36. Dollie—present day #2
“Of course I do, but this is your brother. This is a boy who literally died to try and keep you alive.”
“I’ve told you too much in the past.” I move to the paint stripper and dip in a brush before returning to my ladder and stalling at the bottom step.
“And I’ve never judged. But this just doesn’t make sense to me. He must have had a reason. Do you not think it was out of fear that maybe you’d try to visit him, and him feeling like it wasn’t a safe place for you?”
“Who knows.”
“Well, let’s go and ask him.”
“Absolutely not!” My tremble worsens, moving from just my voice to my whole body as I step down and away from the ladder, brush still in hand.
“That’s your call.” She makes her way up the ladder, testing the stripper on the letters strewn across my house like a grim banner. “Let’s switch subjects. Should we stay on men?”
“Not unless you wanna talk about what’s happening with Nyx.”
“Fuck buddies. Now you, what made you block Lucky? Did he admit to having a girlfriend? And you still haven’t told me who your text was from?”
“It was obvious he had a girlfriend. We can blame him for getting himself blocked for being an asshole and blame him for my date with Shane, who texted.”
“Sure, blame him because it wouldn’t be your fault for craving a man’s validation and being unable to be on your own.”
“Annabelle! Is that really what you think?” I drift closer to my ladder, needing it to support me through her insult.
“No!” She flashes her phone at me, but the distance between us prevents me from reading what’s on her screen. “It’s what your brother thinks. But…”
“Don’t do it. Do not finish that sentence.”
“Oh, I’m going to. He kinda has a point.
You can’t be on your own, and you have terrible taste in men.
Well, in man, because you’ve only been with one, but honestly, how many times has he acted shitty and then roped you back in?
” She watches as I think about my answer.
“If it’s more than once, it’s too many. God, you should have just picked another guy from the app, gotten revenge by getting naked with him, and been done with it.
It would all be out of your system. I told you this Lucky guy could be a gremlin. ”
“It doesn’t work like that for me. I don’t do casual sex without getting attached.”
“And you’d know because you’re, oh, so experienced.”
“Is that Ambrose again?”
“No, that was me.”
“It’s getting hard to tell.”
“Well, I didn’t know he knew your sex life.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Well, I feel I need to keep tabs on it. Promise me you won’t drop your underwear tonight if you’re really gonna go?”
“I won’t be doing that.” Dipping my brush back in the paint stripper, I shake off the excess. “God, I can’t believe he’s had a girlfriend this whole time. I feel like an idiot.”
“We’re back on Lucky now, right?”
“Yes.”
“He’s the idiot. You just trust blindly.”
“Yeah, agreed. Anyway, let’s get this started. Shane is picking me up an hour after work, so around six.”
“Great. Plenty of time for you to back out. Oh, and you didn’t tell me what that text message said. Read it again, and maybe you’ll feel enticed to block him, too.”
Three hours into our attempt to clean off the paint, we are still struggling with the letters, but we’ve removed enough black paint from the windows that I’m able to see Ambrose walk through the reading room in clothes that have seen better days.
A clear indication that he’s giving in and coming to help.
Hopefully, he’ll have better luck with THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE banner.
It’s a painful reminder of my parents’ gruesome end, and it’s testing me to the point that I can’t look at the person who’d caused it when he switches places with us.
In the kitchen, we have a girls’ afternoon, chatting and snacking, which gives Annabelle time to remind me on a deeper level why tonight is a bad idea.
And so, I cancel while scarfing down chunks of chocolate that we’d placed on a small plate to share between us.
The strawberry-flavored chocolate is a neutralizer for my feelings, a small pick-me-up when the sweetness gives me something to smile over.
Shane texts back almost immediately and continues to text throughout the day, each message laced with disappointment that makes me feel guilty.
Still, I don’t cave.
“How’s it looking?” Annabelle asks as Ambrose steps into the room, broad shoulders slumping.
Her phone buzzes a few seconds later.
“Struggling with the words.” Her shoulders slump, too.
The look on his face reflects in the window and the evening beyond, giving his message another meaning.
Another ping and Annabelle reads his text aloud. “I have work tonight. I’ll try again on Saturday or Sunday between shifts.”
Monitoring each of his movements through the reflection in the window, I watch as he scans the room for Bubbles.
Straightening my spine with a false bravado, I turn my head to him, chin lifted high.
“If you’re looking for the dog, she’s in the den, and she’s already been fed.”
A quick nod is all he gives in return, choosing not to disturb her before he leaves the room.
Annabelle’s beaming teeth are on display when my eyes trail her way.
“What?”
“I just think you guys shouldn’t be at each other’s throats. You had the cutest bond growing up. Him all protective.”
“It was a trauma bond. And that’s a poor choice of words, given that he said he’d slit mine, and I only talked to him to get him out of the room faster.”
“Dollie, go easy. I feel like he’s trying. Like, he’s really trying. You don’t wanna put him back in a psych ward.”
“His mental health is not my responsibility. I’m struggling enough with my own.”
“Maybe not, but be kind and all that shizz.”
Glaring at Annabelle, I would do almost anything to get away from her.
Maybe that’s why, two hours later, I’m sitting outside my house in Shane’s car while she enjoys takeout for one in my kitchen.
“Did you have a nice night?” Shane asks about my night spent in the fogged-up Mercedes, eating cold French fries and a burger bun without the burger.
The brown paper bag with the leftovers sits at my feet. My swelling stomach is already causing me regret.
Shifting in my seat, I ease the discomfort, and now, I’m facing Shane. His face is exactly like Detective Mendoza said—covered in shades of purple, with some yellow as the bruises fade out.
A rush of guilt hits me each time I glance his way. It makes me wish I’d never stepped out here when he showed up and honked half a dozen times.
I don’t deserve to feel these things.
He hurt me.
He broke me.
He deserved everything he got.
But I can’t help the niggle inside that says Ambrose really did a number on him.
“I really have missed you, you know.”
“Have the dating apps lost their appeal?”
“I deleted them that day. I haven’t redownloaded any of them.”
That doesn’t matter.
It should really be the end, given the things he’s done.
I can’t let him reel me in with the promise of what I want most—a normal life, love, and answers. It’s happened so many times before.
“I know you’re probably thinking that this isn’t how you’d like to spend your birthday.
But you didn’t wanna go on our date, so I canceled our reservation, and I was set on driving home, but I couldn’t stop thinking of you.
At least you’re out of the house,” he says, his face and all its swollen flaws illuminated by the interior light as he smiles at me.
“It’s a step up from last year in the apartment with us not talking. ”
My returned smile doesn’t meet my eyes, and it’s brought on more by sadness than happiness.
“I never treated you right. I know that.” Something like sorrow hangs on his features, and it softens the wall I’ve built up to keep him from my heart. Crumbling a little, that broken wall lets him get a foot in.
“I was a bad boyfriend, and I really am sorry for what I did.” His fingers grace my healing chest, and my breath catches there. Tears unintentionally fill my eyes, a gift from the memories of that night. Of Shane’s tight grip, of Ambrose’s anger.
Blinking, I wipe my eyes in time to catch them as they fall and pull down the visor mirror to look at myself. My dramatic liner, which Annabelle had perfectly drawn this morning while practicing her skills, is smudged slightly, giving me panda eyes.
This is why he wanted them... because you’re a mess.
Thoughts of lingerie-clad women flit through my mind, each one remembered in enough detail to cause me more pain.
The wall around my heart resolidifies.
“You still look hot, even with the smudges,” Shane interrupts the noise in my head.
Smiling when I look over to him, his face blurs into so many others as the women’s continue to flash in my mind.
“Why did you have to do any of it?” My voice laces with meek familiarity.
“God, I wish I didn’t.”
“Well, everyone says that when they get caught.”
“No, I was gonna stop. I wish I had stopped. I wish I had never started. I’m so sorry. I wish I could go back in time and do everything over.”
“But you can’t, and the truth is, you chose to do it. You chose to kick and scream at me afterward and shove glass into my chest. You chose to hurt me again when I was already in agony. You chose to break my mother’s things.”
He leans, and I grip the door handle, ready to rush from the car.
“I fucked up so many times. Please, don’t leave yet.”
Peeling my hands away from the door handle, I sit back in my seat. Staring out at the dark trees and not his face, I ask, “So, what would you do differently? If you could go back in time? Which part would you leave out?” I have to wonder if there’s anything.
“Fuck, so many things. I’d do it all differently, Dollancie.” The use of my real name touches me down to my soul, crumbling some of those bricks again. He’s hardly used it in years.
I look his way, and there are tears in his eyes.