60. Ambrose—present day
Ambrose—present day
I shiver under the water as the shower rains down on me, drowning out my thoughts and washing the blood from my body. The need to cut, to distract myself, itches in my blood.
Never in my life have I felt so worthless.
Only one person has that kind of power over me, and it’s a shame she’s the one I crave most.
Was it anger?
The idea of me with someone else seemed to trigger her. The fire in her eyes and bite in her voice reminded me of every emotion I keep inside when I see her and Shane walking around this house together.
I don’t regret scratching those words into the wall, just as I don’t regret the fresh scars on my body.
I shake as I push the tip of the blade into my chest, gouging over another old wound.
I need the pain to stop. The noise in my head that sounds like Dollie.
Does your freaky face not do it for her?
She’s so loud above the shower water that rolls off my body, pooling at my feet. The water turns red where I stand. I lift my feet, minimizing the clinging of my own gore to my body.
I wouldn’t expect it to do it for anyone.
Tracing a final scar, I drop my blade and kick it away from me. It clambers against the tiles, ringing in my ears. It isn’t loud enough to overpower her voice.
Your freaky face.
Swallowing my emotions as my eyes burn, I blame the shower as I tip my head back, and water runs into my face.
Her scent rolls into my nose, that hypnotic chocolate—the roses she loves so much.
It gets stronger, and I find myself not thinking about the hate, just thinking about her and the jealousy that caused it.
Parts of me harden that I’d rather not acknowledge right now.
But I can’t stop my hand from wandering to my cock and wrapping around it.
I pump once, twice. Stroking down my length, I keep my hand loose because I know how wrong this is.
To think of the girl who grew up as my sister while I touch myself.
One hand presses against the shower glass, the guilt almost tipping me over.
I still can’t stop.
The loose grip is still enough to drive me crazy.
Her scent feels closer.
Her name sits on my tongue as I picture her arms sliding around my waist from behind, one moving up over my bleeding chest. Fingertips over my racing heart, her other hand moving lower. Her mouth at my ear, whispering, “I’m sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you?”
For a second, I feel ready to reach for the blade and wake myself from this twisted fantasy.
She’s your sister.
She’s off-limits.
This is wrong.
I tell myself all those things, and yet, my grip tightens, my hand moving faster as I work myself.
Because she’s… everything I want.
Moving from base to tip and over my wet slit, I envision her hand tightening on me, driving me crazy. Precum leaks out, and my hips rock slowly at first, then fast, needy and desperate to feel her.
Every sweet moment flashes in my mind. Our scars lining up in the kitchen, her comforting me through a nightmare, leaning into me in the music room, our mouths so close. My heart pounded then. I remember every beat, feeling like it would leave bruises on my ribcage.
My heart pounds now, aching for her through every sick and twisted thought. Sharing a shower, layering kisses down my spine, I want them in other places right in this very moment.
She’s your sister.
That thought doesn’t stop me from feeling like I could come any second. My pounding heart hikes up to a scary pace, and my fast-moving grip turns loose again.
The sensitivity doesn’t waver. Moans fall out of my mouth, and I can’t control them or the thoughts of Dollie moving to the front of me and staring up at me through wet pink hair that clings to her naked breasts.
Another breath of her scent.
It’s almost too much, but I can’t help wanting more. My grip tightens again as I imagine what the suction of Dollie’s mouth would feel like as she takes me deep into her throat. Her perfect pouty lips tight around me. Her tongue moving over every sensitive spot.
My balls bounce up and down as I near my climax.
But then her scent fades away… and I no longer picture her—the beautiful image sitting between my legs, the need to worship me in her lust-filled eyes. Someone else appears there, and his white face paint and red nose send me reeling.
I fall back into the wall behind me, my head making a cracking sound against the tiles.
My chest pounds harder than ever before.
He isn’t here.
He hasn’t touched me in years, but I can feel him on me. Dirty touches from dirty gloves that can’t be washed away, even with a shower and the heaps of body wash I layer on, that burn each wound.
Only one thing would work.
A touch from Dollie.
And I’m not going to get that tonight.
So, I stay under the water and scrub until my skin is raw.
I dress in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt before noticing my phone flashing on the bed.
Two messages.
Two people.
Dollie’s name calls to me first with the text for Lucky she sent close to thirty minutes ago.
Dollancie:
Hey… Just checking you’re okay.
Slumping on the edge of my bed, a droplet of water from my wet hair drips down my back and makes me shiver.
I still don’t feel clean.
I debate whether to tell her a lie and say I’m fine or give her the truth—all of it.
But if she storms in here, demanding answers, that might be my breaking point. So, I go with the easier option and avoid the question completely.
Lucky:
Hey, you.
The house no longer keeping you too busy to talk? :P
I click out of Dollie’s message and land on Annabelle’s name. Her message surprises me.
Annabelle:
You out of the shower?
Ambrose:
How did you know I was in the shower?
Little dots appear instantly, showing me she’s typing.
Annabelle:
Your sweet Dollie came to apologize and caught a glimpse of your naughty bits.
Ambrose:
You’ve gotta be kidding me?
Annabelle:
I told you earlier she wouldn’t have meant what she said.
Ambrose:
About the shower, Annabelle.
Annabelle:
Ohhh…
No, not kidding about that. But she did knock first.
Clearly, she didn’t wait for an answer.
Ambrose:
Did she see the tattoo?
Annabelle:
The tattoo never came up. She saw other things.
That’s a good thing, I try to tell myself, but all I can think about is what else she saw. My scars. My dick and the way I were touching it.
God, my day just keeps getting worse.
I swipe a hand down over my face, and perspiration clings to me.
The taste of vomit comes up my throat, but I swallow it down, knowing it won’t stay down for long.
Glancing at my phone, I wonder why she hasn’t replied yet.
A second later, my phone buzzes in my hand, and I tap the screen before realizing I’m answering a call from a private number and not a text from Dollie.
“Hello,” a man’s voice comes down the line as I look down at my hand and realize what’s happened.
I don’t recognize his voice.
He isn’t my probation officer.
My therapist, whom I see every two weeks, is female, as are the only other people who talk to me.
This isn’t someone I know, and I’m about to hang up when he talks again.
“Mr. La’Darragh.” He knows me. “The late Mrs. Bannadosi gave me your details. My name is Carl Colson, and I’m the lawyer dealing with her Last Will. I believe she was a family friend of yours.”
That isn’t how I’d describe her, but I can’t tell him that.
All I can do is move my finger away from the end call icon and listen to what he has to say.
“I’d like to discuss the assets she declared to you if you have some time free this afternoon. I’m aware she left you a letter, regarding what she would be leaving to you and her reasons for doing so.”
My eyes fly to the bedside table where the envelope she’d left for me remains unopened.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to know the secrets beyond that seal. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to hear them, at all.
I had no fucking idea she was leaving me something, but I already know, I don’t want it.
The man continues, “I am aware that you’re unable to communicate verbally, which is why I’d like to invite you down to my office. I’ll drop you a text with the address when we end this call, and you can respond there with whether you’re free today.”
The call ends, and seconds later, two texts appear on my screen. A flutter of hope dies when I see neither is from Dollie.
They are both from the lawyer, an address, and then another message asking if I can be there in the next thirty minutes.
Slow feet take me to the envelope that I can’t face reading alone. Taking it with me, I storm across my room, but I freeze with my hand on the doorknob, chubby cherubs disappearing beneath my touch. There’s a moment of hesitation before I yank it open and freeze again on the matching one opposite.
Low moans leave Dollie’s room, stealing the air from my lungs.
Moving my ear closer to the door, it becomes obvious what she’s doing in there.
My grip on the envelope tightens, and it creases, making a light noise that interrupts me from overhearing her pleasure herself.
My heavy breathing does the same, accompanied by a rattle in my chest.
This is why she hasn’t answered Lucky—hasn’t answered me.
My ear moves to the wood, and I become too aware of everything. Of how her raspy moans come faster and louder. Of how the last thing she saw before going into her room was me in the shower. Of my cock, straining against my jeans uncomfortably.
I force myself to take a step back away from the sounds behind that door. And then another, before I reply to the lawyer with a yes.
I need out of this house.
Because I desperately want to storm into Dollie’s room, just to see if she’ll kick me out of it.
Or beg me to stay.