22. Ambrose—present day
Ambrose—present day
I t’s been a long morning, and my eyes are heavy. I came here to Mrs. Bannadosi’s house after work. That was six hours ago. Early morning birds chirp at the window, and I debate going home to a place where I won’t hear them.
Dollie will be home alone today. The idea of her creeping around rooms to avoid the shadows that frighten her hurts me.
I should be there, fixing the wall that I still haven’t done because she and Annabelle barely left the reading room yesterday. I shouldn’t be here, sitting and waiting for death to come and go, and yet, it seems like the easier option.
It doesn’t matter that it could be the perfect time for me to tell her that I’m living there, too, and she isn’t alone and has nothing to fear.
But my being there will only scare her more.
I know that because during one of their random conversations, she told Annabelle she wanted nothing to do with me. She didn’t say why, but there was a tremble in her voice when those words came out.
For whatever reason, she’s afraid of me. That hurts, too.
It makes me wonder if she actually knew it was me in the music room.
I’m not sure anymore.
All I know is I couldn’t possibly ease her worrying about staying in that house now that Annabelle has gone off somewhere to work, doing whatever it is that she does.
Staring at the meaningless quotes on the kitchen wall, I take a sip of water from the same cup I use whenever I’m here. The dryness in my throat appreciates the drink more than the cries inside me that beg for alcohol instead.
Stretching my fingers as I set down the basic black mug, I examine the swelling in my hand from punching Shane. It’s worse today.
On the plus side, there’s still no sign of him.
Judging by the stuff Dollie said in the other conversations I’ve eavesdropped on, she expects him to try to return.
Maybe that’s why she hasn’t answered my basic greeting on that terribly tacky dating app I downloaded when Annabelle did the same for her.
I’d heard about it on my way out and couldn’t stop my fingers from creating an account.
It isn’t something I should do, talk to her under false pretenses, but it might be my only way to talk to her. To keep her company when she needs it. To ask for it when I do.
I open it up, and the big MateMatch icon greets me in the center of the screen.
Selecting an updated profile picture that hides my face, I try to entice her with a bit of luck of the Irish. I think I have a chance as long as Shane doesn’t come home.
That thing can’t fucking come back.
The idea alone makes my stomach turn.
Maybe that’s because I’ve been sick once today already—my own fault, of course. I let Dollie seep into my subconscious. Let her invade my dreams and touch me in a way she shouldn’t.
And I know that’s so fucking wrong.
But words can’t explain how much I miss her. How much I fucking need to have her close to me, erasing the thoughts I can’t escape on my own.
We were so fucking close all those years ago before my imprisonment ripped us apart. It was like we shared a damn soul.
And yet she chose him, and she’ll go back to him. I can feel it in my bones.
And it infuriates me.
The rage I feel over Shane dilutes slightly as my hand fills with a dog’s curly hair. I glance down to find Bubbles’ head in my lap. She’s probably the only soul in the world who looks up at me without judgment in her eyes these days.
For that, I offer her some comfort, and she nuzzles in.
Luckily, she stays on the floor, just filling my hand with her face.
If she were to jump up, we’d both be on the floor because the battered stool, which might just be older than me, creaks for the dozenth time.
Sitting on it risks my dodgy knee, but I needed a break from staring down at a woman waiting to die.
It’s cruel… for us both.
One of many nurses enters from the living room, where Mrs. Bannadosi lies on her bed, struggling to breathe.
I hear each groaning wheeze beyond the birds.
The young woman takes a step back as she sees my face.
Unlike Bubbles, this person is staring and not even trying to hide her disgust. Even though she has many skills, masking her terror isn’t one of them.
She’s either heard the rumors or the gashes on my face do the same to her as they do me… repulse her.
She spits out the words, “I’m sorry. It’s probably a matter of days.
She isn’t doing well, and the treatment is failing her.
It could be as soon as forty-eight hours.
” A sad smile sits on her lips long enough for me to spy the fake sympathy she feels she has to give me before she disappears back into the room faster than she appeared in this one.
Bubbles makes a noise that sounds like the poor dog’s way of telling me she’s sad right now.
Stepping down from my seat, I take her into the yard and kick a stick for her, but she doesn’t chase it.
In the long grass, she lingers at my side, staring up at me as her ungroomed tail flicks dust over my boots.
I step around her and drop to my haunches, taking her face in my hands.
This poor dog is about to have life as she knows it ripped away from her, and I know how awful that is.
It’s happened to me three times. And it’s been shit every time.
There are two options for her future: a shelter, where she may not live much longer than her owner, and that future is cut short, or I take her home to Dollie and force that girl to acknowledge me and whatever is between us. Her birthday is coming up, and I’ve missed so many of them.
I sigh.
What will I do with you in the coming days? I wonder silently, and she tilts her head like she’s listening to my thoughts. Could you be the perfect present to break the ice between us?