33. Ambrose—present day
Ambrose—present day
Lucky:
You at the bar, unicorn girl?
I am fucked.
Not only is she definitely here, with her new hair and satin dress, but if she recognizes me, I’m done.
Any hopes of rebuilding whatever we were would be over.
My life would be over.
For that reason, I forced myself to stop touching her and removed myself from the dance floor. And yet, I still can’t stop myself from texting her.
At least the bar is a safer spot, as she likely wants to avoid alcohol after drinking so much of it last night.
I don’t feel the same, and I fill a glass.
Poison is starting to taste better.
Dollancie:
Depends. Which bar do you mean?
And where did the newest pet name come from?
Lucky:
I like this one best. The new pink hair. The fact that you’re truly one of a kind. It’s fitting.
And you know exactly which bar I mean.
Drifting across the dance floor, her eyes scan the crowd, hunting for me. Mine stays locked on her as she moves with the disco ball, avoiding the darkness.
Seeing her out there, so alone and vulnerable, makes me want to brave the crowd again, risk the touch of a stranger that will make me want to scrub my skin.
Dollancie:
I might be.
I might be at one called The Funhouse.
And I’m hoping you were the guy who just mauled me on the dance floor.
Mauled is a harsh term. However, I’d officially crossed another line.
Wiping down some glasses, I do a little work as Dollie continues looking for me. There are too many people between us for her to notice me at the bar, but I get a flash of pink hair every few seconds as she weaves through people.
It’s nice to see that she’s no longer as scared of touch as she once was. Nice to know she no longer has limits with words because after we got away, there were certain words she wouldn’t let slip out of her mouth. They were all related to men—he, him, his, man, boy, guy.
She almost seems healed, and my lips lift from that.
Lucky:
Maybe.
How’d you know?
Dollancie:
You put my dress in my hand for sensory pleasure before you kissed my neck. No one would know I need that. But I told you earlier.
How did you recognize me?
Lucky:
Well, it was hard without the bear costume. But beyond the bear was a pretty face in your picture on MateMatch.
You’re unforgettable.
Dollancie:
Clearly, I have new hair. I look different from that picture.
Lucky:
I know. The pink is gorgeous. And I am not a pink guy.
But it makes those eyes pop.
Telling my sister she’s beautiful isn’t a crime, but the feeling I get from doing it should be. A tingle starts in my pants, and I ignore it, finishing up the cocktail I was making for the lady at the bar who has been trying to get my attention for the wrong reason.
“So, are you doing anything after this event?” the woman asks.
She’s a little younger than me, than Dollie, too, and twice as desperate as any other woman in the bar for attention. And the bar is eighty percent women tonight.
“Do you wanna grab a drink somewhere?”
I can’t talk , I mouth, pointing to my throat, and hope that’s the end of our conversation.
“Oh, my god! That’s totally book-boyfriend material!”
A fake smile lifts my lips, and I flick a finger to the register to let her know what to pay.
“You don’t want to buy it for me?” She bats her false eyelashes.
As politely as possible, I shake my head. No thanks. I work to get money to spend on better things than drinks that aren’t even for me.
“Maybe next time.” She giggles before tapping her card on the reader in front of her.
Maybe not.
With that woman back on the dance floor, ready for the charity dance-off and no one else at the bar, I drop below, loading dirty glasses into the dishwasher.
A box of cupcakes catches my eye.
The little pink box has four cupcakes in a six-cupcake box. It isn’t an odd choice or Dollie running out of smaller boxes. A glance around the floor shows me a few crumbs, confirming my suspicions that some creep has eaten the other two.
Bastards.
The three remaining cupcakes have letters that read UCK, and the other has a four-leaf clover. I can only assume that they once spelled LUCKY.
And I feel lucky until a voice in my head starts blaring.
Don’t eat them. There are probably finger germs all over them.
Not willing to give that thought power, I pull sanitizer spray from my pocket, spray my hands, then take a cupcake from the box and shove it into my mouth before my thoughts can win.
God, too fucking good.
She really can make an amazing cupcake.
Memories flash back to my teens. Dollie and I were forced into the kitchen with Mom to help her bake.
I spent those three hours with a frown that only lifted when Dollie fed me batter.
I’d acted like Dollie’s shadow as she moved around with a smile, and it made Mom so uncomfortable she never asked us to bake again.
I force those thoughts from my head, knowing what Mom would think of our current predicament, seeing as she barely coped with the milder one back then.
Disappointment.
She’d feel disappointed in me.
That’s another thing I push from my head, then type a quick message. I spot Dollie’s last message first and realize I left her hanging.
Dollancie:
You're gonna tell me you remember my eyes after seeing me once? Are they that beautiful?
I delete my message and start over.
Lucky:
Your eyes are blue and, yes, very beautiful and memorable.
The cupcake was great, too—the first one. I have three more that I’m gonna guard all night.
Dollancie:
Three?
Lucky:
I guess someone else thought they were great, too.
Fuckers.
Sorry.
Dollancie:
Hahaa… don’t apologize. They are fuckers. I made those especially for you.
Lucky:
The three I have left are pretty special.
There’s a pause where I wait for a message, and the result of those minutes when I’m alone leaves me short another cupcake.
Finally, a message pings on my screen.
Dollancie:
Where are you?
Lucky:
Why? You wanna watch me eat?
Dollancie:
I just wanna see if your eyes are as pretty as mine.
I don’t think it’s fair that I’ve never seen your face.
Lucky:
Life isn’t fair, my sweet Dollie.
Dollancie:
Not another new pet name?
I thought you were settled on unicorn girl?
Lucky:
Still am.
But maybe I should have stuck with cupcake.
They’re sweet, like you.
Yeah, I’m cringing, too.
Another cupcake lets me forget my shame, thanks to the amazing taste claiming all my senses.
Dollancie:
Good, because that was kinda lame.
I need a name for you.
Lucky:
You have Lucky.
Dollancie:
Doesn’t everyone call you that?
Lucky:
No.
Dollancie:
Still, I’m gonna try and guess your real name, and I can’t when I’ve never seen your face.
So, where are you?
Lucky:
Busy.
Dollancie:
Sure…
Lucky:
Well, I am at work.
And I’ve still got one more cupcake to get through.
Dollancie:
So, just send me a photo then.
God, she isn’t giving in.
I’d put money on this being Annabelle’s doing, but I contemplate before giving in.
Tucked beneath the bar and safely out of view, I snap an image, ensuring no scars she’d likely recognize are on show, and I send it from my device to hers.
It shows her nothing—a hint of abs through a ripped T-shirt and a face hidden by an LED mask.
I look almost identical to at least three other guys in here.
Dollancie:
Oh, your pink eyes are beautiful. So much more unique than my blues. They fit in perfectly with my hair.
But… I want to see your real face.
Lucky:
No.
I don’t like my real face.
Dollancie:
Why not?
Lucky:
I’m not conventionally attractive.
Dollancie:
I just saw like twenty abs. So, I smell bullshit.
Lucky:
Best we alert the manager. I’m pretty sure she won’t want any of that bullshit stuff on the dance floor, and you’re sprouting more of it than I am.
Dollancie:
Okay, so maybe like eight abs. But seriously, you strike me as a guy who’s into his looks.
Lucky:
And why is that?
Dollancie:
Well, the great body. Plus, you’re playful and funny.
That’s confidence.
Lucky:
People can fake confidence.
Do you wanna know a secret?
Dollancie:
Yes.
Lucky:
My face makes me literally feel ill.
It reminds me of my childhood.
And I didn’t have a good one.
Dollancie:
Same.
Sorry. I didn’t mean to take your light. I just mean that I can relate.
Lucky:
I wish you couldn’t.
Dollancie:
You know, on a happier note, no matter how you look, I’ll still like you. You have no idea what you’ve done for me this week. So just know, you’re not your past. Those memories can haunt you, but can only hurt you if you let them. A wise guy once told me that.
That wise guy would be me on day four of our interactions when I was trying to be inspirational and shit.
Lucky:
A wise guy, huh?
Dollancie:
Maybe that could be your pet name, or maybe I’ll go with No Face.
Lucky:
That’s better than wise guy.
Dollancie:
Okay, so Lucky will do for now.
And speaking of lucky, I’m pretty sure my friend and the guy she was flirting with are getting lucky in the bathroom. If I let you keep your mask on, do you wanna meet me on the dance floor for a dance?I’m kinda lonely out here. I won’t badger you about seeing your face. I promisssseeee.
Staring out over the bar , the last cupcake hidden safely behind the wine stash, I wonder, can I mask my limp if everyone is moving to the music?
Can I keep my hands out of her line of sight so she won’t see my scars?
And what the fuck can I put around my throat to hide a slit that goes from one side to the other?
I should say no.
I should keep my distance.
But I just can’t.