Page 84 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
It was the worst thing I’d ever experienced.
Enough to break my twenty-year vow of silence.
And that’s why I’ve been on edge since.
I’m waiting for something bad to happen to her.
Though it’s unlikely now because that dickhead is out of the house—and Dollie’s life, hopefully.
And here I am, still at home.
Still watching… lurking.
Still testing Valaria’s patience.
Dollie sits on the reading room floor amongst the destruction, and I can’t pull my eyes away from her.
Is it the flushed cheeks that tell me she still needs comfort?
Her attention shifts continuously between Duggan, with his tie and the sensory pleasure it gives her, her food, and her phone, while slow tears still fall.
She eats, smooths the tie, picks up a broken piece of a winged horse or unicorn, and places it in the trash can she has nearby, then repeats.
But she isn’t present.
It’s obvious from the vacant look in her eyes that her mind is somewhere else.
That’s why I can’t leave, even though I should. I should busy myself—go to work and have Valaria shouting over the noise inside my head.
Over the voice that whispers,touch the wall three times, or a piece of ceramic will splinter into Dollie’sfood, and she’ll die.
Tap, tap.
Wiping the dust on my jeans, I frown over the mess Shane caused in my perfectly neat tunnel. There is fucking dust everywhere. And I need to repair this wall at some point if Dollie ever leaves this fucking room.
Like the vandals haven’t had me busy enough lately.
My thoughts continue, pressing me to tap the wall again, and I do, and again, I brush my hand down my pants to get rid of the dust.
My mind isn’t always so crazy. The emotions I feel tonight are heightening things.
Stress is to blame.
I’m still shaking from the image burned into my head—Dollie, terrified in that bastard’s grip—a piece of an ornament pressing into her chest while hands cut off her circulation.
I didn’t consider the repercussions.
Even now, the idea of returning to prison doesn’t lessen my desire to protect her.
The burning rage inside me that wanted to keep punching Shane until he couldn’t breathe is still present, and it makes me jittery.
A quick glance at my knuckles shows a swelling that will make tonight’s shift of pouring drinks difficult. The purple color will blend in with the décor of the bar nicely, though.
My eyes return to Dollie, her far-off look replaced by a melancholy expression.
Relief washes over me as she swallows down forkfuls of chow mein.
No splinters.
