86. Ambrose—present day
Ambrose—present day
D ollie had made promises with her mouth, like I didn’t know her. Like I wouldn’t have known she wasn’t okay when she said she was. Her eyes told a different story, and they kept me by her side while the front door slammed and Shane ran out.
I had every intention of finding him later –something the police couldn’t do.
I’d spoken with one of the detectives, a lady with a warm smile who didn’t judge me on the past everyone knew. She was kind and understanding of my need to be close to Dollie’s hospital room, as I blew off her questions to plaster myself against the door, following the rush of doctors.
Dollie is fine, now that her airway is stabilized. Delayed strangulation, the doctors had told me and Annabelle, who arrived here at the hospital shortly after Dollie and me. Hours later, she’s still here, stretched out across four chairs.
“You okay?”
I say nothing, because I don‘t want to insult her intelligence by asking how the fuck she thinks I’d be okay.
It’s 6:30 in the morning, and I’ve been here for close to twelve hours.
“How are you awake?” I wonder, given that we were talking until at least three.
“Inner body clock.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“I’m not gonna go. I’ll give it a few minutes until I’m fully functioning, and I’ll text my boss. I’ll be fake sick today.”
“Okay. I have to go back to the house. Do you think she’ll be okay?”
“Yeah. The doctors weren’t concerned on their last check.”
“I just hate the idea of leaving her.”
“You’re not leaving her alone. I’ll be here. I’ll call if anything happens.”
“But what if I can’t get back in time?”
“Have a little faith, Ambrose. She’s strong.”
“She is.”
Pushing myself up, I limp a little worse than usual, my legs stiff from the uncomfortable chairs.
“I told her everything,” I tell Annabelle.
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“You’re living a double life as a guy called Lucky everything.”
“Everything.”
Putting on a terrible Irish accent, Annabelle asks, “Did you tell her, I love you, my sweet Dollie, and you have to love me. I think I’ll die if you don’t.”
“Everything, though she figured a lot out by herself. And just so you know, I’m not that dramatic, nor do I sound like that.”
“Okay, the accent needs work, but you literally were that dramatic.”
I open my mouth, ready to tell her to shut hers, because it’s not the time, but she talks again.
“I’m glad it worked out, though. You looked really happy together when you came home the other night.”
Annabelle’s genuine happiness for Dollie and me changes the course of my next words.
I simply say, “I won’t be long. I have medication I need to take. I can get her some clean clothes and stuff. I can get Duggan, feed Bubbles. You won’t leave until I get back?”
“Promise.”
“Okay. I’ll pick you up some breakfast in the cafeteria.”
“Yes, feed me, please. I left my purse in the car.”
“That’s fine. I pull my wallet from my back pocket and place some bills on the chair next to her. “Get yourself a coffee or something from the vending machine while you wait.”
Arriving home, I head straight upstairs, Mom and Dad’s unmade bed calling my attention. The scent of chocolate and roses invading anything they left behind.
Closing my eyes, to memories of her below me, on me, kissing me anywhere and everywhere, I head to my room. Still feeling the phantom touches of her mouth, I strip off my clothes and step into the shower.
You could be washing away her last touches, my cruel mind teases as I lather myself in a minty shower gel. It burns as it runs down my arms and seeps through my bandages.
The three minutes I spend in the shower make it the quickest one I’ve ever taken.
I rush into the bedroom, not caring enough to grab a towel. I pull open my drawers, getting some clean shorts that stick to my wet skin.
My jeans do the same, struggling past my thighs.
Stepping back into the bathroom, I collect my phone from one pocket and place it in another. The broken mirror shows little of my reflection as I open it, pop my pills with a swig of water, then quickly brush my teeth.
Rushing around my room, I toss on fresh socks and a T-shirt, the damn thing catching on the stretcher in my ear, then the new tattoo that sits on the inside of my right arm.
I grab a jacket before I leave my room and step into the one across the hall, which looks messier than the last time I was in here.
Stepping up to her closet, I open the doors, scuffling through all the cute backpacks she used to collect as a teen.
I select the one inspired by her favorite Disney movie and look inside to make sure this cold, old house hasn’t ruined it with mold.
Seeing it’s still good, I scan through her clothes. Quickly, I realize all this stuff is from her younger years, all things she feels uncomfortable in now.
Heading to the door, I give the room another once over. There’s a book missing from the nightstand. That weathered old diary that belonged to Mom.
I guess that asshole was up here yesterday.
Well, fuck it.
There’s nothing in that book that could hurt Dollie firsthand—only me. I can live with that.
Moving quickly through the house, I’m digging through sacks in the reading room when I realize I’ve yet to hear the pitter-patter of dog claws.
Bubbles hasn’t come to greet me. Which is fucking odd. Bubbles always greets me.
“Bubs?” I call, stuffing a hoodie, shorts, briefs, and a pair of socks into the backpack. I’ll pick up some shoes at the door.
“Bubbles!” I shout louder, stepping into the dining room.
The curry I’d come home with last night is spilled across the floor.
Alcohol bottles are tipped over and dripping from the table.
The person I hate most is in this room with me, and I can barely contain my anger because of it.
Each muscle tenses and my thoughts run wild, telling horror stories of different ways I’ll lose my girl… all because of him.
My other girl, Bubbles, is still nowhere to be found.
The temptation to strangle Shane gets harder to fight the longer I look at him, head flat to the table next to Duggan, who looks like he’s been manhandled.
“Yeah, that isn’t allowed.”
I collect the little antelope and stuff him into the backpack.
“You know, what happens next is on you. On how badly your body wants to cling to your shitty little existence.”
The worthless piece of shit doesn’t hear me, doesn’t even stir because he’s passed out from all the alcohol in his system.
His dirty shoes have been kicked off and lay sprawled at his side.
I cringe, sliding as much of my feet as possible into them, and wearing them, I step up to the back door.
I find Bubbles locked out in the cold on the other side.
I unlock the door, stepping out with her.
She wastes no time in jumping up and saying hello with a wet, slobbery kiss.
“I’ll take you inside in a minute.”
I head to Dad’s shed, vague thoughts of whether he, a cop, would forgive his son for murderous thoughts. I can’t blame what I’m about to do on the voice in my head, not when that voice is telling me not to fucking do this.
I press in the key code with a bent knuckle, not that I’m worried about fingerprints, because this is technically my fucking shed.
Placing myself inside, I slip on some nitrile gloves that Dad always kept handy in case he wanted to play around with the car. He liked to think he was better than he was with them because they always ended up in town with the mechanics afterward.
This shed has so many things he never had time for, so many things he had no reason for, like this rope that I came in here looking for.
I grab that and nothing else, making my way to the house, a cold and hungry dog acting like my shadow.
“Ladies first.” I smile down at Bubbles as I open the door.
I leave the shoes at the door as I fill Bubbles’ bowl with kibble and let her eat. She’s no longer interested in ripping out Shane’s throat.
Dogs are too forgiving.
Shane doesn’t stir as she scoffs down breakfast, his eyes stay closed. His face keeps that same ugly expression.
When Bubbles is done, I escort her into the living room, and she’s happy to go. Pulling the comforter in her mouth, she jumps up to her favorite part of the sofa.
I click the door shut.
I thank my height for managing to tie a loop around the ceiling fan without needing a boost from something.
Carefully, lifting Shane’s head, I tie another loop around his neck.
Still, he doesn’t wake up.
“Okay, fuck face, you’ve slept enough.” I lift him by the bad haircut and drop his face to the table.
The rope has enough give for that.
“Ah! What the fuck!” he slurs.
I’m not sure if he hears me pottering around behind him, but he shows no indication until I toss a notebook and pen onto the table.
“I wasn’t sure how I felt about using the other little book you seem so fond of. I’m not even sure where you’ve put it. So, I think we’ll use this one.”
His sleepy eyes glance at the notebook.
“Now, we don’t really wanna spend time together, so make this easy for both of us, huh? Write an apology letter to Dollie, detailing exactly why you’re sorry.”
“What makes you think I’m sorry?” His eyes meet mine as I hang on his chair, inhaling his bad morning breath.
“I don’t, Shane.” I smile, big and false, bending to his side. “Narcissists, psychopaths, they never are.”
“Well, you’d know.”
“I would, I spent enough time with one.”
“Enough time to become one. Oh, wait, you’re not, are you? That’s your little sister. The little sister you fuck. She deserved what I fucking did.”
“Did she? Why? I was the one who pulled her down onto my cock. Sucked her pretty pink nipples into my mouth. Almost fucking came when she came apart for me on my tongue. Shouldn’t I have been the one you hit?”
His mouth seals, and he looks away.
“Are you afraid to hit a man, or afraid I’ll bleed on you? She wasn’t afraid, you know? She let me go in raw, and my god, the way she screamed for me.”