80. Ambrose—present day
Ambrose—present day
S ix hours to go until I see Dollie.
And it’s been close to fucking forty-two that I’ve sat in this bed fuming.
Plastering on a calm persona while dealing with three separate psychologists has been.
.. difficult. The bed literally vibrates when I think of Shane and the shit he’s gotten away with.
And that happens every time my thoughts wander back to Dollie, which is constantly the case.
I keep my lips tight and nod along as the doc tells me he’s taking another bathroom break.
When I got brought in here and met with the familiar face of my regular psychologist, I explained that I could use words now and explained why. As always, there was no judgment from Emma Harrison. Not even when I mentioned being in love with my sister.
But today, the words are gone again. I’d lied, telling them it was due to strain on my throat.
But the truth was, I woke up this morning after the worst dream—a memory, actually.
The same haunting kind that Dollie had a few days ago.
Mine wasn’t centered around my parents. It was me in my room with Dollie and my stupidity.
We were in the dark. She hates the dark.
How could I not have known something was wrong?
The urge to cause pain has vibrated each of my limbs since my eyes peeled back this morning.
I pull my phone out, tuck it under my pillow, and send another message to Dollie.
Lucky:
6 hours to go.
My anxiety peaks as the low battery glows red from the corner of my screen. That measly fifteen percent isn’t gonna make it six hours.
I place the phone down on my stomach, waiting for the doctor to return so I can see if he has a charger I can borrow—because I’m done hiding this thing—or for Dollie to reply, whichever comes first.
My phone buzzes.
A rush of excitement would no doubt be present if I just fucking relax a little and rid my head of thoughts of strangling Shane.
Any chance of excitement fades to nothing when I see the name Annabelle.
Annabelle:
Hey! Just thought I’d check in while on a quick break, as I’m at work until six. Let me know how you’re doing when you can.
Ambrose:
Have you spoken to Dollie?
Annabelle:
This morning. She’s okay. Chill. Those doctors see your blood pressure rising, and you’ll be there for another day.
Like fuck I will.
My phone flashes, the battery is somehow already on the five percent countdown to death.
The door opens, my mouth too, finally giving in and ready to resort to words because I expect to see the chipper young psych doctor, who doesn’t take his job too seriously.
But instead, I see Dr. Harrison leading in the doctor in a white coat, who has been monitoring my improvement.
“Your sister is outside.” He smiles tightly.
“Dollie is here?” The words scrape at my throat.
This talking, not talking, talking again shit is really playing havoc with my body.
“She’s brought you some clothes so you can leave this evening.”
“Isn’t she a little early?”
“She had an appointment of her own that got moved up. So, she’s gonna come back here and wait for you after that.” Doctor Harrison wearily eyes me as my spine straightens.
“Her appointment got moved up? Is she here by herself?”
“She is.”
“I need to be with her. It’s an important appointment, regarding some kind of lump, and she shouldn’t be alone. I was meant to take her. It was supposed to be on the seventh.”
“She said something about a cancellation,” Dr. Harrison begins. “Anyway, I am okay for you to leave, on the condition that you make up our lost hours over the next week.”
“I can go? Now?”
“Once we run through some stuff.” Smiles the doctor in white. “Your stats are good. The evaluation team is happy and believes this will be a one-off incident.”
He eyes me, glasses sliding down his nose. A finger pushes them back up, pressing into bushy red eyebrows.
I wait for comments on my other scars, but I think it’s safe to assume that the team mentioned my self-inflicted injuries when none come.
“Just a little paperwork, and you’re good to go.”
Dollie isn’t outside my room as I exit.
She’s already in another ward. My head snaps from side to side, hoping to spot pink hair and a hoodie in the crowd of people.
I don’t see my girl.
I check my phone from the pocket of the beige hoodie she selected. It’s dead.
Fuck.
“If I were getting a lump looked at, I’d probably be in radiology.
” Dr. Harrison steps out of the room that I’ve lived in since arriving here and into the waiting room with more belongings than I have, placed under her arms. “It’s on the floor above.
And might be worth a look. I’ll see you tomorrow. ”
I nod, taking off toward the elevator and stairs. I choose the latter, letting my long legs take them three at a time. Limping badly by the time I get to the top, I ignore it, as I’m used to limping. I don’t let it slow my pace.
Yanking open the door, I find myself in a new ward, this one identical to the last and all the others I remember here.
Memories claw at me, each one a painful cut into my past.
All I see are bright lights and doctors ahead, moving slowly from one room to another.
It’s so different from the quiet of the recovery room in the emergency department.
All I hear in my head are unfamiliar voices who talk of sexual assault and the infections I needed testing for.
It’s been almost nineteen years since I last walked around this hospital, and yet I remember it all like it happened earlier this week. I push away memories that are better left in the past, and I focus on finding Dollie.
Today is about her, after all.
Heat fills my body, and at the same time, a cold sweat cloaks my skin. I put one foot in front of the other, searching each room. I pass by one painted lilac, then another painted blue.
No sign of my girl.
The worry I feel becomes hard to swallow down, the heavy feeling staying lodged in my throat. Sweat drips over my brow.
Glancing to my right, I steal a glance at pink hair and worry.
It slows every part of me, seeing her with her eyes pointed to the ground.
A long sleeve of a baggy hoodie falls off her dainty shoulder, and her fingers move in her lap, feeling over the tie that wraps around the neck of a very special antelope.
A new pair of sneakers that she must have found in my closet takes me toward her. I don’t even care that they rub close to my heel.
“Hey, unicorn.” I slink into the seat at her side, wrapping an arm around her.
“Oh, my god. You’re really here, right?”
“I am.” There’s no point in me telling her that she can see me, feel me, because that’s the case for all the things that only appear to her: the spiders, the shadows, the clowns.
“How? You didn’t run out, right?”
“I would have. If begging had failed.”
“You begged?”
“I would have, if asking nicely had failed.”
Her small fingers dig into my side as she grips me tighter, Duggan and his moral support squashed between us.
“You shouldn’t have had to be here alone.”
“Annabelle had to work. Nyx dropped me off, but I didn’t really wanna ask him to come in and wait with me while I panic over a breast lump.”
“A breast lump?” I barely voice the words, my throat drying. I stop there. My hand comforts her when words fail me.
“There’s a chance I’ll be okay, right? Or maybe this is karma.”
“No,” I manage, and press a kiss into her hair. “You’ll be fine.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely. Birthday wish privileges.”
“Your birthday was yesterday, and you don’t have a candle.”
“I don’t need a candle. I’m praying to the Goddesses.”
“You trying to comfort me with witchy stuff?”
“Is it working?” I ask, looking down at the big blue eyes staring at me.
“A little. Before you got here, I kinda wanted to run. I feel really overwhelmed, like everything is too loud, like the seat is touching me wrong. I feel like pushing it over and stomping on it. ‘Dollie dramatics,’ as Mom would say.”
“Mom and Dad just didn’t know how to deal with you.”
“You mean when I had tantrums that would swallow up the space.”
“Meltdowns, because your senses work a little overtime. That’s okay. There are ways to handle it.”
“Do you remember the time she took us to the supermarket around Valentine’s Day?”
“And the cashier asked if those stuffed animals?—”
“That I insisted on having?—”
“Were for your boyfriend. Yeah, I remember.”
“Do you remember me throwing them at her and screaming?”
“I remember how red Mom’s cheeks turned, and all fifty of the apologies she started blabbing out.” The shame was so extreme that it overpowered her blush.
“I guess there was always something wrong with me. Similar things to that happened before we were taken.”
“You process things differently. Maybe you’re neurodivergent, like me.”
“You don’t act like that.”
“It’s a big spectrum, and you’ve kept things in line today.”
“Yeah, I feel like I’m pretending to be normal while worrying my ass off.”
“It’ll be fine. How about we do something later? Keep you occupied for a little while.”
“Do you feel well enough?”
“I feel fine.”
Dollie and I move in harmony, our bodies expressing our discomfort on these blue plastic chairs that creak under our weight.
“What time is your appointment?”
“Twelve thirty.”
The round clock on the wall shows that Dollie’s doctor is running behind by ten minutes.
The big hand ticking around doesn’t seem to bother anyone but Dollie, whose fingers stretch out in time with each second.
I pull her in a little closer, placing another kiss in her hair.
The eyes of two old ladies burn into me as I place my hand on Dollie’s leg, just above the knee. Her hand closes around mine and lifts, and for a split second, it feels like she’s removing my touch, and it amplifies every fear I have.
I don’t hear those old ladies whispering to each other. All I hear is my own brain.
If you don’t keep touching her, that lump will be cancer.
Fuck off, brain.
Before I can finish that thought, Dollie raises my hand to her mouth, and her soft lips press to me without leaving any kisses.
“I’m a little nervous still,” she whispers against my skin.
“Me, too. You’ll be okay, though, you have to be.”
She nods, but the expression weighs down her features.
“Yeah,” one old lady answers something the other said. “They’re definitely those siblings. The boy is the one who killed their parents because they caught them sleeping together, but I bet she knew his plans.”
She tucks her blue-rinsed perm behind her ears, revealing fake pearl earrings. Her friend’s mouth moves, and I focus on the lines around her coral lipstick.
“Maybe. They are so close, it’s hard to think of a different alternative.”
“How do you deal with this daily?” Dollie wonders aloud. “People whispering, all the cruel rumors and taunts.”
My hand moves over her arm, up and down. Scars snag on the material of her dress.
“It’s not easy being hated by everyone, but actions have consequences.”
“Mine.”
“No. Mine.” I swallow. “It doesn’t matter what this town thinks of me anyway.”
“No, it doesn’t. And I love you enough to make up for everyone else.” Small fingers trace my scars, helping me feel all her love. All her acceptance. My heart races with it.
“I know. I know how you feel. We’re still whole together.” My throat bobs as I swallow, relieving the dryness. “Always.” I manage one more word. I attempt more, with the encouragement of her thumb on my lips and not a care in the world.
But before I can add anything to this conversation, the opposite door creaks open, revealing a woman in scrubs.
“Dollancie La’Darragh.”
Dollie sits forward, her hand in mine. “Can he come in, too?”
“We don’t allow relatives in the room, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I take her hand to my mouth and place a kiss there. “I’ll be right here. Take Duggan.”
Accepting the little antelope from my hands, she leaves me sitting amongst the spreading whispers. All of them are a blur to me, as I can only hear the noise in my own head.
Two more kisses, or Dollie dies from this.
“Dollie,” I call out.
She turns in the doorway to the exam room.
And I blow those two kisses… just in case.