Rag Love

by: Nefertiry

Ever since she got her very first rag doll when she had been only eight years old, Elaine liked to collect them.

There was something sentimental about cloth dolls that plastic ones could never achieve. She loved the yarn hair and button eyes of the really old ones. Elaine liked how snuggly they felt to hold and how each one had a unique feature -- like a personality -- to them.

Even now, at age twenty-four, the spare room of her two bedroom apartment was filled with dolls in every shape and size. During her freshman year in high school she had gone to a local arts and crafts store to buy the necessary materials to make the cute little things herself. It was at first done for pleasure -- to increase her collection -- but soon her designs had caught the attention of mother's whom began requesting the dolls for their daughter's.

Then grandma's, and aunt's -- finally even a local toy store had wanted to sell them.

It wasn't a business. She couldn't make a living off of it. Elaine did not want to make a living off of it. It was the only thing in her life that she could do and inject all her feelings into, and she didn't want to ruin the spell by making it a chore.

Her career wasn't remotely related to creativity, or art, or any of those free-spirited jobs which would probably fit her best. Elaine worked a boring nine-to-five schedule on weekdays, forty plus hours a week, and didn't even get bonuses every month for her extra hard labor on select weekends.

She was the personal assistant to a well known architect -- a man in his mid forties -- but often she felt more like his slave. Perhaps the definition wasn't far from the truth; she fetched his coffee, breakfast, lunch, and sometimes even dinner -- she ran around cleaning up after him -- and at the end of the day not even a thank you from her oblivious boss.

Men were such blind creatures.

But why should he thank her? After all, he was paying her to fulfill all of the duties in her job description. She supposed that her resentment was more towards his way of treating her, rather than being anal about his lack of manners.

It really... sucked to be treated like nothing.

Elaine pouted.

She hated to use slang terms, but right at that very moment -- staring at two of her favorite rag dolls -- she felt like shit. At first her boss hadn't been such a tyrant, which was why she had gone ahead and splurged on a few things; she leased a two bedroom apartment that was sufficiently covered by her salary; she had financed new furniture, a new wardrobe, and had even purchased a fairly new car. Elaine had also bought the latest technology in mobile phones and signed a dooming two-year contract with a carrier for a plan she hardly even consumed.

Well she did abuse the cellular phone plan before -- but she wasn't speaking to him -- so it was virtually worthless now.

To quit being the slave of her boss meant she'd go bankrupt.

Elaine hated the thought of starving and once again living off of ramen like she had when she first moved out of her parent's house. In fact, the single thought of having to once again be the slave of another kind of boss -- probably at a fast good joint -- was far from appealing. At least this boss paid her well, so she shouldn't complain too much.

Even if she hated Mr. Thomas, Elaine would simply have to deal.

It was a Saturday night and a single woman such as herself had no one to go out with. Not a boyfriend, not a girlfriend, not even a relative. It had been the same way for years -- since high school -- and she also hated that.

"Well that's not entirely true."

There was someone. And he had taken her out on nights so quiet as these. He was her boy friend.

She was pretty sure he had a penis because it always saluted when a pretty woman passed it by, and she was pretty sure that he -- the man -- was her friend because even if she ate beans with ketchup he still hung out with her. In fact, she was probably the most boring, most insignificant, most clumsy person alive but he seemed not to mind her imperfections. He actually said she was cute with all her quirks and antics.

He also said that they were as close as his nuts were to each other-- she was the left nut and he was the right one. He was strange sometimes, making such comparisons, but she loved his weird sense of humor -- it could lift her spirit any given day.

Elaine was never one to dwell on genital anatomy, but she figured that was pretty close as far as definition went. And it felt good that someone liked her enough to choose her company -- though she was blatantly boring -- over other more interesting people. He also depended on her and for a guy to even admit that he needed or relied on someone -- much less a girl -- was a big thing!

If he had a stomach ache, he'd call her for some Pepto.

If he had a broken heart, he'd come to have her make it better.

He even came to her when he had to buy underwear because apparently he couldn't shop for them by himself. He always had a kick watching her flush at the many male crotches printed on the underwear bags. He said he liked her innocence.

Jackson Taylor -- her next door neighbor since middle school.

Jackson Taylor -- the guy who punched the first boyfriend she ever had for forcing himself on her.

Jackson Taylor -- the handsome friend whom would probably be bleeding to death and not realize it because he was so fucking blind.

Elaine clutched the male rag doll in her right hand and brought it up to her face. She had named it Jackson, simply because this was supposed to be the rag version of the real Jackson. Because the real Jackson said she was good at making these otherwise unpopular dolls charming, and that he wanted to immortalize their friendship through them. Because the small Jackson in her hand had his arm perpetually sowed to the shoulder of the rag doll version of herself.

The familiar side hug.

The comforting arm over her shoulder.

A couple of stupid looking rag dolls forever linked unless she yanked the fabric apart. She could do it too, she was mad enough to break the symbolism. But she feared that the metaphorical link would somehow severe the real one if she broke it. She wasn't quite ready to cut the ties...

The phone rang again -- for the eighth time that evening -- and she set the dolls down on her lap. She was sitting at her couch, being stubborn, because it was an easier emotion to handle than the other option; hurt.

Hey this is Elaine -- well it's actually a recording of me, but you understand -- right. Um, please leave your message and I'll call you back... the real me, not the automated one. Okay, beep. I mean, bye. I'm not supposed to beep...

For a moment hearing his laughter made her heart shift from stubbornness to hurt in a flat second. She hated the way that he laughed sometimes because she had grown so attached to every sound he made. Not just the sounds, although she wasn't willing to admit any more right then.

"Elaine, I've been calling you all day. Are you still mad at me? Come on, talk to me. I know you're there..."

She glared at the phone. What did he know any way? Did he really think her such a loser that she'd always be home on a day off? Did he really think she couldn't find something or someone to do?

"Look, I'm turning the hallway and I'm going to bang on your door until you either open it, or I break it down, or the police takes me away."

Good. She hoped that Mrs. Bruger called the police on him so that he'd have to spend the night in jail rather than at that whorish woman's apartment -- where he had been spending the majority of his nights.

Elaine hurled the joined dolls at the door. Men could be so stupid. She'd never understand why they wasted so much time on insignificant women whom they knew wouldn't make them happy outside of the fucking bedroom. Didn't they know bedroom bliss only lasted so long?

Suddenly, she didn't want to be his left nut.

True to his threat, five consecutive knocks made her shrink deeper into the corner of her warm couch. She craned her neck to stare at the plain, white door. The door was much like her, really -- nothing special and found on many other people's door frames. There was nothing appealing to it if she didn't add some decorations -- like a wreath at Christmas time, or a witch on Halloween -- but even those things had to come down sooner or later, like her make-up and push-up bra.

"Elaine!" he shouted. "You know I can be just as stubborn as you. I'll do it, I swear I'll do it and then my mom will find out and never bake you those cookies again."

Bastard.

How dare he blackmail her using her stomach against her? Didn't he know that she lived to get those baskets full of home-made sugar cookies? It had been a tradition since she'd met his mother, how could he take it away from her?

What else will you take from me? I don't have much left, Jack.

"Elaine..." he moaned out. "Let me in so I can embarrass myself properly. I'll even grovel if you want, just open the door."

"Go away you!" she yelled. "I relinquish your left nut so both can focus on that bimbo."

The girlfriend -- or pussy of the month -- wasn't blond actually. (And he really wasn't a player either.) In fact, her hair was this enviable natural black -- long and shiny -- and she hated how Jackson always tangled his hands through it with that look of a moronic, love-struck fool waiting to jump into bed with her. Rebeka was gorgeous in that bizarre beautiful way; tall and curvy, full of assets that Elaine lacked, and her personality wasn't even bad.

Beka -- as he cooed every time -- was smart, kind, and actually sickeningly sweet. The woman had baked her cookies as though she had to win Elaine's approval to date Jackson. It was pathetic. Elaine wasn't Jackson's mother -- or sister -- and she didn't want to have to be poked that way.

The knocking continued.

Elaine hugged one of her couch cushions tightly against her chest and sniffled. She hated when he tried so hard because it only made her feelings for him become more confusing. She hated when he sent her flowers after he'd been a jerk, or how he'd cook for her so she wouldn't have to after a long day of work. Jackson was a chef, so she supposed it wasn't much of a stretch for him, but the thought behind the action seriously overwhelmed her.

She hated how he would take her agenda and cross off important appointments so that he could kidnap her to the mountains. She also hated the way that he said that he loved her because it made her heart do aerobics and the organ wasn't made for gym rituals of the sort.

But most of all she hated how he always kept pushing her to forgive him in a seamless way.

The knocking only became stronger.

Then, her phone rang.

Angrily, she picked up the receiver and hissed, "I'm not opening the door, Jackson!"

"Is he the one making all that fuss?" Mrs. Bruger said, "My floor is vibrating up here."

Elaine unconsciously looked up. The ceiling didn't look as though it was perturbed by Jackson's brutality. Elaine rolled her eyes. Honestly, Mrs. Bruger could be charming and funny, but right now she didn't find the call humurous.

"This is serious, huh?" She clicked her tongue, "Open the door for him. I think you need to let out some steam and I'd like to sleep soon."

Elaine pouted. She didn't want to give in. Jackson would just act charming, grovel a bit, do the puppy dog eyes, and win her forgiveness because he knew she wasn't immune to any of his ways. He knew she couldn't stay mad at him forever, though she really wished she could.

Jackson Taylor knew she was mushy goo in his handsome hands.

"You'll get to sleep soon, Mrs. Bruger."

"Thank you dear. And I have a feeling you will sleep better too."

She threw the phone across the room and got up. Huffed and packed in anger, she marched right up to the door, unbolted the lock and swung it open. A loaded string of insults popped on the tip of her tongue, but when she looked at him the words died off.

His trousers were wrinkled and his white button down shirt was wet. Droplets of water fell from his hair and he looked like he hadn't slept too much. In fact, now that she took a good look at him, she found there were splotches of dirt on his clothes -- even on his nice shoes.

"You look like hell," she deadpanned. "Did you walk through a hurricane or something?"

He looked at her, not fazed by the sarcasm one bit. He was used to it, and more.

"Not inviting me in?"

She crossed her arms, "I'm weighing the pros and cons. I may soon quit my job and need clean furniture that will sell." She quirked one brow, "And I need my security deposit back, which means the carpet needs to --"

Jackson brushed past her.

"Hey!" she slammed the door shut. "If you ruin my shit the money is coming out of your damn pocket."

"Beka dumped me."

She wasn't impressed. Did he honestly have the balls to come here and cry on her shoulder?

"I don't wanna hear jack shit about that -- get out now."

"I'm not here because of that, Elaine." he frowned.

"Then do enlighten me on why every fucking conversation starts and ends with that woman."

Jackson actually glared at her. "I don't recall our friendship having any conditions. I thought that is what friends did -- you know -- share stuff that is important in their life. I don't come here and talk about just any girl, Elaine."

She bit her lip, hugging herself. The inconsiderate dick. He was not only reprimanding her for being a bad friend, but he was also telling her that Beka was important enough to --

Elaine fumed.

"You've been avoiding me for two weeks."

Elaine laughed, "Correction, I have been extremely busy these past weeks. The boss is taking on a huge project and --"

"Bullshit," he spat.

"Excuse me?" her eyes widened. "This is your biggest problem, Jack -- you think that my world revolves around you. Well let me tell you something mister," She walked up to him and poked his chest, "I have other things in my life. I don't dwell on stupid shit like what happened at the bar that night."

"Oh come on, give me a break!" His hands shot up, "Because all those text messages at random times of the day calling me a jerk didn't mean you were upset, no."

Elaine pouted, "I thought you came to grovel at my feet. This is hardly apologetic!"

He ran a hand through his hair, and licked his lips, "You're infuriating."

"You aren't any easier to live with."

His eyes fell on something by the door. Wordlessly he walked over, bending at the waist and picked up the discarded dolls. For a moment she admired his rear-end, and then mentally slapped herself for finding him attractive.

She hated that too; Jackson was so gorgeous -- the most handsome man in her eyes. She liked his tall and lean figure, the way his arms were the right amount of muscle and softness. She loved how his body was always warm and smelled delicious. She adored the way the soft curls of his dark hair fell into his green eyes because when it did he'd shake his head cutely to clear his line of vision. Elaine liked the way the right corner of his lips always twitched upwards as prelude to his sunny, perfect smile. She even liked the four tiny moles on his face; one by his lips, one by his cheekbone, one on his temple, and lastly -- the cutest one of all -- the one by his ear.

"I wish I could pluck my eyes out."

He turned to her, "What?"

"I wish I could also pluck my heart out."

Next to him, she was a common looking human being. A dull brown for a hair that wasn't curly, wavy, nor straight -- a figure that though thin had no real appealing shape; she wasn't a pear or an apple, not even a banana. The color of her eyes could almost be called black but in the light they shone an unattractive deep brown color. She couldn't even say she had the cute kind of dimples because one was far too deeper than the other.

Jackson would probably look wonderful naked, but she in turn would have so many flaws to hide. There was the matter of an obviously larger boob making her buy B cups and having to stuff one side with toilet paper to balance out the gap. There were those funny hairs because she refused to live slave to body waxing...

Elaine's eyes began to water.

"I don't want to be your friend anymore, Jackson Taylor."

At this he looked appropriately taken aback -- if even down right panicked. He closed the gap between them still clinging to the stupid dolls as if his life depended on it. For a guy, he really could be such a softy, holding to something so childish as though it was the biggest treasure in the world.

It was precisely his softness, his tender way of loving things -- even the inanimate ones -- that made her fall in love with him, as stupid a cliche as it was. It was hard not to grow enamored of someone whom she spent so much quality time with -- whom showed all of himself, the good - bad - and ugly -- it was too hard not to love him. She would want someone in her life who'd be like him... forever.

As a friend she had accepted him for everything that he was -- loved him for it -- and thus she couldn't stop the feelings from turning into...

"You don't mean that, Elaine."

He tucked her hair behind her ear, because he always said that she hid behind her hair too much. Jackson would tell her that she had a beautiful face, and warming eyes -- he told her she shouldn't always hide behind those rebellious tresses because he liked to see her pretty face. She should have believed the compliments false and just comforting words strung together to boost her confidence, but Jackson never lied. He was not a hypocrite either.

It was entirely his fault that she was irreversibly smitten. He shouldn't have ever said such words to her. He should have pinched her excess fat and told her what clothing made her look like a whale -- even if both knew that she was more like a sardine.

He should have been less charming.

And now he stood there, telling her what she did or did not mean as though he actually had a clue. It angered her that he was so dumb and blind that he couldn't see how much she really loved him. At this point, after embarrassing herself at the bar that night he shouldn't try to keep her.

"What I said at the bar," she choked. "I meant every word of it."

He looked down at the dolls in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Elaine."

She pushed away from him when he tried to hug her. The last thing she needed was to feel his body in contact with hers. He'd told her that night that he didn't feel the same way, that he liked Beka. He had patted her head like a big brother and sauntered off to dance with his stupid girlfriend all night long. He had left her there -- drunk to the bone and heartbroken.

It didn't count that he had slithered into her apartment at the wee hours of that blasted morning to sneak into her bedroom; it didn't help the confusion at all.

Angrily she wrenched the dolls from his hands and tore them apart. The bulky hand of small Jackson snapped from small Elaine's shoulders. A hole on Elaine and a piece of her shoulder attached to the Jackson hand was all that was left of the two.

How ironic.

She shoved the small Jackson at him, "Go away."

At least he looked bothered -- actually crestfallen -- at the gesture. His hand trembled as he held the piece of his friendship that she'd just tossed back. He looked like he wanted to yell at her, and shake her until her brain fell out through her ear.

"Don't do this, Lainey." he whispered, surprising her by the softness of the request.

"I need to know, Jackson." She swallowed the lump in her throat, "I need to know why you kissed me that night."

He looked surprised, but the shock slowly faded and that adorable upper lip twitched, announcing a full smile, "So you were awake after all."

"It may not have been my bravest moment -- to tell you how I felt when I was drunk -- but I think it more cowardly to kiss me when I'd never find out."

"But you did."

"Fate has a fucking twisted sense of humor." She bit her lip, "I want-- need-- to know."

For a moment he looked at her with eyes that held so much emotion that Elaine thought she'd drown. He reached a hand into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was muddy, and a bit wet, but it looked worn despite the recent abuse. She raised her eyes to his and his smile had faded.

"I was driving Beka to her apartment and we were having an argument. I'd been avoiding her and she was mad. Apparently she found out about our conversation at the club. I'd never seen her so pissed. She began talking about how I was just playing with her feelings and how I was really," he cleared his throat.

"Any way, the moment she pulled this sheet of paper and waved it around, things got out of proportion. I never thought she'd look through my stuff and I got angry too... so she tossed this out the window."

He sighed.

"I swerved off to the side of the road, of course, and tried to rescue it. A slope, a slip, and some bruises later -- I recovered it." He shrugged, "That was the last straw, and she dumped me, but we were heading to that at any rate."

Elaine remained quiet.

"She actually drove off with my car, so I had to walk back here."

She took the sheet and unfolded it. Immediately a swelling of emotions filled her chest, making it hard and painful to breathe. Sketched on the worn out pages was the final design for the dolls, with Jackson's side notes on the edges of the sheet in messy handwriting. He had been most meticulous about how he wanted his doll to look. They had planned and talked about it for weeks.

The paper was probably a decade old.

Hands trembling, she risked to look at him. He had kept such an insignificant paper...

"It's not insignificant, Elaine." He took small Elaine from her hands, "You have never been insignificant."

He took the two dolls and faced them to each other, joining their faces together. "I'd like to have this be the new pose."

She breathed, "Why?"

"Because this is how I've always felt, Elaine. I just wasn't brave enough to tell you then."

And so it was those words that prompted her to bring out the sowing utensils and both began to work on the kissing dolls. This time she promised she'd never break the two dolls apart, and he had sealed the vow with a kiss to symbolize because he told her that he planned to make sure she kept true to her word.