Chapter 5
Chapter Five
DOTTIE
W e sit at a tapas bar just out of town, laughing and sipping sake as the chef chops the food and flings it at us. I narrowly miss egg in my hair and manage to land a piece in my mouth as well.
We fall into a fit of laughter when he grins at us and moves onto the next patrons. When our laughter dies down, we lean back in our seats and sit silently for a moment.
I see Arrie looking over to the corner of the restaurant with glassy eyes. There sits Adam with another female. He looks anything but interested in her, and when I see him watching Arrie, my feet move on their own accord.
“Dottie, wait!”
I ignore her and stalk over. He glances up at me from his chair, a raised dark eyebrow with his hands folded over his muscular chest, his tattoos peeking out the top of his dress shirt.
He’s not scared of me, but he better think twice if he’s going to pull this shit.
And that’s when I see it, the hint of a smirk.
“Dottie. ”
“Don’t you Dottie me, you piece of shit.”
The small smirk falls from his face, and I know Arrie is behind me. There is so much longing and pain in his grey eyes, it’s palpable. The air is suffocating, and the way the brunette’s eyes volley between us, she knows what I know.
There is something here. Tension, pain—love.
She shakes her head, stands up, and throws some cash on the table.
“I did not sign up for this. And just so you know blondie, we didn’t fuck. Adam, go home to your woman before you lose her.”
With that, she grabs her bag and walks out the restaurant. I watch her leave before eyeing Adam with a raised brow. His eyes meet mine, an apology lingering there, but I shake my head.
“You heard her. Take your woman home before I do something drastic and kick your fucking ass for hurting her.”
I turn around and kiss her on the cheek. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A tear falls, but she nods.
I throw a glare over my shoulder at Adam, and then I haul ass the fuck out of there.
Glancing down at my phone, I see it’s only seven pm. I decide to bite the bullet and rip the band-aid off. Calling an Uber, I give them the directions to the one house I hoped I’d never see again.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing outside my parents’ house. It was never a home. I can still hear the screaming, the fighting, still see my parents pulling each other’s hair until my father’s fist connected with my mother’s face, breaking her nose.
Blood everywhere, and when they took her to the hospital the next day, she told them she was helping dad put a door on the hinges and she lost her footing and it fell on her face.
She took that walking into a door excuse to a whole new level.
Disgust churns my stomach at how much she protected him. She lost everyone for him, but his family disowned him for her, too. So, I guess they’re even. Shaking my head, I fix my overalls and walk up the six steps that lead to the weathered weatherboard house.
I reach the security screen they had installed to stop the cops from breaking in every time they were raided, and glance at the fishtank next to it. My palms sweat as I lift my fist and knock.
“Hold the fuck on, I’m coming.” Comes my father’s slurred voice.
I close my eyes, hoping the prick behind my eyes stays exactly that.
The door opens with force, and my father catches himself before he topples over and loses his balance. He squints through slitted hazel eyes, his weathered face sprinkled with grey hair, and the scar on his lip from being keyed.
Emotions threatened to tear me asunder, the few memories of him actually being a father to me resurface, and I see the broken man within, the man who is desperately trying to hold onto this facade that he’s ok, when deep down he is the scared little boy his father left behind when he died when he was eleven.
“Dottie?” he slurs, a tear sliding down his face, and I curse the damn little girl inside of me who reaches out for him, the girl who wanted her father to see her, to love her.
“Dad.”
As quick as the sadness and the lick of love surfaces, it’s doused .
His features harden, and he lifts the stubby and takes a swig. I can hear my mother calling him from the backroom.
“Come back to take the house hey? You think cause I’m sick that I’ll leave this hole to you? You’re just like your mother,” he hisses, staggering.
The tears I was holding back slide down my face and I sniff, straightening my back. I won’t allow him to do this to me again.
When my mother stumbles behind him, her once dark hair fading into grey, her dark eyes rimmed in black, I hiccup through a sob.
She looks sick as well.
I can’t do this. Not now.
I turn on my heel to hightail it the fuck out of there, but just as I descend the first step my mother calls my name.
“Dottie? Is that you, bub?”
I close my eyes, her voice boring into me, and burying me six feet deep with the longing that I know won’t last. It never does. I shake my head once and rush down the stairs quickly, leaving a string of cursing words from my father behind me and my mother yelling at him.
“What the fuck did you do this time, Lewis?”
“Shut your whore mouth, Mani, before I close it for you. Maybe you should run back to your paedophile father.” He slurs, and I pick up my speed, thankful I decided to wear my converse.
When I can no longer hear them, I find the brick wall of an alleyway and rest my back against it, sliding down until I’m crouched on the floor. With my head in my hands, I allow the little girl inside me to lose control.
I cry myself into a river of despair, grief, and pain. One I fear I will never recover from, no matter how long I stay away or the distance from this fucking hellhole.
The next morning, I wake feeling like death warmed up. My eyes feel like sand is wedged beneath the lids and my stomach is rolling. After I cried myself to sleep, I barely slept for thirty minutes at a time.
Releasing a leaden sigh, I force myself to get out of bed. A shower. That’s what I need. Walking toward the bathroom, I slow as I pass Damon’s room. I push the door a little. It creaks, surprising me, and I stumble backward, feeling like I’ve been caught snooping and rush into the ensuite bathroom.
Moving into the shower, I strip my clothes off and throw them out the glass door and turn the water on. My heart bangs in my chest like a pagan drum, and although I’ve done nothing wrong, I feel guilty.
Focusing on the task at hand, I wash myself and hair quickly and get out. I need to be downstairs in fifteen minutes, and I have to admit, I’m grateful because it will keep me from being inside my own head.
Pulling on a pair of ripped blue jeans, I pair it with an off the shoulder black top. Combing my hands through my purple locks, I apply some mascara to my lashes, then slip my feet into my converse, before making my way downstairs.
As soon as I sit down at the desk, the phone starts ringing, and Harry pops his head around the corner. “Morning, Dottie.”
Then he’s gone and I’m left with a stupid grin on my face.
The first few hours go by fast, but just like yesterday, the second half drags. Sighing, I pick up my phone.
Four fucking messages from the Tin Man.
Blossom.
I hope you’re not ignoring me again.
I can’t get those damn pictures out of my head, you little minx. And my hand is cursing you for it.
All jokes aside… I just want to talk to you. I don’t understand the magnetism between us, but I’m done questioning it as well. Please think about it. I’ll be waiting. Tin Man
I know without even checking in the mirror that my face is red. I start typing my message.
Is that so? I don’t believe you. Maybe you should show me.
The dots appear immediately, and I recline while I wait with a stupid grin on my face.
My phone beeps, signalling a message, and I look down and gasp.
“Holy fucking shit.” I whisper, watching the video of his tattooed hand moving up and down over his clearly hard cock in his jeans before he turns it over to show me the blisters.
I clench my legs involuntarily, squeezing them together and trying to ease the ache he’s put there. The video ends, and I replay it again, turning it up slightly and hearing his breathing hitch and a groan. I can feel myself soaking the cotton thong I’m wearing.
I’m about to watch it again when the door slams, and in saunters Arrie with a huge smile on her face. I’m hoping she and Adam sorted shit out, and although I did want to check on her this morning, I knew she’d find me when she was ready.
She looks happier. Me on the other hand, I must look like the cat who caught the canary.
“What are you looking at, Wench?”
Shit, shit, shit!
I exit out of the video but not before Arrie hears the hitch of his breath and a groan. Her green eyes blow wide, and I lock my phone before covering my face with my hands.
“Were you watching porn?!” She asks incredulously, and I decide that’s the lesser of two evils in this situation.
“Sue me. I’m human.”
Her green eyes turn to slits, assessing, and I raise an eyebrow in defiance ─ a challenge.
“Whatever. I don’t believe you, but anyhoo…”
“You and Adam made up?”
That grin graces her face again.
“Something like that.”
“Care to elaborate?” I ask, rubbing my thighs together at the same time my phone pings, and vibrates.
Arrie glances at it but decides not to badger me about it.
“Make-up, angry sex is so fucking hot.”
“Eww,” I say, screwing my face up. “Way too much information.”
Her cheeks turn red, and I sit forward in my seat.
“I feel there is an and here?”
“How do you always do that?”
“What?”
“Read me.”
“Best-friends and cousins remember?”
She grins. “Connor may have come over after we made-up.”
“O.K.?”
“We talked. He may or may not have watched Adam and me fuck. ”
“Get the fuck out of town!”
“Keep your voice down,” she whisper shouts, causing me to laugh and look over her shoulder to find Harry looking in.
I give him a quick wave and focus back on Arrie.
“So?”
“So, what?”
“Does that mean you’re going to bump uglies with two hot guys now? Like using all your holes?”
“Dorothy May!” Arrie screeches and I laugh harder.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Not even a little bit.”