Page 191 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
The little blade in my hand feels heavier as I trace her jawline with it.
“What do you want?” The pathetic woman cowers a little lower.
Knowing she won’t dare move, I give her my back and use my blade to carve a message into the door for her. Letters fan out against the stab marks, but the words are still easy to read.
I step back from my engraving on the cubicle door, letting her see the words.
AN APOLOGY FOR HURTING MY GIRL.
When her eyes find me again, my phone is already out and aiming at her, waiting.
It takes her all of three seconds to muster out the words, “I’m so very sorry,” while she’s down on her knees, sitting in someone else’s piss.
Wiping my feet on the grubby carpet on the way out, I smile back at the barman who’s watched the whole incident play out because I know he won’t call the cops over something so trivial. He won’t risk getting shut down. Valaria knows this place has no license, the delivery guys like to talk, and so does she.
7:06 p.m., the clock reads behind him.
I still have one minute to get back to the car.
As I slump into my seat and shut out the rain, Dollie’s eyes drop from whatever it is about my face that constantly calls her attention, to my arm and the bloody mess I’ve made of it.
Turning off my radio, she whispers, “You’re bleeding. Did they hurt you?”
I’d laugh, but the innocent look she gives me swipes at my facial expressions.
I mouth,I’m fine. And leave it at that.
Needing to change the subject fast because she’s in my hoodie and I’m exposed, I hand her my phone, the video already on the screen. I hope it’ll keep her eyes away from my arm and the tattoo that sits below the drying blood.
She will recognize that clover.
That thought disappears when the woman in red’s squeaky voice blares in the car, the quick apology over in seconds. My wiper blades are the only noise when Dollie exits the video and drops my phone into her lap.
She doesn’t talk on the journey home, refusing to trust me with her distress.
Her hand moves constantly to her stomach, and the other clutches my hoodie, using it for comfort.
She isn’t okay.
And it’s a feeling that torments me because I know walking into that bar and hurting myself for a reaction wasn’t enough.
I didn’t do enough for her.
CHAPTER 45
Dollie—present day
Istep out of the bathroom, two pink towels wrapped around different parts of me.
The second I got home, I headed to this room. A dozen soaps and the shampoo I’d used on Bubbles yesterday got the grime off of me.
I finally feel clean, a rosy scent entering the kitchen as I step into the room.
Ambrose sits at the kitchen table in different clothes, and there’s no sign of blood on the white hoodie he wears, suggesting he’s showered and cleaned himself up. Bubbles waits at his feet, munching on her own toes. She stands and greets me as I step closer, both of us tiptoeing to each other. Her long nails click-clacking on the floor, and my toenails shining under the light.
Ambrose stares back at me.
“I put your hoodie in the laundry basket. It’s kinda dirty, so I’ll wash it tomorrow.”
