52. Ambrose—present day #2
The empty conversation sits on my screen when she hands my phone back. A wave of fear rushes through me, thinking that she’s deleted Dollie from my phone. Then I notice the name up top.
Annabelle.
I click out of this empty conversation and back into the one below it. Dollie’s message has been answered with a simple yes.
Rolling my eyes, I return to Annabelle’s chat draft and send my first message.
Ambrose:
I get how it looks, but I never hurt her as Lucky.
I just wanted to talk to her.
“Oh, you did hurt her.” Annabelle leans in. Our faces are so close at the bar, it looks like we’re sharing secrets, and in a way, we are.
My phone’s bright screen makes the shiny stuff on her cheeks and those blinding teeth shine a little more.
“She liked you. She really liked you. She even sexted you. You’re sweet, innocent, doesn’t-even-look-at-a-guy-who-isn’t-that-loser-Shane, little sister sexted you, Ambrose! That is definitely hurtful for her!”
A quick glance around to see if any locals will have a new reason to talk tomorrow leaves me relieved. No one looks this way.
Thank fuck.
“God, I don’t know which of you is more fucking stupid. Her, for not realizing it was you, or you, for thinking this is okay. I mean, do you hate her that much?”
I type quickly to catch up with Annabelle.
Ambrose:
I don’t hate her at all. I know that if she knew it was me, things would have played out differently, but she doesn’t.
“So, you took advantage of that.”
Ambrose:
I crossed some lines.
“Oh, you don’t say. What were you thinking? She is gonna fucking flip. Do you realize what this could do to her? The setback this could have. I mean, why would you even talk that way to your sister?”
Ambrose:
Because she isn’t just my sister, Annabelle.
And I wouldn’t have done it if I weren’t desperate to talk to her.
Annabelle’s head shakes from side to side, frustration evident as she sinks onto a barstool. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Do I do it?
Do I admit the truth or tell another lie to someone who doesn’t deserve it?
I’m so good at the latter, but I don’t want to lie to Annabelle, whose wide eyes stare at me from behind those driving glasses still on her nose.
The voice comes in again, admit how you feel, or that lump will end Dollie’s life.
Decision made.
Truth.
Ambrose:
I love her, and I don’t know how to live out here, where living isn’t forced, without her.
My mind coos and praises for the admission. Then torments me again. Two more, or Dollie dies.
Ambrose:
I got through prison, thinking she’d be waiting for me, and she wasn’t there. Then I saw her again, and I just needed a way to talk to her.
I love her too much not to have her in my life.
Falling silent, Annabelle’s rapidly blinking eyes take in my turmoil as she stares up from her phone. “Yeah, but you love her like a brother. Because you’re her brother. Brothers love their sisters. But to pretend to feel more. Like, what she felt for you all those years?—”
Sealing her lips shut, Annabelle refuses to say more, changing the subject.
What?
What did she feel?
My fingers shake as I type a reply.
Ambrose:
Finish that sentence.
“I’ve already said too much. Just come clean, because I can’t keep this kind of secret from her.”
Ambrose:
Because you’ve never kept our secrets before?
“Meaning?”
Ambrose:
IYKYK. And I think you know.
“You know what I think? Not what I know, but what I think. Losing you, hurt more than anything, and I think this—you, pretending to be a man who is interested in her—will be too much. God, she can’t even remember the night her parents died because that’s what took you from her.”
Ambrose:
She lost me before that night.
“She wanted you back, and you know that.”
Ambrose:
Then why was she with him? Why is she still hanging around him when I am back?
“Maybe because she doesn’t wanna lose anything else! I mean, he doesn’t exactly have much to offer, does he? He just tells her what she wants to hear, reels her in, and then his drama starts again.”
Things had been shared in confidence when I’d listened in on conversations between Dollie and Annabelle. Shane had never hit Dollie before that night, but he was still an aggressive asshole who used fear tactics to control her.
“Don’t be like him. Don’t lie to her face.”
I’m typing before she finishes her sentence.
Ambrose:
I can’t tell her I’m Lucky.
Please, don’t you do it, either.
I could lose her forever.
I can’t, Annabelle. I can’t lose her.
I can’t risk it.
The painful idea of losing Dollie permanently comes back, taunting me because I never admitted my love three times. My head drops back, and the purple glow is horrible on my eyes. I’ll blame that for the glassy look I’m sure they have if Annabelle brings it up.
She doesn’t.
“I don’t know what you expect me to say? God, how did she not recognize you! She saw you here. What the fuck was that? Some kind of Clark Kent move? She literally saw you, with another woman, I’ll add. So, if you love her so much, who was that?”
Ambrose:
That was my boss. It wasn’t what she thought. And I was wearing a mask. I know it was a crazy thing to do, but I just missed her.
“You could have shut it down when the sexting happened, or you could have pushed her away when she tried to kiss you.”
Ambrose:
I didn’t want to. You’re not listening to me.
I didn’t expect things to go that far, but when they did, I couldn’t stop myself.
I let her kiss me because I wanted her to kiss me.
I’ve wanted her in ways I shouldn’t for longer than I can remember.
I love her more than anything, and it makes me physically sick.
She’s the only reason I’m still alive. I don’t love her like a sister. She’s my reason for being. There is no life without her for me.
“She’s your sister.”
Ambrose:
I know. I know it’s wrong.
It was easier when I felt nothing for her. There was even a time when we were small and new to being a family, when Mom told me that I’d love her someday. Well, I guess Mom cursed me because I love her, my little sister so much more than I was ever meant to.
As I type the words, I realize the truth behind them. There’s nothing much else to say, and Annabelle and her silence feel the same way.
It’s close to twelve thirty. Annabelle left about three hours ago, which was an hour after she arrived. She still wasn’t sure how to feel about what I’d said, and I’d been on pins and needles ever since.
Has she told Dollie?
Will she?
Is Dollie okay?
Does she hate me?
Those thoughts exhaust me, and the dark patches below my eyes make me crave my bed.
I stand from a lonely corner of the bar where I’ve been sitting for the last twenty minutes, carving up my arm with a glass I’d accidentally smashed.
The urge was too strong to fight. Between the stress of last night, this morning, and tonight, it just got to be too much for me.
Blood drips onto the jeans I wear for work, adding to the look that works so well here.
I toss the broken glass into a trash can under the bar and leave it for someone else to take care of tomorrow.
With three new scars, I clock out and shut off all the lights. The purple fades to black as I close the door and lock up.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I worry it’s an accusation from Dollie. The distraction I got from cutting is already fading away.
I take a breath, then swallow, my dry throat bobbing. It makes me feel the need to drink, and I look back, contemplating just the one shot of poison before I make my way home.
Before doing that, I glance down and see Annabelle’s name on my screen. Relief comes over me instantly. I click her little icon, leading me to her first message, joining my list.
Annabelle:
Do you really love her? Like, really love her?
Too damn much.
Ambrose:
I’d give up my life for her.
Dead still, the darkness around me brings some kind of serenity as I wait in the cold, thankful for my hoodie that’s now clinging to my chest as it puffs out with anxiety. One sleeve is rolled up to the elbow, letting my blood spill on the gravel below.
Annabelle:
I know you would.
Okay, I’m in. Operation brother to boyfriend is a go.
My fingers itch, tips on the screen, ready to tell Annabelle that I can never make that switch. I let them drop because I have no idea what Dollie and I can ever be if we evolve into something more than siblings.
Annabelle:
Shane doesn’t make her happy, and he’s already made her sad tonight.
So, how do we get him out of her life?
My fingers fly back onto the screen, typing the fastest message I’ve ever written.
Ambrose:
What did he do to her?
My anger warms me, hot blood pumping faster, bleeding faster down around my wrist as it pours from my forearm.
Annabelle’s agonizingly slow fingers type something.
She takes too long.
I rush to my car, needing to be home as soon as possible.
Slumping in my seat, there’s another message staring up at me from my lap as I force my car key into the ignition.
Annabelle:
Physically nothing. But like I said earlier, he made her go upstairs, and she doesn’t like being upstairs. Her bedroom is gutted. Things she loved have been bagged, ready to be tossed. Her bedsheets changed.
They’re staying up there tonight.
You know how this will be for her. The whole staying upstairs isn’t going to be easy for her, but having to throw away her things after rediscovering them? She won’t like that.
I let my eyes roll shut, feeling Dollie’s pain more than my own. Pulling my sleeve down, my blood darkens the already black fabric.
Her sad face fills my mind, tears on both cheeks, and a flush that matches her pretty hair.
The way Dollie feels about her things isn’t like most people. It’s more extreme. She’s bonded with them and loves each possession. The idea of her having to destroy or part with them permanently hurts her, as if these inanimate objects have feelings.
Ambrose:
I’ll check on her when I’m in.
The best part about her sleeping upstairs is that I’ll be close enough to hear anything that happens in her room.
Ambrose:
They can’t be together.
Annabelle:
We need to get rid of him.
Not in a killer way.
In a regular, we want her to move on and be happy kinda way.