29. Dollie—present day
Dollie—present day
E ight days and half a book buddy read later, and today I’m up to my elbows in cake mix and frosting.
With perfect precision, I frost the last of this batch, turning the small cupcake into a perfect flower, and I set them aside.
I’m grateful I’m so busy today, as it gives me less time to focus on my shame from last night.
My phone buzzes in my apron pocket, and dread almost crushes me.
Pulling it out, I see it’s not Lucky. I haven’t heard from him today, which isn’t like him, and then I remembered my behavior the last time we talked.
Last night, I really took things too far with him. Way too far, but it was nice to feel wanted.
I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing, but the message isn’t from him. It’s from Shane, a simple happy birthday. When I click it open, another appears, asking if I’d like to do something for it.
He’s never asked before.
Maybe he’s changed.
But even change doesn’t excuse all he’s done.
Dollancie:
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
This is the first of his messages I respond to. He’s sent a few over the last few days, and they all sit unanswered in this chat.
Shane:
I’ll do better. I promise. One chance.
I’ve been worried sick about you staying there with him. We don’t know what he could do to you. The thought of him hurting you is the biggest wake-up call of my life. Please, talk to me. Let me take you out tonight.
Dollancie:
I have a baking job tonight. I’m busy. And I’m fine.
It’s a lie. Fine isn’t a word I’d use to describe how I feel about Ambrose in this house. However, he hasn’t hurt me. There’s just… an uneasiness between us.
Another message appears, interrupting that thought.
Shane:
Tomorrow then?
When I fail to answer, distracted by Bubbles, who hasn’t left my side today, Shane texts again.
Shane:
Think about it?
Please.
Dollancie:
Sure.
Thought about it, and no, because I’m already too wrapped up in someone else—someone I’ve never met but spend all my nights with. That is, assuming I ever hear from him again.
Now, I just have to find a way to tell Shane that, and grant him the courtesy he never gave me.
I sigh, turning my attention to Bubbles, who has her front legs around my waist like she’s sensing I need a hug.
Side-eyeing the cupcakes, I warn her against stealing one and point to her breakfast.
When she finally leaves my side, I consider texting Lucky. He never replied last night after my voice messages, leaving me feeling ignored and anxious.
Speak of the devil. He appears in the form of a text message.
Lucky:
Morning, cupcake.
The smile that lifts my lips is so wide it makes my face hurt. Then I click on his text, and all my shame comes rushing back.
I woke this morning with a flurry of vague memories and an empty bottle of wine at my side. Annabelle was right when she left it behind with a warning. The red ones are lethal. I’d unlocked my phone, and the evidence of my bad behavior was waiting to ridicule me.
Now, it’s ridiculing me again.
My face is met by the palm of my hand, and I don’t even fret about the frosting in my hair.
Dollancie:
God, I’m so sorry for my behavior last night. I wasn’t even sure I’d hear from you again. I was giving you until midday.
Lucky:
And at midday, were you hunting me down?
If that’s the case, I probably should have held out a little longer.
Ambrose appears in the doorway from the dining room, and the kitchen instantly darkens. He doesn’t meet my eyes. He just clicks his fingers and steals the attention of my furry friend. She follows him around the room, tracing his every step.
He’s fully dressed today, wrapped up warm as he takes her outside. I relax a little, my stiff body loosening as he steps outside.
Looking around this space, it’s clear to see the differences he’s made here now that I know he’s home.
It was so na?ve of me to think that squatters had left food behind.
It was so stupid of me to believe there was an issue with the electricity and water, given that they both worked perfectly and I hadn’t been billed.
Yes, I was in a state of denial.
I return to my phone, happy to forget my own stupidity.
Dollancie:
Too late now. But I am sorry if I made you feel…
uncomfortable.
You were quiet afterward.
Lucky:
You made me feel something, that’s for sure.
And I’m sorry I was quiet. I was sick last night.
I think I may have had too much whiskey.
Dollancie:
Oh, so we can both blame alcohol for our behavior.
Lucky:
Let’s do that.
Dollancie:
Honestly, I never drink, but life has been life-ing really hard. I thought alcohol would be a good way to escape.
I’m sorry you got caught up in it all.
And I hope you wanna finish the book with me.
Lucky:
Definitely.
How are those minions coming along?
Dollancie:
Minions?
Lucky:
Because I called you cupcake.
Frosting smears my phone screen, preventing my eyes from catching a typo before I send my reply.
Dollancie:
Oh, the minions are alnost done.
400, whoo-hoo!
Lucky:
You’re impressive. It’s still so early.
Noticing the typo, I can’t help but disagree with the impressive comment as I take a seat at the table.
Dollancie:
That’s not a word I’d use to describe myself, but thank you.
Lucky:
Modest, too.
Dollancie:
I just know who and what I am.
Lucky:
Special?
Dollancie:
Some might say, lol!
But I’m sure they don’t mean it nicely.
Lucky:
Screw them. What do they know?
Dollancie:
People don’t like different.
A glance over my shoulder shows Ambrose—the definition of different—in the yard, his phone pointed at Bubbles. Bubbles who still hasn’t had that bath. Those photos—assuming he’s taking them—will be full of character. As if he feels my eyes on him, his head turns, and I force myself to look away.
Lucky:
Most don’t. That’s true.
People are assholes.
Dollancie:
They are. I get a lot of side-eyes.
However, my family died graphically and tragically.
So, those side-eyes could also be pity.
Lucky:
Is that something you wanna talk about?
Dollancie:
I don’t know if I should tell you. I’ve shamed myself enough.
Lucky:
You can tell me anything, but it’s okay if you’re not ready.
Dollancie:
Okay.
So, you know my name is Dollancie.
I’m Dollancie La’Darragh.
Do you recognize the name?
Lucky:
Your brother went to prison for the murder of your parents. That’s why things between you are closed off?
Dollancie:
The situation with my brother is complicated, which is just one reason people think I’m weird AF.
And I’m sure you do now, too.
Lucky:
He was the one sentenced, not you.
What he admitted to, you shouldn’t be blamed for that.
You said he was living with you. Do you feel safe with him?
Dollancie:
I wish I could say yes.
And in truth, he hasn’t crossed any lines since we’ve been here together. But he’s not the person I knew growing up.
The time Lucky takes to reply is time I spend with my eyes back out the window again. Ambrose, like me, still has his phone in his hand. It’s no longer pointed at Bubbles, who’s doing laps around the yard, nose-diving in the dirt as she chases butterflies.
Lucky:
I’m really sorry that things are tough.
Dollancie:
That’s enough family stuff for today.
Lucky:
Right! And it hasn’t scared me away. So, give me another reason to find you weird AF…
A warmth spreads through me over the lack of judgment as I let my elbows take my weight, leaning down on the table while I offload my baggage.
Dollancie:
Okay. What about this: I only eat red or yellow-toned foods.
Lucky:
Not that weird. Cute quirk.
This damn guy is humoring me.
And God, if it isn’t what I need right now.
Dollancie:
Okay, this… I paid to download Barbie movies from my first ever paycheck, which was a massive eight dollars and fifty cents for the whole week, and I watch them religiously when my moods drop. But only the animated ones.
I’ve watched them more than twenty times this last month alone.
Lucky:
No judgment.
I do the same with movies I love.
Not Barbie, though.
Dollancie:
Not a fan?
Not even the Margot Robbie one?
Lucky:
Never seen it.
Dollancie:
Well, I adore the animated ones, but it’s still really great.
If we ever meet up in person, we can watch it.
And I won’t even judge you if you drool.
Lucky:
I don’t drool.
And you have one last chance to scare me off.
Do your worst.
Dollancie:
Well, you might just be my special person if those things didn’t do it…
Lucky:
Here’s hoping…
Giddily, I kick my feet under the table, secretly hoping too, which is crazy. My boyfriend walked out a week ago, and I shouldn’t be excited over another guy.
Not when Shane is expecting a date tomorrow night.
Not when I’m surprised he hasn’t wiggled his way back into my life already.
But I can’t deny that life’s been peaceful without him and the itchy glove he insisted I wear to hide my scars.
And I can’t deny that I am sitting here with the biggest smile and my fingers flying over my phone screen.
Dollancie:
Okay, let’s see if you are a kindred spirit… here are more of my ‘cute quirks’…
I have this thing about sensory pleasure. I still have a stuffed animal because the feel of his tie makes me happy.
I also practice witchy stuff, which most people think is delulu.
And that’s not all… I pined for a week when I first got here, secretly crying myself to sleep each night.
And not because I missed my apartment, because I hated it there, but because my routine was disrupted.
Here’s closing… To this day, and I’m three hours away from twenty-six, I’ve never seen a horror movie. Oh, and I don’t understand jokes.
It makes people think I’m rude because I don’t laugh a lot.
It’s usually the witchy thing that has the most people raising an eyebrow.
Lucky:
Firstly, happy birthday for three hours’ time. Secondly, are you done with that list?
Dollancie:
Thank you.
And I could probably think of one or two more things.
Lucky:
None of that stuff was bad.
All that makes you who you are, and like I said, you make life a little more livable.
But I have noticed the joke thing.
The horror movie thing is the only thing we need to change.
They are the best movies.
So, if we have a date night, I’m not letting you pick the movie. Barbie is out. Sorry.
Dollancie:
Probably wise if you’re not big on cartoons.
And I’m sorry that I missed your jokes.
I’m no fun. I know that. I’ve been told.
Many times, by Shane.
Dollancie:
But seriously, you don’t wanna run for the hills yet?
Not even over my family history?
Lucky:
Maybe just the Moors.
Flared nostrils suck up the sweet aroma of vanilla that has taken over my kitchen.
He’d run if he could.
So, why is he still talking to me?
A feeling of hurt settles in my stomach, and it rumbles. I lick the frosting from a spoon in one of the cake mixing bowls I haven’t washed yet, and a burst of cherry explodes on my tongue.
I brush flour from my elbows, unsure how to respond because maybe I told him too much too soon.
Maybe I should never have told this online friend anything personal, keeping our conversations light and fun.
Leaving Bubbles outside because she’s playing in the dirt, and it’s literally making him—the Ambrose I remember—itch with anxiety, he comes inside and up to the table. The scent on his skin reminds me of that night in the foyer.
Breathing doesn’t come easily as I take in the sweet, spicy aroma that overpowers my cupcakes and the memories of Shane’s hands around my throat. My fingers move there, feeling each bone he tried to crush in his rage.
Blinking away those painful memories, tears fall. It takes a moment for me to see clearly, and when I do, a message waits for me in the flour on the table.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DOLLIE.
I don’t breathe, looking up at him, that clown makeup makes me shrink into myself.
I can’t understand why he wears it. He never did it growing up. Is it new? Is it some kind of catharsis? Or is it to torture and terrify me?
It feels like the latter.
A tear falls from my eye, and I could almost swear the same sadness lingers in his.
I feel it in my soul, making me incapable of talking. I nod, stepping away from the table and giving him my back. Only then, when we’re not staring at each other, can I say, “Thanks.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I jump, almost out of my skin. Not wanting him to notice my edginess, I turn, but Ambrose and his makeup are out of sight.
It relaxes me.
Lucky relaxes me.
Lucky:
Sarcasm, of course.
I’m not going anywhere, and if I did, I’d like to steal you away and take you with me.
I was just thinking of The Moorlands.
Do you get it now?
Nervous fingers type a quick reply.
Dollancie:
Sorry, I do! Wuthering Heights.
Sarcasm goes over my head.
Lucky:
Our next buddy read.
And, cupcake, don’t be sorry.
I’ll remember that going forward.
Dollancie:
Are you settled on this pet name?
Lucky:
I prefer this one.
But it isn’t right… yet.
Too unoriginal for you.