41. Ambrose—age nine
Ambrose—age nine
I ’m in the water, tears falling down my cheeks, when he throws a T-shirt at me. It’s plain and white and clean-ish until it touches the water, but it still smells like him, like tobacco and bad memories. Pulling it over my head, it comes down to my knees and hangs over one shoulder.
The icy water is lower today, getting drained by some pipe Colin installed. The fire is back on, ridding the January chill and keeping Dollie pinned against the wall atop the dresser.
Relief enters me as Colin clips his belt in place behind me.
I hate him.
I hate me and the permanent dirt I feel under my skin because of him.
More tears fall.
They’re the last I’ll cry over that thing, I vow.
I fall away from him, landing on the part of me that’s sore because of him, and I stare at him with so much hate it burns me.
“Did you not like your belated Christmas present?” he asks with amusement. “It’s time for Dollie’s!”
My eyes go wide, moving back and forth between her and the monster in the water.
Dollie’s eyes creep around to him, her body turning slowly. I stand between them as he pulls something from his pocket.
My head shakes rapidly. She’s getting nothing from this thing. I stretch my arms out, willing to die before letting him take her.
A long yellow balloon is placed to his chapped lips—the way they pucker makes me visibly cringe.
His hands move, shaping the balloon into an animal. It looks something like a snake.
“I don’t want it! I don’t want anything from you!” Dollie yells, and I only wish she’d done that last time. “I hate it. It’s a stupid snake in a stupid room, and I hate it here!”
“Oh, that makes me sad. Maybe you’ll change your mind, huh? I’ll leave it here for you.” He places the rubber animal on the steps and leaves without another word.
“I can smell Christmas dinner,” Dollie says to me.
Christmas is over , I mouth silently.
“You’re bleeding.” She points.
I nod, feeling the red liquid on my thighs.
With the water lower here, it shows her more of my injuries.
“Ambrose?” She waits for me to look back at her. “Will you get my snake?”
My eyebrows pull down in confusion, but I do as she asks. It takes me a while, given my injuries.
Picking up the animal, I turn to see her smiling at me.
“You scared away the crocodile again. You’re so brave.”
I smile back at her, but it’s forced and not real, barely lifting my cheeks because they still hurt from where his blade carved into my face.
Tiny hands help pull me up onto the dresser, making me rush in my one-handed attempt because of how she clutches my shirt, lifts it, and I have nothing on underneath.
I hand her the snake and adjust my clothing.
“Shall we name him Lucky, after you?”
With a raised eyebrow, questioning why she still thinks that nickname is fitting for me.
But I am still here, which makes me lucky, to her, at least.
“Your cheeks are bleeding again.”
The sharp sting of the slap Colin gave me earlier pulled blood between my stitches. The smile I gave Dollie did more damage, but it was worth it.
My pain is worth it if it helps her feel better down here.
Her small, scared hand smoothes over the snake’s head and down his back.
“I’m sorry. You’re not a stupid snake. You’re a very nice snake, and I don’t hate you.”
She’s apologizing to an object without feelings—she’s done it before. Duggan, her dolls, and Mom’s ornaments have all received apologies at some point.
She’s just too innocent.
She needs protecting.
My pain is definitely worth that.