61. Ambrose—present day #2
Uh, every day since I got home, actually.
But I learned in prison.
“You did?”
I nod, unable to message while I finish the meal before her. Good or bad, I don’t set down my bowl until it’s three-quarters empty because I appreciate her effort.
As soon as I’m done, she pushes away her bowl, too.
The wind behind her pounds at the windows, and she jumps as a garden gnome face plants the glass.
“What was that?” Rushing to her feet, she pants out the words.
Stepping back, she catches her leg on the table and winces.
The buzzing of her phone scares her, too. Her eyes move to the table where she left it to see me tell her that a garden gnome is as fucked off with his life as I am and wanted to end it, and that, judging by the crack, he might have done a better job than I do every time I cut my arms.
“That isn’t funny.” Her face certainly doesn’t think so. “I think we’re due for another storm.”
Leaving the pillow behind, she grabs her bowl, then reaches for mine, but I pull it away, reminding her that she shouldn’t get close to my germs. “I was just gonna take them out.”
I force myself to my feet, taking my own bowl to the kitchen and washing it, ignoring all her objections.
My reflection in the window catches my eye. I look like death.
“As soon as you’re done, back to that sofa. You’re on bed rest. I’ll get you a different pillow. I know you won’t want the one from the floor back.”
I’m glad she has something to keep herself busy with. It means she doesn’t see me here, leaning over the sink like I’m about to collapse. If she had, I’d be on that sofa for the rest of the week, and all for suffering from a head rush.
I splash my face, the water doing nothing for my senses, as I scrub my hands down my face.
Dollie returns in my peripheral vision, a big smile on her face and her favorite pillow clutched to her chest, Duggan there, too.
She can’t loan me those things.
Not when I feel like this.
Not when my nose isn’t clear enough to smell the scent of sweet chocolate all over her stuff.
Disappearing into the living room, she doesn’t return.
I steady myself against the counter, my breathing raspy and my vision blurring as I try to focus on the colorful features of the kitchen.
It’s just a head rush, I lie to myself.
The room comes into view. It’s nice that no one has vandalized our home for quite a few weeks now, I think, as I wobble to the refrigerator and pull it open to get a drink.
Sweet treats greet me, suggesting that sugar will help.
I shake my head because who the fuck keeps chocolate in the fridge.
Moving to a cupboard instead, I find my secret stash, hidden at the back behind all the boring cans of food that everyone buys but no one really wants to eat.
Hiding food is kinda sly, but everything I buy gets raided by Shane before a crumb of anything decent passes my lips.
I collect my stash, remembering how Mom dealt with lightheadedness—a single piece of chocolate that she’d suck until it disappeared.
Me I’m taking the whole share-size bar. And popcorn, too, along with the sodas I’ve already collected.
I don’t really feel like eating more than I already have, but I hope doing so will make me feel better.
I step back into the living room. Dollie has turned the lights up too brightly, and I immediately dim them down a little.
Dollie hates the dark, and despite it being early evening, there’s no light outside the window. For that reason, I keep them on, even if on low. Rain and gray clouds cast shadows all over the overgrown yard.
“You brought popcorn, which is great, as I figured we could watch a movie together?” She lifts a tablet from under the table, like we don’t have a TV on the wall.
My mouth opens, partly through surprise that she wants to do something with me, and partly because I want to object.
“I think we need some brother-sister bonding time.”
Brother-sister bonding time?
Is she trying to make me feel better or worse?
“Sit,” she demands. “I need this.”
I move to the wall of windows and open the top one to allow fresh air to travel in and carry my germs out. It makes the room cold, which leads me to light up the fire. An orange flame grows, chewing through small logs before I turn to the sound of whimpering.
“That can’t be on,” Dollie whispers.
I didn’t think. I’m sorry, I sign. The glow behind me makes the room bright again, making it easy for her to see. Nothing will hurt you while we’re together. I promise you’re safe.
The realization that I should have asked comes a minute too late, but it’s clear now that assuming she’d have worked through her fears was poor judgment.
Slumping down, I decide I’m not gonna move from her side for the rest of the night. My bad knee hurts, my head feels ready to explode, and I still can’t breathe normally. On top of all that, I know she needs me close.
I stay on my own cushion, crouched against the arm of the sofa.
She inches a little closer, eyes on the orange flames as she coughs into her sleeve, reminding me that she’s already ill.
Maybe I’m worrying too much.
But maybe I’m not.
Maybe she’s worsening here because of me.
Open the popcorn now, or Dollie will get so ill, she’ll die, my broken mind teases.
Giving in, I crack open the popcorn and offer the bag to Dollie first before I contaminate it.
She takes a giant handful, which, given the size of her hands, is still quite small.
I nod, encouraging her to take another handful because I know she’ll want more, and she does, lining them all out on my hoodie.
“So, what do you wanna watch?” she asks around the popcorn in her mouth, her gaze finally redirected from the fireplace.
I side-eye her with harsh judgment, and she quickly covers her mouth, remembering the rules that no longer apply to her.
Her germs don’t scare me.
The full mouth and talking aren’t why I’m judging her. I’m judging her for thinking I’ll want to watch any movie she’ll approve of.
“I’ll let you pick.” She inches even closer.
I use my phone to answer her after I tuck myself under the comforter.
AmbroseLa’[email protected]:
You’ll regret it.
We don’t like the same movies.
“I’ll brave my first scary one. For you.”
AmbroseLa’[email protected]:
You sure?
Because I’ll tolerate something fluffy and innocent.
For you.
“I’m sure.” The hint of fear on her face isn’t for the movie. “Things are never as scary when you’re here.”
Her words bring a smile to my lips, and it stays there while I type.
AmbroseLa’[email protected]:
Even the fire?
She nods, tucking her burns away. “I’ll be okay.”
AmbroseLa’[email protected]:
It’s okay to have scars. Inside and out.
Silently, she nods again.
The buzz of her phone interrupts the peace settling around us.
AmbroseLa’[email protected]:
So, slasher, ghosts, or creature feature?
“God, um… slasher, I guess. I see enough ghosts, and I do not need nightmares about giant spiders.”
Neither do I.
Glancing up, I notice an intruder on the web I spotted earlier. As long as it stays up there and has no plans to venture down here, we’ll all be fine.
I take the tablet and make a selection from Shane’s streaming accounts.
Dollie does well with the opening, but Duggan’s tie almost decapitates him around the first kill.
Feeling my eyes on her, she shifts nearer and steals the edge of the fluffy comforter to tuck her toes in. Toes that are no longer in those ugly slippers.
“Why are you so far away? All bunched up at the other end of the sofa, harboring all the snacks. I’m out of popcorn.” She watches her phone for my reply before I even attempt to type.
AmbroseLa’[email protected]:
We can’t share now. My germs are all over the bag.
“I’m not as bothered about germs as you are. Siblings are meant to share.” Sidetracked by that word—siblings—she steals the bag from me. “And on the subject, you can share this too, if you insist on having the window open, even if that thing is on.”
She pulls the blanket higher up over her legs, settling in the middle of the sofa.
“And why are you still emailing me? Why not just mouth or sign like usual?”
I stare at her, mouth wide open, because I’m honestly not sure. The awkwardness has passed for me, and she has no idea I know she even saw me. Maybe it’s brain fog from the headache or the pills that are starting to suppress it.
I choke on my silent answer when she tosses a piece of popcorn between my open lips.
She bursts into hysterics, her laugh so loud in the tiny room as she leans in close and pats my back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d choke.”
Sadist. I use my lips this time, and I know she’s close enough to see because her body presses against mine.
“I really am sorry. Do you want one?”
She offers the bag back to me, and honestly, what’s the point in refusing. She’s already touched the bag and all my germs. She’s touching me right now, tight fingers around my tense bicep.
I accept her offer, taking a handful.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t think the sugar is helping. Either that, or the pills I’m taking are finally kicking in, as I feel much better than earlier. Maybe it’s the company. Maybe Dollie is all I need to heal.
In every way.