of my home phone, mounted on the right wall just beside the kitchen entrance.

My mind went blank. It was the first time I’d seen that light blink since I installed the damn thing.

“Blue light for the phone company. Red light for voicemail,” I muttered shakily, staring at it. “A voicemail? That’s new.”

I stepped toward it slowly, my hand trembling like I’d just stepped out of an ice bath.

“Could he have already found me?” I whispered, pausing just before grabbing the receiver.

With a breath, I picked it up and brought it to my ear. Silence. For a few seconds, all I heard was a low hum. No voice. No message. Just a reminder that someone had called—and I wasn’t there to answer.

I pressed the button beneath the red light.

“Hey, Angel. It’s me, Harold,” his voice echoed into my ear, and my eyes widened. “Umm… I wanted to apologize for our date a few nights ago. I didn’t think you’d pick up a call from me, so I figured I’d try your home line. I honestly hope this is it—there were a lot of people named Angel in Forest Hills,” he chuckled.

“Imagine this is the wrong person,” he laughed again. “Anyway, I was wondering if I could make it up to you with a simple coffee date. Nothing too fancy, nothing too grand. Just you and me at that café we met. I promise, no weird questions this time. Call or text me if you’re interested.”

The message ended.

I pulled the phone from my ear slowly.

“Is this guy some kind of stalker?” I whispered, brow furrowing. I hung the receiver back on the wall and sank to the floor, pressing my back against the cold wall behind me.

Oddly... I felt calmer.

Only moments ago, I was unraveling. Now, all I could think about was getting that ice cream again.

“An opportunity, huh?” I murmured, remembering what Dr. Christine had said during our last session. Maybe she was right. Maybe letting someone in wasn’t the worst idea.

But the thing about starting a new relationship in my current state was all the what-ifs.

What if I told him about my past and he looked at me with disgust?

What if he saw me as damaged?

No one wants a broken toy.

I wrapped my arms around my knees and buried my face in my own cold embrace.

“No one wants a worn-out ragdoll.”

All the anger, all the hatred I’d bottled up—it wasn’t aimed at others. Not anymore.

It was toward myself.

For not being strong enough.

For being so helpless in the face of danger.

For falling for the most obvious scam the world had to offer: love.

For not learning my lesson.

---

Hours later, I found myself sitting at the café.

The sun’s rays streamed through the tall glass walls, warm and golden. Sunday afternoons in Forest Hills were always peaceful—filled with laughter, joy, and the soft hum of passing conversations. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and I sat in the perfect spot to take it all in.

I wore something simple: a checkered shirt, jeans, and light makeup. Nothing too attention-grabbing. I mean, who shows up to a coffee date in a ball gown?

It had been fifteen whole minutes since I arrived.

I was starting to worry.

Had I hoped too much?

Did the universe really hate me that much?

My fingers tapped anxiously on the table—dry, rhythmic sounds that echoed in my skull. I could feel the gazes of other customers on me, hear the murmurs and soft chatter. It felt like they were all whispering about me, even if they weren’t.

I wanted to melt.

Vanish.

What was I thinking coming here?

“This was a mistake. I should leave.”

Just then, a waitress approached.

“Madam, I’m sorry to bother you,” she said kindly. “But you’ve been sitting here a while, and you haven’t ordered anything. Are you waiting for someone?”

“Well, umm...” I hesitated. What was I supposed to say? I’d texted Harold a few times and gotten no reply. The café sounds suddenly grew louder—glasses clinking, people chewing, laughter—it all crashed in my ears.

I should go.

I was about to rise when I heard a voice behind me.

“I’ll have a mango smoothie. And she’ll have… whatever she wants.”

I exhaled, relief flooding me.

“I’ll have that as well, thank you,” I said quickly.

“Okay then, I’ll be right back with your orders,” the waitress said with a smile before walking away.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Harold said, coming around the table and taking the seat across from me. “I’m late. I know. And I deeply apologize for my tardiness.”

That voice of his... I finally understood why it calmed me earlier.

“Whatever,” I murmured, brushing a few strands of hair behind my ear. “I’m just glad you didn’t ditch me.”

“There was an issue at the company—something I had to deal with before coming here,” Harold explained.

“What happened?” I asked, curious.

“Oh, nothing to worry about. Just a small celebration for the return of someone very important to the business—and to New York as a whole,” he said, strangely vague.

Then he added, “Listen, Angel. About our last date—”

“No, no, please,” I interrupted. “I should be the one apologizing. You asked a harmless question, and I walked out without a word. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d ever call me again… let alone go digging for my home number,” I admitted, my voice growing fragile.

“Well, obviously it wasn’t a harmless question,” Harold said, and I slowly looked up to meet his eyes. “You’re afraid of sharing your past because you think people will reject you. You think they’ll call you crazy or push you away. But… that’s not true. At least not for me.”

“We don’t know that yet, do we?” I replied softly, my eyes glancing sideways before returning to his.

The waitress returned, placing our smoothies and napkins on the table.

“Enjoy,” she said, then left.

“Try me,” Harold said, flashing a warm smile.

“Let’s see how today goes first,” I replied, smiling gently in return.