Page 165 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
I do as he asks, then push the cereal bowl away when my blood drips from my face, turning the milk pink.
Colin is in the living room somewhere, trusting me not to run out the back door because he knows I won’t—can’t leave Dollie behind. If something happened to her—something like whathappened to me—the pain of that would kill me. I don’t even look at the door or the blanket of snow through the windows. The brightness of it and of Christmas, in this highly decorated, lit-up room hurts my eyes enough to keep them low.
Staying at the table, I lower my head, too, as it weighs down with thoughts of Dollie in the basement.
Her tiny cries can be heard through the floor, testing my strength to stay here. Those little whimpers fade out to the background noise of another. A woman cries in the living room. It’s not on his cop show, but the intro from that show blares from that direction, too.
Colin’s scream follows, raising my hackles. “I didn’t say that, did I!”
“This wasn’t part of the deal. They weren’t meant to be hurt. You said they wouldn’t be hurt if you brought them here.”
“Well, that’s your fault for believing me, you pathetic, stupid woman. You think they’re the first? They aren’t, and they won’t be the last.”
“Oh, God, how can you do this?”
The sound of what I assume is Colin slamming a glass bottle against something and smashing it rings in my ears and straightens my back.
I can’t stay in this room.
The door is right there, staring back at me as I lift my head and squint in its battered direction.
But is there time to get Dollie?
“Shut up, you stupid bitch, you haven’t even seen how fucking awful he looks yet.”
Colin pushes a woman into my view as I spin back around to the noise they’re making.
She stumbles toward me. Her long hair looks like Mom’s—styled the exact same way. Her curvier body and bright-colored clothing make her appear innocent and caring, and the quirkyglasses on the tip of her pointy nose are something Dollie would find cool.
It’s not real.
Don’t trust her.
She’s with him.
The harsh smell of alcohol floats around them. It’s sharp, like the broken bottle in Colin’s hand.
“Oh, look at his face.” The woman careens upon seeing me, and my self-consciousness peaks to new heights.
As the woman turns to Colin, eager to get away from me, my head snaps to all the shiny surfaces in the kitchen.
The toaster, oven glass, and window fail me.
I turn back to Colin and his wife fighting.
“It’s the alcohol. It must be the alcohol. You’ll see clearly tomorrow, I promise.”
“It’s not the alcohol, Barbara. I just like doing it. Now, do your doctorly duties and fix his fucking face, or I’ll have to hide it from the camera.”
“No!” She steps back. “You can’t do this. Call his father and let him go home.”
“We’re beyond that, don’t you think? They never should have trusted me.”
They trusted him.My parents?
Thoughts run wild in my head.
“No, they fucking shouldn’t have. That is their son, and what is he, ten, eleven?”
