69. Dollie—present day
Dollie—present day
A nnabelle was wrong, being out didn’t help.
But I couldn’t face coming home straight away.
So, she, Bubbles, and I spent the afternoon in a secluded area of the park, freezing our asses off because neither of us was smart enough to take a jacket.
She talked, and I didn’t listen. My mind was constantly on my parents and how they’d visit the same place we sat, each Sunday, when we first moved here.
All of us would walk around the lake, feed the ducks, and have a picnic, where I’d object to most of the sandwiches.
Children shrieking in the distance interrupted my thoughts and heightened my anxiety.
I couldn’t help but look around for clowns who might be chasing them, encouraging them into the thicket of dark trees with the offer of a balloon or party.
Every barking dog, including my own, raised my stress levels, and it didn’t matter that I actually saw no clowns, I still trembled.
So, we headed back as the sun lowered down to the gloomy mountains in the distance.
When we returned, the front of my home was painted a perfect shade of pink, with black accents on each window and turret.
The letters S L U T are long gone. Nyx had worked magic.
I was almost sure he’d had help from one of my spell books because the house looks that good.
He’s having some people come tomorrow to help him finish up the rest of the house and make a start on the back yard.
If I could pull my mind from the gutter, I’d have smiled over the beauty of this place.
But my mood drags everything—including my facial expressions—down to the depths of despair.
It’s been worse since Annabelle left after we got back. My head has been so much louder. She wasn’t quite ready to go, having promised Ambrose she’d hang around until he got home, on one of the dozens of texts he’d sent her today. Each message was about me—Was I okay? Had I eaten?
No, and no.
She was planning to stay and force-feed me, but when we stepped inside and a noise drew our eyes to the second floor, we saw Shane standing there.
“I can stay,” she’d whispered.
“It’s fine,” I’d told her.
Because in truth, Shane and I needed to talk. Privately.
I’d let Bubbles off her leash to go and devour some kibble in the kitchen as Shane called down, telling me he’d done something amazing for me because I’d been ill. That was when Annabelle stepped back outside and left with Nyx, against her better judgment.
“What did you do?” I ask, my tone flat and my shoulders slumping as I stand in the foyer looking up.
A flash of a bloody hallway appears in my mind, and the memory is so vivid that I feel Ambrose’s hand in mine.
Our parents’ blood sticking us together as I glance down at our joined hands.
Flicking my eyes back to Ambrose’s face, there’s so much desperation in his gaze for me to leave behind the lifeless, paling bodies and get out of this house.
His touch changes, his skin and grip rougher on my hand. I blink, finding Shane attached to me.
“Come, see.”
I let him guide me, ready to get this part of the conversation over with, so we can chat about what we really need to—ending the relationship, once and for all.
This man has lied and cheated for years. I should just ask him to leave because he doesn’t deserve any more of my time, but all words stall beyond my lips.
Hand in hand, we make it to the top, and something inside me swirls uncomfortably.
I freeze at the top of the stairs, the bloody carpet gone. The memories haven’t left with it.
Mom and Dad lie on the floor in front of their door, Dad squirming but failing to get closer to his wife as she struggles to breathe.
I blink out a tear, and they disappear.
The weight on my shoulders, which hurts me a little more with each step, doesn’t fade away. All my joints are screaming out as we take another step.
I’ve ached all damn day.
Perhaps it’s the stress brought on by realization. Maybe it’s one of my least favorite side effects of having Ulcerative Colitis. The swollen tummy I still get, despite the bag for life, will always take the top spot.
Especially now, when I feel like I’m practically waddling around the hallway.
Shane, oblivious to my stiff movements, closes his hand around the door handle that will lead into my parents’ room.
“No.” I pull my hand away. “I can’t go in there.” Especially today.
“But I want to show you something.”
I give reasons why I don’t want to enter, but outside my head, they all just sound like fast breaths and stutters.
“It’ll be fine.” Shane pushes open the door to reveal the majority of my parents’ possessions bagged up in giant sacks. “Surprise!”
My mouth falls open, and words fail me.
“I figured we’d give this shit to charity. Some of it can be sold. Your parents had expensive taste. But your mom also liked a lot of worthless shit. Kinda like you.”
Yeah, and Dad never judged her for it.
God, I miss witnessing their love.
I miss them.
“What do you think?” Shane asks.
Finally, words fall from my mouth, “I wanna keep it.”
“What? Which thing?”
“All of them. I wanna keep my parents’ stuff. Can you take it all out and put it back? Thank you.” I fail in my attempt to turn away from the sight that brings more tears to my eyes when Shane catches my hand.
“Why do you even still want this stuff? Where’s it gonna go when we sell the house?”
A deep breath comes through my mouth. This all needs to stop now.
“I don’t think that’s happening.” I rub my temple, feeling a migraine forming.
“What do you mean?” Shane’s stance changes. He stands taller, all puffed out before me. Challenge is evident in his eyes.
A thought crosses my mind. Is his therapy working?
Then another.
Did he lie about that, too?
Choosing a gentler approach, I tread carefully. “I’m just not sure I’m in a place right now where I’m able to think about weddings and moving away.”
“So, what? We’re just gonna stay here with all the bad memories?”
“I have too, but you—us, I think we need some time apart.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to be with me?” Before I can answer, and I’m about to, my mouth open and ready, he adds, “Think carefully about what you say next, Lancie.”
The threat in his tone and the nickname have me backing away.
“I think a lot has gone on.”
“Oh, for sure. But we agreed to work through that, didn’t we?”
“I did say we could see how things go.”
“So, what’s different? What’s changed?” he asks, getting closer to my face.
I back away until the banister presses into my spine.
His fingers trace my face. The touch is gentle as it slinks to my neck, lingering there. His silent warning comes loud and clear.
“All I ever wanted was for you to love me?—”
“Shane, you cheated. You’ve lied.”
“But you could forgive me.”
“Not for everything.” Not for Ambrose.
Like he hears that, though, he asks, “So, what is it? Is it because of your dead brother?”
“What?” He catches me off guard.
Creating space between us, he gives me his back. “You’re in love with one of those ghosts you see, Dollancie. Your brother died trying to get you both away in the snow all those years ago. It was just too cold for him. He died for you. Because of you, wanting to go to a party so bad.”
“No, he’s alive, and I didn’t know that would happen.”
“He’s not alive, Lancie. That’s why your mother was always crying, too.” Shane rests in the doorway, leaning to one side.
“No…” I sink to the floor.
Reality has been hard for me these past few days.
Has it been longer? Have I imagined Ambrose in this house?
Him touching me? His kiss? It wouldn’t be the first time I thought of those things.
Is he really gone? Is Shane right? No, because Annabelle had gotten text messages today, and she talks about Ambrose like he’s here, like he’s alive.
God, he has to be alive.
I won’t live.
I couldn’t survive.
My mind is spiraling, and there’s nothing soft on the floor for my moving fingers to reach for. My hoodie offers comfort as I rush through old memories.
We ran through the snow.
Ambrose had no shoes.
He was so cold.
But he saw the colorful truck and the teenagers who helped us. He ran from them, not trusting anyone to help us.
Doctors spoke of his scars and injuries at the hospital.
I cuddled with him on the bed. The mattress was hard, and the pillow was wet from tears.
I remember it all.
But I could have imagined it all.
A dark place opens up to me—a world without Ambrose.
Was us surviving together real?
It was real.
It has to be real.
Shane’s face set in a twisted scowl. The tears rushing from my eyes and my rocking make it hard to pick up on the anger that radiates from him.
“He’s alive,” I stutter, forcing the rocking to slow. “He’s alive.”
My racing heart knows it’s true, refusing to believe otherwise, but my eyes still drip.
“He is alive… unfortunately.”
“Then why would you say something like that! What the fuck is wrong with you!” I yell, not caring about his puffing chest as I climb to my feet.
“I just wanted to see if you’d cry.”
“Why?” I ask through a broken sob.
“Why? Why! We’ve spent our entire fucking lives together. I’ve had to support you and feed you, and now, you want to give it all up. It’s gotta be because of him. We have a few days apart where you guys are home alone, and now this?”
“It was your idea not to stop by.”
“And if I did, would I have found you guys that little bit too close?”
I encourage my face to hide the truth, but my heavy breathing likely gives me away. My mouth says nothing, fearing he already knows more.
“I mean, if you did get too close, do you know how fucking sick it would be? To sleep with your brother.”
Okay, so he doesn’t actually know anything. I can avoid the truth and the anger it’ll cause.
“Shane, I never slept with Ambrose. Not recently, not ever.”