43. Dollie—present day #2
I was meant to go to a party with my ex-boyfriend, but ended up elsewhere. Alone. He says the venue is close by, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to walk it.
Lucky:
Where are you?
Dollancie:
Butterflies. Do you know it? It’s a terrifying place. I’m meant to be at Bluebells. I assume that’s nicer.
Lucky:
It’ll be a long walk from one to the other. Maybe thirty minutes.
Dollancie:
Great.
Lucky:
Why is he not picking you up?
Dollancie:
I can’t even get him to pick up his phone.
Lucky:
I told you not to give that loser a second chance.
Why did you get back with him?
Dollancie:
We aren’t officially back. Just seeing how things go.
Lucky:
Why even do that?
Dollancie:
He asked.
Lucky:
That’s the most ridiculous reasoning.
If I asked you to leave him, would you do it?
Dollancie:
Are you going to whisk me away like we’re in some fairy tale?
Lucky:
I don’t have a white horse.
Dollancie:
I guess that’s you telling me that I’ve blown my chance at having you as a friend?
Lucky:
Ouch. Friend-zoned already.
The pounding on the door continues, my heart in sync as my nerves hike up.
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
The door stills, and clacking heels take the women on the other side away from it.
A sigh of relief stutters from my mouth.
The quiet in the room helps me write a longer message.
Dollancie:
A friend is what I need most right now.
I’m gonna walk home, and I rarely go anywhere alone. I get that you’re probably at work, but can you keep me company when you get some free time, just a quick text every now and again?
If you’re too busy, I get it.
Lucky:
I’m never too busy for you.
Dollancie:
Thank you.
I decide to go home, not wanting to wander around in the rain, in the hopes that I’ll find the other venue before catching my death, only to have to sit with people who are rude to me while I look something like a drowned rat.
Unlocking the door, two women stare back at me from dirty mirrors. Both turn and offer a sneering comment.
“Did you fall down in there?”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if she had?”
They head to me, slowly circling me like I’m their prey.
Swallowing down my nerves, I stand a little taller.
“I have no idea what your problem is with me. Now, if you step out of the way, I’d like to leave.”
“Go through the window. You’re not walking back out there past my guy,” one of the women insists while chewing her gum.
I look at her with confusion, and she points up at the grubby window that is hard to see through.
It looks just like the basement window, and for a minute, I’m back there.
Trapped in the past, I look away from the window, but I no longer see the grime-filled white tiles of this public restroom. I see cold stone walls and my brother holding his bleeding face together.
“Ambrose,” the whisper creeps out.
His eyes stay low, oblivious to me. I step toward him, but clawing hands pull me back, and I’m met with cruel red lips and dark eye makeup.
A bitter laugh fills the air.
Chuckles.
My bladder feels weak as he stands before me.
“Don’t hurt her.” Ambrose tries to talk, but his injuries make it hard to understand him.
The memory warps into something else—a new reality.
Cruel hands pull at my dress, and a chill licks across my breasts.
A hard blast to the side of my head, followed by my loose curls being ripped out in a painful clump and landing on the floor, drags me back to the here and now, where there is no Chuckles.
There are only two women, both in red dresses and matching shoes, who kick me in the stomach as I hit the ground.
I wince, crouching over myself and trying to shield sensitive areas from patent-covered toes.
I claw at the floor, the liquid beneath me making me slide as I try to escape. I don’t know if it’s water from the faucet or something else, and I don’t care. I just need to get away.
“Maybe that’s enough.”
“Like fuck, it is! He looked at her! I saw him look at her.”
Another kick topples me onto my back, and I use my feet to scoot myself back. I don’t get far.
Another rip of my only fancy dress cuts through the white noise in my head.
The woman, intent on not backing down, keeps the tattered pieces in her hand as she comes closer.
She uses the ripped pieces to scrub my face and smudge my makeup, leaving them there for me to collect as they stick to my lip gloss.
Keeping my trembling hands at my side, one still clutching my phone like it’s a lifeline, I don’t dare remove the fabric that blocks half of her from my view.
Stains cover my dress as I look down and away from the women glaring at me. There’s blood belonging to me. There’s urine belonging to someone else. There’s something across my stomach that makes me worry my stoma is leaking.
I need to get out of here. I glance at the door, both women blocking it, the awful music pounding through it, then up to the high window.
On shaking legs, I push myself up, and I realize my whole body is shaking too.
“Don’t look so perfect now, do you? Weak, meek, worthless.” The cruel thing in red teases. “You never were, though. The guys here probably just wanted to test out that fucked up hand. To see if you feel ribbed for their pleasure.”
“Fuck you,” I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I needed just one statement out in the open. “I wouldn’t touch them.”
The vicious laugh can be heard over me dragging the trash can over the tiles, revealing the color they used to be. Climbing on top, I use the extra height to push open the window because I know these women will never let me walk out that door.
Their words repeat in my head.
Weak.
Meek.
Worthless.
And I feel all those things as I stand on a wobbly can to reach the window.
But I still climb, even though another image of that basement fills my head as I shove myself through the window, arms and head first. I picture myself leaving it.
I land awkwardly, the gravel cutting my arms and bruising my face and breasts. That’s when I realize they’re still exposed, and I feel violated.
The rain doesn’t ease, hammering down and hurting each bruise a little more as I sit there, trying to hold my dress together, my body hurting, my breast and its unknown lump hurting, my mind numbing.
Each rain droplet washes away a piece of the stupor I’m in.
I need to get home.
I can find my way home.
I’d taken in each landmark and fascinating building on the way here.
Throwing myself forward, I reach for my phone that landed a few feet away, and I clutch it with my fucked-up hand . It’s got a new crack in the top corner that I notice instantly.
Forcing myself to my feet, I wobble in my heels as I run from the voices around the corner of the bar. I’m halfway down the road before I struggle to unlock my phone with my non-dominant hand, making sure it still works.
Four messages from Lucky wait for answers on my broken screen, but the rain prevents me from answering any of them.
Lucky:
You left yet?
Dollancie?
Did you find your ex?
I’m gonna worry about you until I get an answer.
The weather distorts my attempted reply, and the jumble of random letters sits in the text box, failing to be sent.
Voices from the bar continue, the sleazy men at the door still calling after me with crude slurs and wolf whistles.
The rain prevents me from hearing what they’d like to do to me.
Bright lights pierce through the mist and rain. The golden glow highlights the damage of my tattered dress as I hold it together, as I hold myself together.
The car isn’t slowing down.
The brakes slam on at the last minute, and it skids to my side.
The red vehicle isn’t new, and it’s a little battered. The driver’s door squeaks as it opens, and a tall, dark figure steps out with the lyrics of an AC/DC song.
I don’t know the car. I won’t know the person, and the idea of running into a stranger with my breasts hanging out terrifies me.
I bolt, careening in the direction I came, just to get away from whoever this is.
My heels stomp through puddles, and the water splashes up my legs. The feel of it clinging to my skin brings tears to my eyes.
The man—it is definitely a man—catches up quickly, and my panic builds. Air can’t keep up with me as I fail to outrun him.
Overtaking, he stops in front of me, his hands flying up in surrender.
A scream rushes from me, and my eyes close.
“Please…” Weak, meek, worthless.
I close my eyes, feeling all those things. Stepping back, I twist my ankle on the gravel road and tumble back.
Terror wraps around me, and my hands rush out to break my fall, leaving my dress to fall beneath my bust.
Strong hands lock around my biceps and pull me close as those wolf whistles come again.
I blink my eyes open to the smell of something sweet and woody.
“Ambrose…”
Dark hair falls into his face, and the white paint beyond runs with droplets to the ground. His red smile is sad, and something like concern hides in his eyes.
You okay? he mouths.
And I can do nothing but clutch him.
I wait for the germs on me to separate us.
I wait for him to push me away.
But it doesn’t happen.