40. Ambrose—present day
Ambrose—present day
M y peaceful morning came to an end in the middle of a nice dream when Shane’s voice penetrated it.
That was when I forced my eyes open to a nightmare. Him on my property.
Fifteen fucking minutes he’s been lingering outside this house, Dollie and Annabelle following his instructions as he sets up ladders and talks like he has some kind of clue what he’s doing.
His finger points in the direction of the paint can, which says otherwise. The pastel pink color isn’t going to overpower the black coating on this house. It’s just gonna make it look like a fucking mess.
But, he’s told Dollie that the place will be so much more attractive pink, and it’s pink, so, of course, she agrees.
“I think the lighter color will really help sell the place once it hits the market. What do you think, Dollie?”
He really did that? Used my fucking nickname for her.
My nostrils flare, all focus on the endearment and not the idea that he thinks he gets an opinion on this place being sold.
No words come out of Dollie’s mouth as I listen at the window.
I need a distraction. The kit I bought yesterday to stretch the piercing I’ve had since I was a toddler should work well.
Ignoring the suggestion of using lube, my fingers dwell at my ear, slowly pushing a stretcher gauge into the smaller hole.
I take my time, breathing through the pressure and breathing in the image of her.
Pink hair blows in the wind as she nods, and a delayed smile appears on her face.
What the fuck is she smiling at him for?
Has she lost her mind? Or just forgotten everything he did?
How could she, when all I see every time my eyes close is her face twisted in fear as her spine presses into the bookshelf and his stubby fingers tighten around her throat.
My eyes don’t leave her, trying to stay here in the moment with her in her cute little overalls.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her without one of her hoodies, and it’s not because she doesn’t have other clothes.
It’s because this is Dollie, and she only feels comfortable in certain clothes.
She’s always been this way. Though the clothes she favored previously weren’t hoodies that would be loose on me.
“Ready to show Annabelle how brave you are by climbing the ladder?” Shane talks to Dollie like she’s a baby.
It goes over her head, but it fucking grates on me.
With a little too much force, I shove the gauge into my ear, and a drop of blood lands on my foot.
“Have you let the paint fumes go to your head?” Annabelle has as much tolerance for Shane as I do. “She isn’t a child.”
“No, of course she isn’t. I was just trying to encourage her.”
Sure, that’s what he was doing.
Keeping my gaze locked on Dollie as her legs climb the ladder, trembling with each step, a wave of guilt washes over me.
I should be out there.
I said I’d do it.
And I had every intention until I heard him here.
Letting go of Dollie’s ladder, he moves across the yard and sets another up for Annabelle.
“Thanks, I got it.” She takes the ladder and moves it farther away from him,
Shane, ignoring both women’s wants, lingers around Annabelle as she climbs.
For the second attempt this week, Dollie continues to scrub at the cruel dubbing of my house with a paint stripper. So far, between us all, we’ve faded a few letters. Conveniently enough, struggling with the S, L, U, and T.
“We can just paint over them, Dollancie.”
“Do you think that’ll work? They’re very red.”
“Well, scrubbing at them hasn’t worked, has it?”
“Not yet, but?—”
“Just paint over them. Let’s get this house ready.”
Yeah, get it ready for absolutely nothing because I will never sign over my share.
I smile, blood dripping from my ear over my fingers.
Annabelle doesn’t look convinced that painting will work, either.
She wears one of Dollie’s hoodies, and I assume nothing else because Shane’s eyes are locked on the space between her legs as he holds the ladder for her.
My eyes flick to them as Dollie makes it safely to the ground and selects a paintbrush of choice.
With the pink on the bristles, she makes her way back up the ladder, each step slow, careful, and nervous.
Shane doesn’t move, eyes still glued on Annabelle’s ass, and it twists my expression into something hateful.
I’m glad I can’t see myself, but equally, I’m displeased at what I see when I look down.
A furry beer gut is revealed as Shane flaps his T-shirt to cool down. It must be all the work he hasn’t done that is making him sweat.
“It is pretty hot today.” Another effort from Shane to talk to Annabelle. He’s been trying since he arrived, and she’s avoided lingering conversations.
Turning, I look to Dollie, who he’s hardly started any with.
God, I wish she could see him for what he is.
“I’m not sure this pink is gonna work.” Dollie’s shoulders slump as the big S seeps through her first coat.
“It’s funny, though, the letters that won’t budge. It’s like someone’s trying to tell me something. What do you think, Annabelle? You know her better than most.” Shane laughs.
“Dollie, can you go get me a water? I don’t want to disturb Bubbles.” Annabelle smiles as she also fails at covering a letter.
“Of course.”
When Dollie’s out of earshot, Annabelle drops down from the ladder, her paintbrush extended in a pointed hand, full of accusation.
Pushing the window wider, I ignore the blood still dripping down my ear and listen for what she has to say.
“They could be talking about you, don’t you think?
I mean, you’re the one who’s been slutting about.
Dollie’s na?ve and has a lot going on, and she doesn’t see what you’re doing, but I do.
So, I’ll say this now, the way you’re hanging around me, it’s uncomfortable.
For me and for her. And it’s embarrassing for you. ”
“You really have the wrong end of the stick. I was just trying to get to know you because you’re her friend.”
“I am her friend, and that’s why I can’t help but remind her what a bad idea it is to let you back in.
I see through you, Shane. I don’t think it’ll happen, but you have two choices if you wanna do the right thing.
You either give her the attention she deserves or do her a favor and step the fuck back so another man can. ”
She turns her back to him, dipping her brush in the paint and taking the first step.
“She got someone in mind?”
“Don’t worry, she acts nothing like you. Now, I’m done talking to you.” Annabelle climbs higher, testing another layer of paint.
Despite all she said, Shane’s stare drops down her shiny, dark hair to her thighs, kissed by the hem of Dollie’s hoodie.
Feeling my eyes on him, he lifts his gaze to me. A squinted gaze and smile sit on my face as I enjoy the discomfort I see beyond his bruises.
“Here’s your water.” Dollie appears, setting down the bottled water on a nearby window ledge. “I’ll just go back in super quick to give Bubbles breakfast.”
“So, that’s the dog’s name?” Shane asks, an ugly expression on his face that questions her as much as his words.
“Yeah.” Dollie smiles the biggest smile.
“It’s a bit of a weak name, isn’t it? Especially for such a mouthy animal.”
Annabelle’s eyes roll, directly meeting with mine. Come scare him off, she mouths, pointing behind her.
I’m tempted to.
“She isn’t mouthy. She was just saying hello earlier. And she came with her name. Maybe if today goes okay, we can take her on a walk, and you can get to know her.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not? You always wanted a dog, too. She won’t bark constantly if she gets to know you.”
“It’s not the barking. I like dogs, but not poodles. They’re ugly fucking things.”
“She is not. She’s beautiful!” Dollie snaps defensively.
“Where did you even get her?”
“Ambrose got her for Dollie’s birthday. And she really is the best gift,” Annabelle taunts Shane.
“What, he bought you a dog? You’re friends now or something.”
“He came home with her and said she’d be good company for me. I don’t really see much of him.”
“Has she been?”
“Yeah, I love her.”
“Well, if you love her, I love her.” Shane smiles, all false. So false, it grates on my skin more than my nails as I set my gauge on the window ledge and scratch away at myself.
Shane’s eyes roam her body.
The attention, because Dollie hardly ever got it—something I’d learned from Lucky—is something she craves.
“What?” Her smile is radiant and worthy of so many compliments.
But Shane doesn’t know how to give her one. “Nothing. It’s just those overalls are funny. It’s kinda like you’re dressed like Chucky.”
There’s no elaboration on whether he’s referring to the cartoon character or the psycho doll, but I’m sure Dollie used neither for her inspiration while getting ready.
“Go on, feed the dog.” Stepping away from her, Shane returns to Annabelle, steadying the ladder while she’s halfway to the top, still eyeing me.
Dollie is overfilling the dog’s breakfast bowl when I enter the kitchen. Kibble spills across the countertops, but it’s fresh and free from dog drool, so I bite my tongue over the potential germs.
Grabbing what I need to make myself cereal from the refrigerator and cupboards, I sit at the table.
Flour is still spilled from her early morning baking. A piled-up tray of croissants and pain au chocolat style delicacies sit amongst the mess on my black plate.
I fight the urge to take one, inhaling sharply.
Forcing myself to look at anything else, I glance around the space. My usually dark kitchen looks different since Dollie got a paycheck. It hosts a gothic Barbie slash fairy cottage-core in a color crisis vibe.
I’d adjust to the new lemon-colored and pink accessories, all of which have been hand-painted, a lot easier if she’d just talk to me.
She spins around, hearing me spill the cereal all over the table because I hadn’t been watching what I was doing.
It’s the pastries’ fault. The incredible smell and the golden color make my brightly colored cereal feel like such an inferior breakfast food.
I clean my mess, scooping the brightly colored shapes into my hand, and I take them to the trash before returning to my seat.
“You’re bleeding,” she tells me, her eyes wide.
My fingers hover over the injury, but I don’t touch it. It took me long enough to feel like my hands were clean after touching it last time.
Approaching me with a wet paper towel in hand, she lowers it to the table as if she’s afraid to touch me.
If the paper towel touches the table and you use it, you’ll get an infection.
Quickly, I snap my hand around her wrist.
She tries to yank herself away, her wide eyes lingering on where we’re joined. She moves fast, and everything happens in slow motion for me.
Her scars disappear beneath my fingers, and she pulls away like I’m the thing that burned her.
Lowering my head so she can meet my gaze, I flick my eyes between the table and the paper towel.
“Oh… oh, right. I’m sorry. I thought you were better with germs now.”
A silent laugh lifts my cheeks. I peel my fingers away, holding them out so she can put the towel in my hand.
“Are you not? I saw you playing with the skirting boards when I first learned you were here.”
Wiping the blood from my ear, I cringe, seeing it on the paper towel. A quick glance at my secret door and a thousand thoughts over how to explain all that takes me away from the smell of pastries again.
“You can have one. I’m not that spiteful.” Dollie moves back to the work surface on the other side of the room. She sets down Bubbles’ food, and I smile because never once have I seen this dog try to eat anything that wasn’t placed in her bowl for her.
She’s such a good girl.
I pat her head on my way back to the trash.
Shifting my attention back to Dollie, I sit back at the table and write a message in the flour.
Will you be hoping I choke?
“No, I’m not that hateful, either.”
No, but she’s still terrified and rubbing at her wrist.
Trusting her, I select a pain au chocolat and pause with it at my lips.
The pepper shaker dragging across the table lifts my eyes to Dollie, who pushes it forward.
I give a quick nod of gratitude and sprinkle it on my pastry. take a bite, then push away the cereal.
I fight to stop smiling because she remembers my weird food preferences.
With a harsh dragging noise across the tiles, Dollie pulls up a chair and sits down. The surprise straightens my spine.
“Annabelle says that we shouldn’t be enemies. You know?” Annabelle is an angel, hopefully, one that can guide this woman back on her rightful path.
We don’t. I shrug, finishing off the croissant in two bites.
I don’t fail to notice Dollie clutching and smoothing over the tablecloth with both thumbs.
“I’m not ready to be friends… but maybe she’s right. Maybe enemies isn’t what either of us wants?” Her eyes drift back and forth from the knives she’s been using, and I stiffen.
What are you thinking right now?
The tension between us makes it hard for either of us to move, but slowly, my head drifts from side to side.
No, I don’t wanna be your enemy. I want to be your person again.
“Okay, good. I’d best get back outside.”
As she steps around me, I clutch her hand—not her wrist—in mine, freezing as her fingers close for a second around my grip.
Staring down at the scars, the mottles on my skin and hers still line up perfectly.
We can still be whole together.
She freezes, her eyes locked on our perfect counterparts.
It makes me want more, and as if she hears that thought, her fear floods back in.
Pulling away from me, she’s still staring at her hand as I write another message in the flour.
Do you want help? You won’t have to climb the ladder.
I ask, knowing full well that cheap pink paint is never going to work. But for her, I’d try.
But, with a smile, she refuses.