Page 391 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
That very lucky number. This will work.
Mom:
SHANE.
Shane don’t be ridiculous. She probably drove you to it!
Don’t make up stuff like that over that worthless tramp.
Miranda’s grammar hasn’t improved since those hateful messages to Dollie. All her messages in response to the one I’dsent, pretending to be Shane, are poorly written and staring at us both.
I scroll, allowing Shane to see the onehe’dsent.
Shane:
I’ve hurt Dollie. She’s in the hospital. I had a fight with her brother. I think he told the police. They are looking for me. I can’t live like this. I can’t go to jail. I’m gonna end it. I’m really gonna fucking end it.
“Your mother is very lucky I have somewhere to be.”
Shane’s teary eyes meet mine, tears in mine too, because I already feel guilty for what I’m doing. It’s unwanted and brought forward the intrusive thoughts I can’t escape, but it’s there, telling me I’ll regret this. Telling me I shouldn’t have broken his nose.
But holding on to the back of his chair, I ignore that voice for the last time, and I yank the chair away, watching Shane’s body fall to the floor.
He fights death’s call... but the man can’t even stand up.
I don’t wait to see what fate decides. I walk to the front door, pull off my gloves, and stuff them into my pocket along with the tissue, ready to dispose of them both at the hospital, where these kinds of things are commonly found.
And I take a pair of Dollie’s shoes and my keys, and I head to the car.
CHAPTER 87
Dollie—present day
Three.
That lucky number.
Three months.
Three months since I survived the effects of delayed strangulation.
Three months where Ambrose still isn’t a murderer...yet.
Three months since Shane’s useless body slipped into a coma, following a hanging that the town believes was suicide.
Three months in therapy and wearing pretty dresses.
Three diagnoses... none of them physical.
Three months of living with Ambrose as a couple.
Three months of being known to the locals as those weird brother and sister who fuck.
And I don’t even care.
All I care about is here and now, and that feeling in my stomach and the tingle between my legs as Ambrose’s tongue flattens to my pussy.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God!”
