42. Ambrose—present day
Ambrose—present day
I step up to my house. The back facet is still black and, though a little tatty these days, still appealing. The jarring pink paint job only ruins part of the front. I can’t see it from here, but it’s tormented me for the past two weeks.
Shane gave up on decorating the same day he started, and the recent bad weather has prevented Dollie or me from doing it on our own.
The next sunny day, that is my mission.
Rainwater drips from my nose as I rush through the backyard, trying my hardest to encourage Bubbles to continue putting one foot in front of the other and get into the house as quickly as possible.
For some reason, she likes the rain.
Likes nature.
A flower distracts her, the lonely primrose standing out amongst the dull weeds, giving the yard some light.
Giving her a gentle tug, I pull her away, wanting to preserve the flower and the poodle’s health. Apparently, some flowers are toxic to dogs, and I know too little about which ones to take the risk.
No longer interested in the flower, I let her run for the door, burning off residual energy from our first walk together on the quiet hills surrounding our home while I hurry to get the key into the lock.
Turning, I have to shield my eyes, hoping that it’ll eliminate some of the anxiety she brings.
It doesn’t, and when I lower my hand, that anxiety only builds.
Her white fur turns brown as she rolls around in the dirt, ensuring that the grime is properly embedded.
The rolling continues as I take one step closer to her. My mouth drops open, and I taste some of the dirty rainwater slip inside.
Spit it out three times, or Bubbles will die.
Twigs catch in her uncut hair, and she lets out a yelp, allowing my broken mind to win.
I spit three times, then whistle, calling her over.
She scampers to her feet, beelining for me to pull out the twig that hurt her so much.
Ignoring the rain that makes my clothes stick to me, I try to remove the twig, and she yelps again. Turning her head, sharp teeth catch my skin in warning.
Fuck!
Little bastard.
Shaking away the pain in my bleeding hand, I catch her eyes and see no aggression there, so I make a second attempt to get the twig.
Parting her hair carefully with my fingers, I try to find an easy way to get the wood out without covering the dog in my blood.
I fail.
She’s both bloody and dirty, and now I have a fucking splinter sticking out of the top of my thumb.
This is why I should leave the dog stuff to Dollie.
“Bubbles?” Her sweet voice is hardly music to my ears—there’s far too much concern in her tone. “Are you okay?”
The dog rushes past me to greet her owner at the back door.
Dollie takes a step back as I turn and step inside. Bubbles goes with her.
“What happened to her?” Dollie’s eyes wander to me, stalling on my bleeding hand where a toothmark greets her. “What happened to you?”
I point to the twig in a silent warning. Do not touch that.
Stepping into the room and out of the rain, I drip rainwater everywhere. Bubbles shakes herself off, and mud splashes the cabinets. The dark color makes it almost impossible to see the germs. But I know they’re there, all of them tormenting me.
The fucking kitchen will never feel clean now.
I move off to the bathroom, trying to keep the worry of the germs in the back of my mind and not at the forefront, where they try desperately to be.
Bubbles bounces around the room, like the hooligan she is. I’ve noticed she only behaves this way with me, maybe because Dollie can give commands and requests, as opposed to me silently putting up with her shit.
Lifting my gaze from the dog, who tries to drag me around the room by the leg of my jeans, I spy Dollie in the kitchen. The mop in her hand is set aside as she takes a rag and some disinfectant to the cabinets.
I try not to smile, but I feel the strain on each scar as my lips lift.
Before she can look my way and get creeped out, I start running the bath for Bubbles.
Spinning the faucet handle to a nice warm temperature, I also manage to push the splinter deeper into my skin.
My fingers fail at gripping it, and I hope it’ll wiggle its way out beneath a band-aid.
I wash my hands and the bite, before applying the band-aid to the tip of my thumb. It’s one of Dollie’s. I hope she won’t mind sharing. Siblings are meant to do that, after all.
The unicorn design is hardly flattering on me, but I make do.
“You know…” I turn, finding Dollie in the doorway.
“I’ve been using baby shampoo since dying my hair pink.
” She lifts a little of her hair and twirls it around a finger.
An almond-shaped nail with the exact same color sticks out at the top.
“It should be safe for dogs and might help get out the tangles.”
I nod, agreeing with hope. Hope that I’ll get to keep all my fingers.
“It’s just there in the cabinet. The one in the yellow bottle.”
Collecting it, I make my way back to the bath and squeeze a little under the running water.
A whistle calls Bubbles to my side, but as my hands lock around her, attempting to lift her and place her in the water, she pushes back, sending us both to the floor.
I’m still rubbing my head when she’s halfway to the door.
Dollie blocks her exit, the big arms of her baggy hoodie barricading the frame. Bubbles skids in another direction, looking for another way out, but there isn’t one, and I catch her as she jumps at the unopened window.
Stepping inside and closing the door behind her, Dollie steps a little closer as I place Bubbles in the water.
A second later, she literally jumps over my head and launches at Dollie. Muddy paws press into her stomach. Dollie winces as she looks down at the once pastel pink garment, now mostly brown.
She turns away from me to lift her hem and check her stomach, not seeing me ask if she’s okay.
In another attempt, I corner Bubbles, who cowers in the corner of the room.
I start slow, letting her sniff me and recognize me as someone who’ll never bring her harm.
I smooth over her face and give her nose a little wiggle with mine, and then I wrap my arms around her.
There’s no psychotic protest from her this time, and when I turn around with her in my arms, Dollie is staring at us, almost in awe.
Dollie moves to the bath before me. “Maybe it’s a little cold?” She checks the water with her hand. “No. It’s fine. She’s being dramatic.”
God, I wish I could talk to agree. For a dog that loves the rain and puddles, who’d have figured a bath would be this hard.
Gently setting her down in the half-full tub, she attempts to jump out again.
“No!” Dollie commands. Both her and my hands steady the dog, our fingertips brushing.
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug her off, my fingers still smoothing over dirty fur. The noise in my head grows louder because of it.
The urge to shove my head in the tub and drown out the noise grows as the whispers continue.
The germs on your skin will cause an infection, unless you splash Bubbles in the face three times.
I stare at my nervous girl, her nails scratching the bath edge, her head turned into Dollie’s scratching fingers, and her pretty eyes on me.
I know what it’s like to fear bath time.
I can’t make this worse for her. I just can’t do it.
But the voice persists.
The germs on your skin will cause an infection.
The words in my head, the running water driving me insane, and the dog’s mumblings, all hush.
All I hear is Dollie and her beautiful song.
I recognize it vaguely from The Funhouse, as it’s constantly requested there, but I don’t know it well enough to sing along in my head.
But I don’t need to. Her voice brings me to a place of peace through the melodic story of some pink pony.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her song ending.
I glance over, expecting to find her eyes on Bubbles, who has calmed enough in the water that she’s no longer shaking, and her tail wags slightly in the deepening water. But Dollie’s big blue eyes are on me. Her question is for me.
Air stalls inside me. My eyes follow hers, moving over my features.
I want so badly to say something—anything. I dare to think about what words will come out of my mouth.
I miss you.
The pink hair is pretty.
This dog is an asshole, right?
But I swallow them all down as they wait on my tongue.
A splash of water from the filthy bath caused by Bubbles’ tail catches me in the face, and Dollie, too.
I blink repeatedly while rapidly rubbing at my eyes and scars, needing it off me, needing all the germs off me.
I fall back, landing heavily on my ass.
Dollie’s reaction is different, a laugh bursting from her. The sound, like her song, calms me slightly.
“Look what you did to your dad—or maybe, uncle? I don’t know. Your Ambrose.” She laughs, still reprimanding the dog, who couldn’t care less. “You traumatized him.”
Yeah, and yet, at this moment, I feel better than I have in years.
Edging back to the tub, I roll up my sleeves, eager to get this over with. I lift the bottle of shampoo, dumping it on Bubbles this time, hoping it helps ease the twigs out.
All it does is help the band-aid slide off my thumb. Little unicorns float in the water, drifting under frothy bubbles.
“Did she bite you twice?”
Flashing the splinter to Dollie, I prove Bubbles isn’t to blame.
“Ouch,” is all she replies with. Her careful fingers move through fur, but all attempts fail, and the twig stays nestled.
Bubbles growls a little, but she doesn’t snap at Dollie like she did with me. Maybe it’s the grace she moves with, or maybe she just prefers her over me.
“Oh, screw it.” Dollie walks away, my hands still in the water, making me cringe as I wash the mud away from the dog.
With her song making its way back before her feet, I wonder if she’s doing it because she notices every time I drift off, staring into space as I search for a level of peace I’ll never find.
Her eyes on me say yes, making it harder to keep my heartbeat under control.
She returns seconds later, three items in hand, and I’m all too aware that she’s sitting closer.
The first two items are for Bubbles.
Dollie places the sponge on the floor to her side first and the scissors on top.
“She’s gonna have to have a crew cut.”
The deepness of my smile tests my healing scars again. My eyes refuse to leave her, taking in every detail of her perfect face.
Then, I’m staring, and my view is blurred because how could this be my life.
How could I lose so many years, have us be this close, and yet there’s nothing between us?
We were each other’s everything.
Now, we’re semi-estranged siblings.
Not even close to friends.
I drop my eyes to the third item, still in her hand. It’s for me.
Trembling fingers lay out before me. My movements mirror hers as I lift a hand from the water and place it on her palm. I allow her to pry the splinter from my skin gently.
Pulling our hands apart, my blood stains her hand, but she says nothing.
Her face says nothing.
It’s almost like she doesn’t feel any dirtier from it.
And it makes me wish that little bit harder for things I’ll likely never get back.
Our bond.
Making my eyes turn in on each other, Dollie pushes the tweezers close to my face. “I love how this little thing required a band-aid, but the dog bite, you can brave.”
Setting it down at her side, she grabs the scissors next. “Can you hold her face? I won’t brave the bite and may lose an eye if I jump too fast.”
I do as she asks, and together, we succeed.
The twig makes a small splash as it lands in the water. Dollie’s glittery pink nails twinkle as her fingers weave, dislodging the smaller twigs and leaves.
Taking the sponge from her, because I don’t want her to have to do everything, I wash Bubbles’ back until she looks white again.
Standing, I lift our furry girl from the water, forgetting that my sleeves are still rolled up and my tattoo is exposed to Dollie’s low angle.
Luckily, her eyes are on Bubbles as she towel dries her.
I don’t think she saw it.
She can never see it.