Page 200 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Thrashing and fighting with everything I have to get him off me, I send kicks and punches to his face and body, needing his touch to be as far away as possible, needing his lips and the seedy promises he speaks to be away from my ears.
He’s so close I can taste them, and they make me feel violently sick.
I get a slight leverage when my knee jolts against his crotch and he winces. He falls backwards, and I kick again, hard in the chest, winding him. It’s enough for me to wiggle away from him.
We race, him to get to his feet, and me, to wrap my fingers around the log. I waste no time, turning around and pounding it on his head as he tries to stand. He falls backward, creating a bigger hole in the burning door and a loud splash as he lands at the foot of the stairs in the flooded basement.
I drop the log and rush into the room where I knew I’d find her.
A camera aims at Dollie on the striped sofa.
I step into the room and pull away the pillow that she’s hiding her face behind. One tiny wrist is bound to the nearby coffee table. I fight with the fraying cord around Dollie’s wrist to free her.
You hurt?
She recognizes my words by how my mouth moves and replies with, “I’m frightened. Where is he? Where is he now?”
He’s hurt.
Dead, hopefully.
“How did you get out?”
I don’t answer. We have little time.
Glancing around, relief seeps from me with a heavy breath. The fire hasn’t reached this room yet. I stop what I’m doing, cupping her face for a moment to mouth,I had to. I had to protect you.
Not lingering on her tear-stained face, I move back to her wrist, wiggling and working the cord. It takes me a minute to free her wrist, and I tug her into my arms the second I do.
She wraps her arms tightly around my shoulders and her legs around my waist. My breath catches, pain rushing around beneath her locked ankles.
“Am I hurting you?” She adjusts her legs, placing them on my hips, and with a gentle touch, I brush over her new bruises, hating all the purples and yellows that will stain her for weeks.
I’m okay. My silent words touch her cheek.
“He slapped me, but I’m okay, too. I didn’t like him touching me.”
I hated it.
I hold her close against my pounding chest and turn to the kitchen, my body stiff with the expectation of finding Colin’s shadow darkening the exit route.
He isn’t here, but the way out is blocked. The room brightens as the flames creep in, another horrible presence trying to keep us here.
I weave my fingers through Dollie’s curls and nuzzle our faces close, letting her know I have her, that she’s safe, that I’ve kept my promise until now, and I’ll never break it.
Swiveling, I rush for the other door near the stairs and pray there’s a key somewhere.
It feels like all my wishes are being granted at once, seeing it there in the lock. I turn it, yank open the door to a snowy field, and without hanging around to look for shoes, I run.
CHAPTER 48
Dollie—age seven
Ihold tightly around Ambrose’s neck, worrying I’m hurting his scars. It seems to bother him more when I touch his shoulders where his clothes are melted to him, but the scar on his neck is still red and angry-looking, thick and cord-like beneath my fingers. It doesn’t feel comforting as I move my fingers along each ridge. I loosen slightly, and he pulls me closer. His head shakes, his long hair falling into his eyes, indicating no, that I need to be close.
Heavy skies surround us, the clouds looking ready to drop a blanket of snow. We drift through trees that block the wind from getting to us, but the cold makes it through. We both pant out foggy breaths.
A noise in the distance sounds like a man’s voice—it’s sweeter and more sickly than usual, but it’s definitely Chuckles.
