57. Dollie—present day
Dollie—present day
S tirring in bed, my eyes open to the blinding morning light shining through the dome. Half of me wants to go up there and snuggle down in the old memories, and the other half wants to turn away from the light and fall back to sleep.
The weather is so different from last night—calm, mellow, bright.
It’s the opposite of how I feel as I wipe the sleep from my eyes, still tired because it takes me forever to fall asleep up here.
I wouldn’t even have come up here if Bubbles hadn’t miraculously braved the stairs for the first time ever while we were at the cemetery.
I guess she was looking for me or Ambrose.
The way she lingered at the top, as if she couldn’t get back down, made me feel like she wasn’t afraid of something up here as much as she was afraid of the actual stairs.
She’s still asleep, sprawled out on the floor with not a care in the world.
I turn to my phone, resting on my bedside table under the shadow of my blooming rose that stands proudly in a small glass. Its beauty stands out in the almost empty room. The moldy walls offer minor decoration in place of all the lovable things I’ve had to part with recently.
No messages from Shane waiting for an answer.
There’s been nothing since the text that came shortly after midnight, loaded with alcohol induced typos, that told me he was gonna go to a house party and not for me to wait up.
It’s a good thing I didn’t, as it’s eight minutes past ten in the morning, and he’s still not here.
He’d said before leaving yesterday that he’d come home to me, but he isn’t the one ruffling the covers and almost knocking my phone out of my hands. I wake my stirring guest by coughing up what feels like half a lung.
Annabelle had texted me around 1 a.m. to see if I was awake and showed up shortly afterwards because she was sick of hearing her ancient roommates go at it.
“Eh, the smell in this bed makes me feel ill.”
“Are you sure it’s not the bottle of wine you drank after arriving?” I ask as she hangs over the bed.
“No. It’s the bed. It smells like sex and cheap perfume.” Eyeing me over her shoulder, she asks, “We didn’t, right?”
She laughs, bringing a little morning humor, before checking under the ruffled covers to see if her clothes are on.
I set down my phone, and I laugh because she does.
“We don’t wear cheap perfume, Annabelle.”
“True. The one you have is really nice.”
“It was my mom’s, but she didn’t like it. I’ve had that same bottle for years. I’m almost out.”
“Yeah, and you clearly didn’t spray it in here. Seriously, what is this smell?”
“Shane was here yesterday morning before leaving to have drinks with his friends. He got ready up here. He has lots of cheap clones.”They’re already up here, lining the walls on shelves near the old TV I haven’t switched on in years.
“And the other smell?”
Hesitating, I chose to give her the truth, or at least half of it. “I was up here, too.”
“You didn’t. With him, really? What did I tell you about dropping those panties?”
“Well, we’re seeing if we can make this work. He insisted on us doing stuff before he left. He said it would reassure me that he’s all in.”
“He insisted? Wow, that sounds… yeah, romantic, maybe.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You don’t say.” Her one raised eyebrow is quite comical. “It wasn’t like forced, right?”
“No, it wasn’t forced. I didn’t say no…”
“But…”
“But he doesn’t touch me like he wants me, you know? He touches me like he just wants the reward at the end?—”
“Oh…but he doesn’t want to work for it?”
“Exactly. He doesn’t even let me take my clothes off because my bag offends him. He doesn’t want me touching myself because my hand offends him.”
“I bet it doesn’t offend him when you’re touching him.”
“We didn’t get that far because I just kinda dried up and drifted off, thinking about non-sex stuff while his fingers were still down there. He ended up finishing in a sock.”
“Oh, wow. Kinda glad we didn’t do it. You know, if you’re that much fun.” Annabelle nudges me playfully.
“It’s just… it’s him. Since finding out everything, I don’t see him the same way. Even with his hands down there, it took so long to, you know…”
“What? Get wet?”
“It didn’t happen, and then?—”
“And then?”
“I thought of someone else and—and I know that’s wrong, but whenever I look at Shane, I see those women.”
“That’s what’s wrong. He’s wrong. Wrong for you. What you do, you do to make the situation bearable for you.”
I nod, but I still feel guilty for my thoughts and for admitting them.
The bedsheets offer very little comfort as I take the cotton between my fingers.
“So,” Annabelle continues, “Did you have anyone in mind when you pictured someone else?” Her lips curl suspiciously, and she looks so unkempt and nothing like her usual self with her bed hair.
“Someone I shouldn’t.”
“Like…”
“Like…”
The door across the hall opens at the same time as my mouth, and it silences me.
A girly laugh comes from the other side of the door.
“Did Ambrose have someone stay over?”
“I don't know,” Annabelle shrugs. She reaches for her phone before tossing it back on the pillow. “It’s dead.”
That laugh comes again.
“Someone is definitely here.”
“It sounds like it. You hurt by that?”
I glare at her. Does she think I shouldn’t be?
I probably shouldn’t be.
And I probably shouldn’t have told her last night that I’m struggling with my feelings for Ambrose.
Especially, when she got too wine drunk to remember it.
The glaring realization hits her. “Really! Your brother!” Annabelle doesn’t seem all that surprised. Maybe, she remembers more than she’s letting on. “When people fantasize about siblings, they usually leave it in their head.”
The way she talks feels like she’s baiting me to say more.
I need out of this stifling room that laces my back in sweat. The pink color is starting to feel suffocating, making the journey from the bed a draining one.
Annabelle jumps out from her side, chasing me to the door that I yank open.Bubbles follows us with slow feet, a yawn, and a stretch.
“Hurry,” I whisper, not wanting anyone to hear me as I motion for her to move faster. I wait in the hallway on eager legs because I can’t walk across the adjoining one alone.
“Okay. This carpet is coming up today.” Annabelle points to the stains as she walks me around them.
I’m pretty sure Ambrose’s guest suggested taking them up, too. Her voice and those words linger in my head.
But what can really be done today?
“Nyx said next week,” I remind Annabelle.
“Nyx can lay the new one. This one comes up today.”
Looking down to the first floor, we spy Ambrose at the door. Golden skin and scars on show as he shows the same brunette I’d seen at The Funhouse out of our house.
This woman looks as beautiful as I remember her. Her classy clothes and big heels give her a sophistication I never manage in daytime hours.
“Do you think they’re gonna kiss?” I ask, voice breaking and fingertips turning white on the banister.
I hope not.
“If they do, they’ve probably done more, right?”
Ambrose leans against the doorframe closer to his friend.
A comforting hand rubs my back, and I glance to see the pity in Annabelle’s eyes. It amplifies the sickly feeling swirling in my stomach and the tightness in my chest that worsens with every breath.
The only thing exchanged between Ambrose and the brunette is a smile and some words I can’t hear.
He coughs into his arm as her ruffled hair disappears out the door, and not in the path of his germs.
Closing it, he hesitates, but heads for the stairs. Annabelle’s loving touch becomes a caring hug as she moves closer to me. Closer to the little wooden gargoyle that creeps her out and evokes a house rattling shriek that makes me jump.
“Sorry.” She squeezes my arm. Her attention quickly changes direction as Ambrose reaches the top of the stairs.
Sweats hang low on his hips and his arms band across his chest. The left one is covered by the right, as if he’s hiding something from me. New cuts? Hickeys? Something else?
There’s tension and a million silent questions floating that I have no right to ask.
Annabelle slices through the silence with her quick wit and a question of her own. “Hey, muscles. Wanna help us out today?”
He nods with a friendly smile, dimple popping.
“We don’t need help.”
My words catch Ambrose by surprise. We’d had a good night last night, so it’s a fair reaction.
The unfair reaction is mine as I glare at him with all the hate I’m feeling.
Why are you looking at me like that? he signs, that one arm bent awkwardly as he plasters his other arm to his side.
“I can’t sign. What are you saying?” Annabelle asks.
“He’s wondering why I’m looking at him that way.”
“She woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Tsk.” Annabelle brushes wild hair from my eyes, but the pink color has nothing to do with why I’m seeing red right now.
“But she can squash her attitude because this carpet is heavy, and we were thinking of taking it up today, so Dollie doesn’t have to have an anxiety attack whenever she comes up here. ”
Are you okay with doing this? he mouths.
“If I weren’t, I’d have objected.”
“And she didn’t. So, what do you say? Are you okay to do this?”
“It’s fine, Annabelle. Shane should be back soon. He can help.”
“Shane doesn’t have arms like Ambrose, Dollie.”
The pink on my cheeks burns me, and my face betrays me when I try to pretend I haven’t noticed Ambrose’s arms. Or his abs. Or that V. Or the very obvious fact that he’s not wearing boxer shorts.
He definitely had sex. And he probably didn’t have to think of me to get it up.
He and Annabelle clear their throats in harmony, and I don’t know where to look first.
Not there.
A smirk lifts his red lips, and I visibly cringe because he definitely saw that.
And his careless amusement causes pain in my chest, and I see a cruel clown standing before me, and I hate him.
Except I don’t. I just hate that he has someone to fill the gap I left behind.