68. Dollie—present day
Dollie—present day
“ T alk to me, Dollie.”
What is there to say? That I have hardly spoken for two days? That Ambrose was afraid to leave me alone today because he practically had to force-feed me yesterday? That I couldn’t even pull myself from the sofa to feed the dog I love so much? And why?
Because I killed my parents, and the reality of that is just now sinking in. Even if they did a bad thing—which they did—it doesn’t change that I did something awful, too.
And the person I love most has suffered through years of abuse and a prison sentence where he was cooped up with our childhood nightmare in the flesh because of it.
Because of me.
“What happened the other night?” Annabelle asks, stuffing black frosting into her mouth from a piping bag I’m no longer using. “Your brother said you’ve been having a hard time.”
She sits at the kitchen table, waiting for an answer.
“Did he tell you why?” These are the first words I’ve spoken to her since her arrival an hour ago. Until now, it’s been all false smiles and head nods.
There’s a delay before she answers, like she’s coming up with something believable in her head. “I know no gory details.”
God, did she have to use such a term?
“I just saw him in town this morning. We passed by each other in our cars, and he said you were having a rough day.”
“You stopped in the middle of the road to have a conversation about me?”
“Okay, fine. That was a lie. He texted me and told me he was worried.” Annabelle scoops cake mix from my giant mixing bowl with her fingers.
“What makes you think anything happened?” I ask, twirling a mixing spoon in my hand.
“Well, other than him telling me you won’t eat, sleep, or leave the sofa?”
“I’m off the sofa.”
“Yeah, well, one of three is not ideal. And if it wasn’t Ambrose’s birthday in the next few days, I know you’d still be in there, neglecting the dog.”
Bubbles makes a noise at Annabelle’s side, and it almost sounds like agreement.
“I haven’t neglected Bubbles. Ambrose fed her before he left. She still has food in her bowl, and the door is open.” I point over my shoulder. “She can go out to pee.”
“But you’re not right.” I look across to her, both of us on different sides of the table. “Is it Shane?”
“No, I haven’t seen him.”
“Is that what’s upsetting you?”
“No. He’s texted non-stop.”
“But he’s not here? He didn’t come to see you while you were ill?”
“He decided to stay with one of his work friends. He didn’t want to catch it.”
“Oh, is that what they say these days?”
“Annabelle, don’t waste your energy on trying to put me off him because I don’t even care anymore.”
“About him? Did you finally wake up and smell the cake batter? You need to. You could do better.”
I could.
But I don’t deserve better.
I deserve every slap and painful sneer for what I did.
My eyes land on Annabelle, ready to tell her all that, but something behind her—the image of my mother, who has lingered in the kitchen all morning as I baked—catches my eye.
I take a deep breath and mouth the words, I’m sorry, Mom.
Something inside me still urges me to tell Annabelle a different truth, and the words fall out of my mouth. “I kissed Ambrose.”
I don’t clock Annabelle’s reaction, keeping my eyes solely on my mother and the disappointment on her face until Annabelle drops the bowl, and her mouth hangs open. A weird sound comes out, but no words. It’s exaggerated. It’s not like Annabelle.
“Ambrose, Ambrose?”
“Do you know another Ambrose?” I toss my mixing spoon into the bowl and watch it swirl.
“No, but he’s kinda your brother.”
“It’s not as gross as it sounds. We don’t share blood.” My mother disagrees, shaking her head sternly. It’s totally disgusting to her.
“God, I need you to leave.” I run my hands through my hair and don’t care that frosting will mat it later.
“Gee, I haven’t been here all that long.”
“Not you,” I tell Annabelle as I head for the refrigerator and my stack of herbs.
After lighting the sage at the stove, I see Annabelle looking around, searching for who I’m trying to get rid of.
“I don’t need the judgment right now. For the other thing, yes. Not this. So, if you’re only mad about this, please, go and be at peace.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“My mother.” I don’t even care that I sound crazy.
Annabelle knew of my other friends growing up, the ones that normal people couldn’t see. She also knows of my struggles in this house and with every energy that’s attached to it.
“How did it happen?”
“One thing just led to another. The storm put us in the dark.” I shrug. “I got scared because of the dark, and he held me through it, and I just—I don’t know.”
I don’t know why I’m voicing all these things that should shame me, because Annabelle’s wide-eyed look isn’t one of surprise.
It’s excitement.
“I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. I feel like you already know. Did he tell you?”
“Not this.”
“So, what did he tell you?”
Annabelle forces more frosting beyond her lips. “My mouth is full.”
“When does that ever stop you from talking?”
“Okay. I know some stuff, but that’s on him to tell you,” she adds more frosting to the space between her lips and proves my point. “Has he told you everything?”
“Like what?”
“Like, your little crush is reciprocated, and how I found out about it?”
“No, obviously. I didn’t know until now that you knew.” I pull out a seat, and it grinds across the floor and all over my nerves. I keep my sprig in hand, extended over the table toward my mother, who stares down at the first layer of my cake. “I’m making him a birthday cake.”
I feel Mom’s eyes on me, but mine stay on her throat, the gash angry and bleeding, caused by me.
“I feel terrible.”
A sad smile appears on Mom’s face, and her hands direct me there when she hides her throat.
Annabelle twists in her seat. “Momma bear still here?”
“I don’t get it. How do you or Ambrose not see them, yet Shane can?”
“What?” Annabelle’s wide eyes fly to me. “Shane doesn’t see this, any of it.” She flaps her arms like some wild goose. “If he says he does, he’s lying.”
“Why would he lie?” Before she can answer, realization hits. For control. Because it would bring him close to me. “Oh, because it comes naturally to him. He lied about Ambrose, too, you know? He sent that letter.”
“The letter? The reason you feared Ambrose?”
My head nods.
“Dollie, it really is time to fuck Shane off. He is not good for you. These kinds of lies prove how controlling he is. He is dangerous. You are sleeping with the enemy.”
“He isn’t good for me, but many would say neither is sleeping with my brother.”
“Well, you didn’t have sex. It was just a kiss, right?” The next words come out through gritted teeth. “For now.”
“We didn’t have sex.”
“But you would, though, right?”
My eyes move around the room. There is no sign of my mother right now, whom I’m hunting down before I say anything that would have definitely gotten me grounded ten years ago.
“We did other stuff. I shouldn’t have kissed him. He shouldn’t have kissed me, but then one thing led to another, and our hands were in each other’s clothes.”
“Just in the clothes? Or inside?—”
“Annabelle!”
“That’s not a no.”
“We’re best friends, we shouldn’t lie to each other.”
“Okay then, bestie, give me the scoop.”
“You’ve had enough scoops.” I eye the frosting on her lips, and feeling my eyes there, she licks them clean.
“So, it was bad?”
“No. It was amazing—he was amazing. And things were great, and I didn’t care about what people thought, and it didn’t feel like he did either. It was just us in that moment, and it was perfect.”
I shift from the cake quickly to cough, my chest still feeling kind of raw. Standing, I run the sage under some water before placing it in the trash and returning to my seat.
“And then?”
“And then I fell asleep in his arms, and the second he left, to be sick, which he does when he kisses me, I had the worst nightmare.”
“Oh, there’s been kisses before?”
“Oh, shush. Let me tell you about the dream first.”
“Okay. What happened in the dream?”
“I killed my parents. That night. I killed my parents.” Cold tears fall down my cheeks again. “And Ambrose took the blame.”
Annabelle’s silence speaks volumes.
“But you already knew that story, didn’t you? You knew I did it, and that’s why we drifted away from each other.”
“No, we drifted because Shane didn’t like you having friends over at his house.”
“So, it wasn’t because I’m a murderer?”
“Dollie, it was a dream.”
“But you suspected?”
“Okay. In truth, I did. The blood on the walls, saying ‘You fucking clowns’. When you kept seeing clowns everywhere, it made me wonder.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“Because you’re my friend.”
“I’m a monster.”
“No, you’re not.” She shakes her head to emphasize her point.
“How can you say that?”
“The same way I said it when we agreed that Ambrose had a psychotic break, because regardless of which of you it was, that’s what it was.
” Her hands cup mine across the table, our arms in the flour covering the wood.
“I can see you loved your mother. I remember how you were always Daddy’s little girl.
Dollie, you are not a monster. Without a dissociation, you’d have never ever hurt them. ”
“I thought they were clowns. I just saw clowns.”
Footsteps sound in the next room, and I freeze when I see a blurred clown standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.
I fall backward out of my seat, breaking the connection with Annabelle.
“Annabelle,” I stutter out, my eyes not moving from the creep with paint on his face and clothes.
“It’s okay, Dollie. It’s okay. It’s just Nyx. It’s just Nyx.” Annabelle rushes to me, her hands rubbing my shoulders and down my arms.
“I’m sorry,” Nyx apologizes for nothing, stepping into the room. “Your brother said it was okay to come straight in. He asked if I had some time to paint the house. Is that okay?”
“It’s fine,” Annabelle answers for me, moving my cake into a box I had set out already. “We’re gonna pause our cake making and go out for a little while. I think it’ll help Dollie find some peace today. Do you need anything?”
“I’m good.” Nyx’s smile lifts his cheeks, and happiness appears in the form of a blush when Annabelle places a kiss on one of them.
I wish I could feel like him.
Happy.
Even thoughts of Ambrose’s hands on me can’t do it today.
“Leash the dog. We’ll take her with us.” Annabelle points to the hook where Bubbles’ coat and leash wait. “Getting out of this place will make you feel better.”
God, I hope so.