Page 246 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
My mind plays tricks, convincing me I can smell it on him. The dirty sex. And it’s where I pass the blame for my rolling stomach.
I blink and find myself somewhere else—a time where there’s no Ambrose, no Annabelle, no Bubbles, just both of my parents bleeding out on this carpet and a bloodstained blade nearby. I can hear a shower running, and I feel like I’m in there, water burning my eyes and running over my skin.
A bark from Bubbles snaps me back to here and now.
You okay?Red lips move slowly.
Fighting the sick feeling, I find my words, but I ask my own question without answering his. And I ask it with a little too much bite as I snap on my gloves.“Did she stay over?”
Ambrose raises an eyebrow, and it disappears beyond his hair.
“Your guest, did she stay over?”
He shakes his head, and his brightly sprayed hair falls into his eyes.
“Liar.”
I’m not lying,he signs.
Turning from me, he continues sawing.
Pieces of the carpet come away.
“He’s lying,” both of my parents say from behind him.
I stand straighter in their presence. “Tell the truth, Ambrose.”
Dropping the blade, he twists, and once again, signs to me,she didn’t stay over.
“So, you didn’t sleep with her?”
In my head, I can see it, see them together. His naked body moving over her petite form. Sweat on both of their bodies as their hands move over every curve and every muscle. Excitement on both of their faces as he rubs his cock between her legs. The tip disappearing beyond her folds. His expression changes, all his need and desire for her on his face. His large hands cover her breasts. His mouth collapses on her pouty, open one.
And I can’t take it.
Their moans are in my ears.
I feel his hands on her—on me.
I CAN’T TAKE IT!
I blink back, slapping away his hand on my hip, steadying me.
He’s close enough for me to taste the lies on his lips, only a breath away from mine.I didn’t sleep with her.
His words mean so little because those images are still lingering in my head. I step back.
A cold tear joins the many others that I’ve shed on this carpet. His hand is too slow to catch it.
Another tear falls, and I let out my hate, “What, does your freaky face not do it for her?”
“Dollie!” Annabelle snaps, her glare berating me with questions.
How could you say that?
Why would you say that?
What the fuck is wrong with you?
