45. Dollie—present day
Dollie—present day
I step out of the bathroom, two pink towels wrapped around different parts of me.
The second I got home, I headed to this room. A dozen soaps and the shampoo I’d used on Bubbles yesterday got the grime off of me.
I finally feel clean, a rosy scent entering the kitchen as I step into the room.
Ambrose sits at the kitchen table in different clothes, and there’s no sign of blood on the white hoodie he wears, suggesting he’s showered and cleaned himself up.
Bubbles waits at his feet, munching on her own toes.
She stands and greets me as I step closer, both of us tiptoeing to each other.
Her long nails click-clacking on the floor, and my toenails shining under the light.
Ambrose stares back at me.
“I put your hoodie in the laundry basket. It’s kinda dirty, so I’ll wash it tomorrow.”
He picks up a pen on the table and writes a message below the note he’s already scribbled.
That’s okay. You can keep it.
“Because of the germs?”
Another squiggle of handwriting appears.
Because you seem to love hoodies so much, and that one is soft.
“And comforting.”
I glance up at his other message.
Are you okay?
“I think so,” I lie, still slightly trembling. “I mean, I think I’m okay. I’m disappointed about my only pretty dress, but aside from that, I’m okay.”
Tight lips suggest he doesn’t believe me. Standing, he leaves his chair, tucking it in perfectly behind him.
His height sends fear down my spine. I’d been fine with him in the car. Fine with him in the rain, where we stood together getting drenched. He wasn’t intimidating then.
But I fail to fight the urge to step back as he steps forward, needing that little extra distance between us. A space where all my questions can get lost, and I won’t have to learn any painful answers.
He doesn’t comment, but his eyebrows dip into a frown as he moves away. He lingers in the den doorway, his head bobbing for me to follow.
Bubbles goes before me, pounding toward him because she trusts him more than I do.
One foot in front of the other, I follow silently, thinking that the den wouldn’t likely be his choice of murder venue should he decide to hurt me. The kitchen offers a lot more brutal ways to end my life.
God, I am being ridiculous. He just saved me.
Stepping inside, I find the curtains drawn and the room lit by the light of the TV he’d set up a few days back. My favorite comfort movie paused on the screen. The blue and pink dresses of the princess and the pauper bring a smile to my face.
“Did you find my DVDs?” I find the courage to step around Ambrose, plopping myself down on a soft cushion next to Duggan, who’s been brought in and placed on a blanket I love.
My brother’s head shakes as I look up at him, and the sweet smile he gives me reminds me of the boy I once knew…
The boy, I felt so many things for that were never allowed.
“Subscriptions?”
He nods, sitting at my side on the sofa arm. A twirling finger asks me to turn around.
And when I fail to move, his lips spell out the words, You’re safe now, Dollie.
Bubbles jumps up behind me, reminding me of her feelings toward Ambrose.
So much love and trust. I follow her lead and twirl around, noticing a fresh hoodie on the other sofa arm, folded neatly with a frilly pair of yellow bed shorts and socks on top, along with my phone, which was wiped down and is being charged.
Turning, I notice Ambrose is no longer in the den, giving me the space to change clothes.
I leave my wet towels on the sofa before wondering how much it cost him and thinking it was probably at least a whole paycheck. I kick them to the floor and tuck my feet into the fluffy blanket as I pick up my phone.
More messages from Lucky are waiting for me. I read over the most recent before typing a quick reply.
Lucky:
Tell me you’re okay?
Dollancie:
Sorry that I didn’t reply sooner. I got hurt at the bar, and then when I got outside, I ran into my brother.
Lucky:
What happened?
Dollancie:
I got beaten up by some women who thought their boyfriends were looking at me. Like, I don’t have enough man drama. IYKYK.
Lucky:
Did they hurt you badly?
Dollancie:
One of them ripped out my hair, and I now have a bald spot on the side of my head. They ripped my favorite dress, too. And I’m covered in bruises all across my stomach and back.
Tomorrow, I will be aching.
Lucky:
God. I’m so sorry.
Dollancie:
It’s fine. I’m home now. I’m gonna call my friend since I have a few missed calls.
Lucky:
I’ll be here all night.
Dollancie:
Thank you.
Lucky:
For being a friend? Anytime.
A small smile pulls at my lips as the room darkens. Ambrose stands in the doorway, a steaming cup in hand.
“Is that what I think it is?”
I feel my eyes light up over what was once my drink of choice.
Ambrose sets the pink hot chocolate down. The frothy top is covered in sprinkles that look like unicorns—unicorns that will melt from the heat at any second—and mini marshmallows that I want to devour one by one.
“Are those expired?”
His hands move, and through sign language, he tells me they are new.
“Then thank you,” I speak with my hands and mouth, smiling when he does.
I don’t dwell in the moment.
Eager hands pick up the cup, and a warm feeling spreads inside me before I even take a sip.
He used my favorite cup.
Again, he asks me to turn, and this time, I don’t hesitate or follow Bubbles’ lead. I just do it.
Taking the brush from my side, he glides it over my hair, never touching me with his hands.
Still, the moment feels intimate.
I try to drown the feeling with another sip of hot chocolate.
Stretching my neck back, I catch him in a laugh, and he signals for me to lick my top lip and rid myself of the froth mustache.
Gentle movements keep the brush moving through my hair, soothing me. I push myself back a little, testing how brave I feel when I move closer to him.
Taking a seat on the edge of the sofa, he continues brushing, and I continue staring.
Clowns are meant to be scary.
The red paint should bring goosebumps to my arms.
But I feel warmth, comfort, and love.
A buzzing interrupts the moment, and a tingle dances along my leg. I pick up my phone, seeing, Your Besty Annabelle, on the screen below her smiley face as the video call comes in.
“Can I get it?”
Ambrose nods like he’s confused as to why I’d even ask.
“Dollie!” Annabelle doesn’t give me a chance to answer as I press the button and peel my eyes away from Ambrose and toward the video call. “Are you okay? I had a missed call. Nyx, too. Are you okay?”
She or Nyx don’t question what’s happening here in the low-lit room where Ambrose brushes my hair. They sit in their own low-lit room, her on his bed and him hanging over her shoulder.
“It’s fine now. I’m home. I needed a ride, and I’m sorry if I interrupted anything.”
“No, we just didn’t hear them ringing. You called before seven. Weren’t you meant to be at that stupid party thing? Why do you look so awful? Sorry.” Bright teeth come into view as she pulls a facial expression that reveals them all.
“Don’t feel bad about saying that. I feel awful.”
“Was it the party? Was it Shane? Did he give you that bruise?”
A noise echoes in my ear, Ambrose’s grip on the hairbrush tightening.
“I never made it there. Shane gave the taxi the wrong venue. I ran out of money and couldn’t get another ride. So, I ended up at Butterflies and made some enemies.”
Annabelle and Nyx share a knowing glance. “Everyone in Butterflies is an enemy. That place needs shutting down.”
“No guys tried anything, right?” Nyx asks, and I notice that him talking to me doesn’t seem to bother Ambrose the way the mention of Shane does.
“They hardly looked at me, and still, their floozies thought that warranted dragging me around by my hair.”
“Did you call the police?” Annabelle asks, shoving something I can’t make out into her mouth.
“No. I ran away like a fucking baby. But there were two of them, and they were relentless.”
“How did it end? Shane had better be groveling on his fucking knees for making you go through that. You didn’t even wanna go to that stupid party.”
“Actually, I haven’t heard from him for hours.”
“You’re kidding me, Dollie.”
“Nope.”
“So, how’d you get home?”
“Luck, I guess.”
“Lucky?”
“No, Ambrose,” I correct quickly, not wanting my brother to ask questions about that friendship. “He was driving by when I ran from the bar. I don’t know what he did, but he managed to get an apology out of one of them.”
“You go, big bro! Back to your protector role.”
Ambrose does something behind me, and in the tiny corner of the screen where our recording is, it looks like he mouths the word, Always .
“Good. You know, Dollie, I was gonna stay here tonight, but I can come over.”
“I’m fine, Annabelle, really. I’m just glad to be home. I can live without you until tomorrow.”
“Okay. But I’ll keep my phone on loud, even through round two. You come first.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, Nyx. I won’t interrupt again tonight.”
“It’s fine. You can call anytime.”
“Thank you. But I’m at home, and as scary as it was, I’m safe now. Good night to you both.”
“Yeah, and to you both.” Annabelle smiles. “Keep an eye on my girl.” She does that thing people do, moving two fingers from her eyes to Ambrose, then back to her eyes.
Nyx simply waves, and I catch Ambrose doing the same as he sets down my brush. The similar mannerisms remind me of a time when they were friends—just two eight-year-olds, running around this town and racking up my mother’s anxiety.
As I hang up, I wonder to myself, does Ambrose ever get lonely?
And I almost ask him to stay and watch a Barbie princess trade places with a pauper, but when I turn around, silent steps have already taken him away.