71. Ambrose—present day
Ambrose—present day
F uck.
The last few days have been rough.
Grief can hit like a wave and drag you under, and it’s so hard to stay afloat when you’re trying to hold someone else up.
The shower ceases to drip, taking thoughts of Mom and Dad down the drain.
The bright bathroom light finally feels less like an enemy as I step out of the shower and wipe myself off. Fuzz from the black towel sticks to my body, and I toss it to the floor without drying completely.
Stepping into my sweats, water drips down my body as I apply a thick white moisturizer to my scars. It’s probably the cold snap in the weather, but my skin is drier tonight than usual.
I arrived home ten minutes ago. Dollie’s door, already closed, no sound behind it. Maybe she’s finally been able to sleep… with him.
Cold pizza waits on my bed, the box open to reveal an unappetizing margherita.
The smell had tempted me when I stepped inside here and set it down, but the appearance did the opposite, putting me off food for the night.
The grease soaks through the box onto my sheets, and my muscles tense in response.
It’s nothing to do with the fact that Shane is still here.
I can’t convince myself. Maybe it was stupid of me to expect otherwise, because I knew before entering this house that he hadn’t left it.
For some reason, he’s stolen the space I like to park in.
Heaven forbid, he gets mud on those alloys.
Better than the word clown scratched into them, I suppose.
Oh, well.
Blinking away thoughts of the man I hate most, I lock eyes with myself in the broken mirror. Cracks in the mirror interfere with the sharp angles of my face because replacing the mirror hasn’t been a priority.
My stomach rolls over my image, and the urge to cut pesters me from my reflection. All those jagged edges on the mirror offering me a weapon to do it.
A low click of sound comes from my room, distracting me from the sharpest edge and the need to make myself bleed.
I return the cap to the moisturizer and set it down, looking into my dark room, where a small, pink-tinted shadow lingers at the door.
“Dollie?” I croak, my throat sore after all the talking I’ve been doing these last few days. I still haven’t spoken at work, nor to Annabelle or Nyx, with whom I’ve been communicating through text messages, regarding Dollie or the house.
I’ll admit, the house looks great for a pink house. I hope Dollie likes it.
“Hey,” her small voice travels through my dimly lit bedroom to the brightly lit bathroom where I stand in the doorway.
“You can turn the lights on.”
“It’s fine.” She steps toward me, and my feet move to meet her. “I’m not staying. I just wanted to see you before bed.”
My right cheek lifts, unable to deny how her words affect me.
I wonder if she sees it.
She gives nothing away as she asks, “What are those?” A glittering nail points to all the sacks of her stuff in the corner of my room.
“They’d be easier to see with the light on.” I wink, knowing for sure that it gets lost in the dark.
“Probably, but I think I’m due a migraine.”
“From crying? Or something else?” If he’s hurt her?—
“Probably stress factors in, too.” I can vaguely make out a sad smile on her face.
Wanting to see a genuine one, I place my hands on her arms and tell her, “It’s all your stuff.”
“My stuff?”
“I found it outside. Some on the doorstep, some in the trash.”
“My stuff that Shane tossed out?” Her mouth hangs open.
A swirl of pink hair surrounds her as her head whips from the sack to me, nodding, and then back.
“You went through the trash for me?”
“Don’t remind me.” A smile stretches my mouth, and I wonder how it looks to her, with all the red paint she sees.
“I love that you did that.” The break in her voice is audible.
“Only for you.”
My skin begins to itch over the idea of disappointing my mother, pissing off my Dad, and my nails drag across it harshly, near the elbow. Near the bubbling skin that’s inked green.
Fuck, I’d forgotten about the tattoo with everything going on. It’s a good thing she chose to keep the room dark because this isn’t how I want her to find out.
“I guess you really love me then. How long until you wake up? Or until I do?”
“The world would have to stop, Dollie.” I leave the light off in the bathroom, feeling just a tad too vulnerable as I rub at the discomfort in my throat. “Did you get my message?”
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t answer.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug. Nonchalant is not me, so I give up my act quickly.
“I see you took initiative with the pizza.”
“I did. Eat half of it.”
“I’m not hungry.” Still, she moves to the bed and places herself on the edge.
“Because you’ve eaten?”
“I haven’t eaten.”
“Maybe just a slice then.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“You can’t eat that thing tomorrow. It looks bad enough now.” I plop myself down at her side, denting the mattress with my weight, and her body falls into mine.
It’s easy to notice each flutter of her eyelashes as her big blue eyes roam my body.
“Was it hard for you to get it?”
“What do you mean?”
“The locals. They serve you without issues, right?”
Inhaling a little too deeply gives me away.
“God, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry for them.”
“No, I’m sorry for screwing up your life and still needing you.”
“You have me.” My hand finds hers. The familiarity of her scars gives me comfort. “You’re the only one who matters to me. Fuck everyone else.”
Shifting to me, she crawls onto my lap, resting her head against my shoulder. Her small feet lock around my waist, taking her cute and sparkly gelled toes out of my view. “I know you too well. I know it hurts you.”
“I’ll get over it.”
She nods against me, silent for a moment before she asks, “Have you eaten?”
“Not really. Some snacks on the job. I did spot a half-done, very appetizing-looking cake in the kitchen. Is it for me?”
“Don’t touch it. You have twenty-four more hours.”
“I promise I won’t, if you take a bite of pizza.”
“I can’t.”
“Sorry, Dollie. I’m not above bribery. So, I guess, I’ll go get some of that cake once you’re asleep.”
“Don’t do that to me.” Her fingers find comfort on my skin, dancing over each unique imperfection.
“My blanket is probably softer.”
“No, your skin is better for me. It’s just right.”
“Okay then.” I guess the moisturizer worked well enough.
“Does it bother you?”
“You can’t imagine how much I crave touch.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Only yours. Only your touch.” I relish how her fingers move on me, soft and slow on each silver line. “Why are you so stressed? Is it the dream?”
“You say the dream like it didn’t really happen, and that’s all it was.” Her fingers move faster, my skin warming under her touch. “Mom told me I deserve to be punished.”
“No, baby,” I coo, my head shifting from left to right over and over as I pull her closer, my hand weaving through her hair.
Frosting greets me, and another set of fingers weaves to avoid hurting her as I detangle from her.
My lips lift. “You’re more of a mucky pup than Bubbles, you know that?”
“Where is she?”
“Downstairs with her sock. Apparently, it’s still hers.”
Dollie laughs, the small puff of air that leaves her tickles my neck, and I lean into it. Into her. “Did she growl?”
“Fuck, yeah. I saw teeth. Little fucker. All I wanted to do was wash it.”
“We’ll have to let her keep it.”
“No, I want our friendly girl back.”
“Yeah, but at least it’s just a sock. She doesn’t seem to like the cake stuff that I haven’t cleared away, which is good. I don’t want her eating something and getting ill.”
“I wiped up the flour and frosting before coming up here.”
“You did? Because the mess was stressing you?”
“Because I didn’t want it to stress you.”
Guiding my face to hers with gentle fingers, she keeps her hand there, fingertips on my jaw.
I still can’t see her with our mouths only a breath apart. But I see the light shine on the side of her face enough to spot the glossing of her eyes when she asks, “Do you think I’m disgusting for having frosting in my hair?”
“I think you’re adorable.”
Soft fingers trail my jaw up to my cheeks, the tracing of my scars continuing. She can feel the lift of my cheeks—the warmth of a smile.
“Daddy always called me adorable. His adorable princess.” Her shoulders slump. “Who did the most awful thing.”
“He loved you, Dollie. Don’t let that nightmare rule you. Focus on the better times. On all the times he called you princess.”
“Because he was never wrong, right?”
“Not according to him.” A laugh slips out of me, but it falls flat.
“He loved you, too. You know that, right?”
“I think so.” That’s true, I think my father loved me, but he never once said it. I swallow the emotions clogging my throat. “Though it didn’t always feel like it.”
“He told me the night they took you away. I was inconsolable.”
“I remember you screaming.”
“I think my heart broke in that moment.” My fingers spread on her back, pulling her tighter to my body.
“He told me he’d miss you, too. That he was sorry for the things that led to it, and that he didn’t know how to make it better any other way.
” A sniffle echoes in the silence before her sadness highlights her cheeks.
“He did love you, and I’m so sorry I took him from you. ”
“That’s not on you.” Our wet cheeks meet before I realize a tear has fallen from my eyes.
“I don’t need you to apologize to me, Dollie.
I just need you to get through this. I just need you.
Their mistake cost us all, Mom and Dad’s.
It cost us our childhoods and their lives.
Do you really think they wouldn’t forgive you? ”
“What if I can’t forgive myself?”
I don’t fucking know, and I’m grateful for the low lights that keep my worry in the dark.
“Maybe we just need some help?” I suggest. “Maybe one of your spells will work?”
“Maybe. Will you help me with it when Shane goes to work tomorrow?”