Page 175 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
I don’t fail to notice Dollie clutching and smoothing over the tablecloth with both thumbs.
“I’m not ready to be friends… but maybe she’s right. Maybe enemies isn’t what either of us wants?” Her eyes drift back and forth from the knives she’s been using, and I stiffen.
What are you thinking right now?
The tension between us makes it hard for either of us to move, but slowly, my head drifts from side to side.
No, I don’t wanna be your enemy. I want to be your person again.
“Okay, good. I’d best get back outside.”
As she steps around me, I clutch her hand—not her wrist—in mine, freezing as her fingers close for a second around my grip.
Staring down at the scars, the mottles on my skin and hers still line up perfectly.
We can still be whole together.
She freezes, her eyes locked on our perfect counterparts.
It makes me want more, and as if she hears that thought, her fear floods back in.
Pulling away from me, she’s still staring at her hand as I write another message in the flour.
Do you want help? You won’t have to climb the ladder.
I ask, knowing full well that cheap pink paint is never going to work. But for her, I’d try.
But, with a smile, she refuses.
CHAPTER 41
Ambrose—age nine
I’m in the water, tears falling down my cheeks, when he throws a T-shirt at me. It’s plain and white and clean-ish until it touches the water, but it still smells like him, like tobacco and bad memories. Pulling it over my head, it comes down to my knees and hangs over one shoulder.
The icy water is lower today, getting drained by some pipe Colin installed. The fire is back on, ridding the January chill and keeping Dollie pinned against the wall atop the dresser.
Relief enters me as Colin clips his belt in place behind me.
I hate him.
I hate me and the permanent dirt I feel under my skin because of him.
More tears fall.
They’re the last I’ll cry over that thing,I vow.
I fall away from him, landing on the part of me that’s sore because of him, and I stare at him with so much hate it burns me.
“Did you not like your belated Christmas present?” he asks with amusement. “It’s time for Dollie’s!”
My eyes go wide, moving back and forth between her and the monster in the water.
Dollie’s eyes creep around to him, her body turning slowly. I stand between them as he pulls something from his pocket.
My head shakes rapidly. She’s getting nothing from this thing. I stretch my arms out, willing to die before letting him take her.
A long yellow balloon is placed to his chapped lips—the way they pucker makes me visibly cringe.
