53. Dollie—present day
Dollie—present day
A trembling hand releases the catch on the downstairs bathroom door, and I close it behind me once Bubbles creeps in.
Nothing has happened to cause upset. It was just a clearing out.
Shane says it’s a good way to let go of the past. He doesn’t understand my attachment to all my things.
That’s why I kept my tears in until I hid myself away down here.
He’s still upstairs, dressing the bed in the new sheets I bought earlier with money he’d loaned me.
I’m officially out of money now.
And despite his pep talks, I’m also upset.
I’m hurt because I never protested to keep my stuff when that’s what I wanted to do.
Fear had kept me quiet.
He’s hurt me once…and there’s a niggling feeling that if I upset him, it could happen again.
It’s better to keep the peace.
Now, if only I could find peace.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood tall all the way across the landing hallway and are still on alert now.
I keep my palms flat to the wood for a moment. It’s a failed attempt at centering myself.
Heated steam from the recently used shower behind me kisses up the backs of my legs, and I spin around quickly.
Ambrose, who I had no idea was home, stands with a pink bath towel hanging low on his hips. Bubbles and her scratching paws almost pull it down. That’s why my eyes sink down his body, over lean muscles and new scratches.
It’s not his perfectly toned V I know I shouldn’t look at, with my mouth gaping open.
With a look of pure love, he takes in Bubbles’ perfect continental cut.
Shane honored his word, and she got her haircut this morning.
Maybe he’s right.
He always said I should be more thankful for the things he does to help.
He fades from my thoughts as I blink in Ambrose and our dog. With lots of ear scratches and face smooches, it’s clear he thinks she looks beautiful.
An excited tail wags back and forth with the fresh mud she’s just rolled through after having her late-night bathroom break.
Ambrose doesn’t shy away from it.
Despite the makeup, there’s an innocence to him right now as longer strands of hair fall into eyes that glance my way. I let my eyes enjoy the view until my brain catches up, then I spin back around in a whirl of pink hair, realizing what I’m doing.
Looking for comfort in the wrong place. A place I can never take it from.
I fight it, and it gets harder to do as heat rises around me, as Ambrose moves closer.
My cheeks flush, and I dip my eyes, shielding them with my fingers, even though I’m not facing him.
Visibly, I’m shaking, smacking myself on my head every other second.
Slow enough to calm my racing heart, his hand closes around mine and lowers my hands to my side.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here. I didn’t know you were home or that you use this bathroom.”
His shadow moves on the door before my eyes, and I watch each dark movement that matches the thoughts swirling in my head.
I love us this close. It feels right.
I miss him so much.
I close my eyes to escape those thoughts,forcing images of happier times.
Only one image lingers, Ambrose here in the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel, with the dog who loves him.
Comfort envelopes me when he doesn’t release my hand, long and gentle fingers wrap around my much smaller ones.
I shiver, expectant of fear running through me for having him so close, for having him touch me while there are so few clothes between us.
It never comes.
Shock guides my eyes to our joined hands, and I can’t deny noticing how he encapsulates me, and I can’t ignore how it makes me feel.
Safe.
I feel totally safe for the first time in weeks, months, maybe years.
I lean back into him.
And something about the safety I feel right now, the warmth in his touch, gives me the confidence to voice words I thought would forever stay trapped inside me.
“I hate that there’s been a weird distance between us, and not having you when I need someone to depend on. I wish we could go back in time.”
Stretching an arm above my head, I dare to caress his face. Chalky white paint smudges on my fingers as I look at my hand. Why has he painted himself up for bed? Why does he never just look like the boy I remember, who’s grown up to be the man I’d too often imagined?
My stomach flips thinking of him that way. Butterflies dance in my chest, creating flutters around my heart.
We touch again, my palm to his cheek, and he leans into me, too.
Breaking our hands apart, I turn until I’m breathing in the scent of fresh soap.
Bubbles stays behind him, bottom planted to the ground, not encroaching this moment where two hearts beat as one, racing together, tapping each other’s bodies with each breath.
The fullness of his lips catch my attention as they move, saying, Tell me why you’re upset.
Words fail me.
And in nothing but a baggy cami and a pair of high-waisted underwear, I nuzzle into his chest. Old memories and the scars left behind greet me as his chest rises and falls a little faster.
For a second, it feels like he won’t touch me more than he already has, and right in this second, I think I’ll die because of it.
But I’m wrong.
Fingers fan out across my spine, pulling me closer until my whole body is flush against his wet skin.
I focus on the droplet of water rushing from his shoulder to the tiles under my feet, and I wonder if it’ll get there before my falling tears.
“Shane is staying over tonight.”
Muscles tense beneath my touch, knocking a sense of guilt closer to my soul.
The bond between Ambrose and me is still here. I know my words hurt him. I know another man being close to me hurts him. The very first tear that shone in his eyes when he met Shane, flashes in my mind.
The guilt turns me in on myself. I should never have dated Shane just because Mom thought he was a nice guy. But I did, and I told him only this morning that we could see how things go. So, I shouldn’t be in here with Ambrose.
Ambrose, whose hand moves again, fingers brushing parts of me that the cami doesn’t cover. I guide him away, too aware of how close he is to my bag for life.
But goosebumps still rise on my arms.
Two fingers tip my chin up, and I steel myself to the fact that my pain transmits to Ambrose without me saying anything.
His lips move again, If you don’t want him here, he can leave, and you can have a peaceful night.
There’s hope in his eyes, but it’s overpowered by sadness when I shake my head.
There’s a desperation inside him, yearning to see me smile now that his words failed to do it. Lifting my lips with two fingers, he has me mirroring his permanent expression, and he smiles back.
He’s so handsome under the pain and bad memories thatI yearn to see his naked face.
Old needs, wants, and desires remind me of all my teenage dreams, and that’s why my smile falters on my face as soon as he removes his hand.
I clutch him that bit tighter, my pink gelled nails digging into his golden skin, and now, wet and cold and still trembling against him, I almost beg, “Will you stay in here for a minute? Just one minute, where it’s just us in a closed-off room, away from the world. Just like old times.”
One minute where I can pretend you’re still mine. One minute where we won’t be judged for misunderstood feelings, and I’ll be safe forever.
The minute is no more than mere seconds.
I jump in Ambrose’s hold to the sound of Shane’s voice and him pounding on the door.
“Dollancie, are you in there? Can I come in?”
“Don’t come in!” I snap, fear in my voice that brings out a challenge in Ambrose’s eyes.
“I’m changing my...you know.” The bag for life that Ambrose knows nothing about.
“Right. I thought you took the dog in there?”
“I did. She rarely leaves my side.”
“Okay. Come into the den. We’ll watch a movie before bed if you want.”
“Okay.” I nod, tears running down my jaw.
That was too close.
I push back from Ambrose, but his grip tightens around me.
Don’t go , he mouths, and it’s almost painful for me to see such a plea up close.
“I have to go. I have to.”
The world will never understand what we are, and we need normality.
Another question, no doubt, Why ? is kept inside as his lips purse.
Reluctantly, after a moment passes, his hands drop to his side, and he nods. His lips stay tight as he steps back.The look on his face makes him look like our father, if not for their different skin tones.
Tracing scars with my eyes before my fingers, I let myself dream of the person below them for just a minute.
My fingers slink down his arms, over fresh gashes that disrupt his skin.
He jumps when I touch them. I don’t get the impression they hurt, but his body stiffens, and it makes me feel like he’s scared I’ll turn his arms over and see something worse.
I don’t, I lower them to his side. Keeping his hand in mine, I give a squeeze.
“No more hurting yourself.”
His full lips part again, but my finger stops them from moving, from distracting me from leaving. “Thank you for our minute.”
Stepping away from me, he writes a note on the steamed-up mirror.
Just so you know, I’d stay forever.
Turning away from that message and reaching for the door feels impossible.
My heavy legs protest moving, and my heart begs me to stay.
But sense wins me over.
I wipe my eyes, pushing back the new tears clawing to get out, and reach for the handle.
Pulling open the door, I see Shane waiting on the other side, a questioning look on his face as he looks over my shoulder.
“I thought I heard you talking to someone?”
My heart drops, no doubt my facial expression goes with it.
I spin around, finding only Bubbles in the room, pawing at the tiles on the walls, and whining.
I squint, trying to decipher what on earth just happened and where Ambrose could have disappeared to, but still, I give Shane an answer laced with lies.
“I was. Bubbles. I was talking to Bubbles.”