I Love You Very Much

It arrived on a rainy afternoon, a plain box with no distinguishing marks beyond your name and address. You hesitated for a moment before tearing off the tape. Inside, nestled in crumpled packing paper, was the doll — her. Smooth, glossy, and flawless. A name was stitched elegantly across the box lining: Latex Lucy. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to buy it. Maybe it was a late-night impulse driven by loneliness or curiosity. As you lifted the doll out, you marveled at the craftsmanship. Her eyes, though painted, seemed to shimmer with a life-like glint. The smooth latex felt unnaturally warm under your fingertips. A tiny key nestled in her back caught your attention. Almost on instinct, you wound it up. Her head tilted slightly, lips parting into a seductive smile. "My name is Latex Lucy," she purred, her voice smooth, "and I love you very much." The words sent a shiver down your spine, equal parts fascination and unease. What had you been thinking? You felt a rush of regret, embarrassment at the money spent, the absurdity of this situation. But beneath it all, a tiny voice whispered: Give it a chance. Maybe she’s what you need. --- That night, after the house settled into its usual silence, you found yourself alone with the doll. Curiosity won out over shame. You wound her up again. This time, Lucy's eyes seemed to focus on you more intently. Her lips curled into that same smile, but her words were different. "I like you and only you," she whispered. You frowned. That wasn’t what she’d said before. Was it a glitch? A manufacturer’s error? You brushed it off, but the unease grew when Lucy began to speak more elaborately, responding almost as though she understood you. Her phrases were too specific, too personal.