Page 101 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
The voice in my head starts talking over him.
Touch Colin three times, or Dollie will suffocate.
Lots of thoughts surround Dollie now.
All thoughts.
I take a step closer, my legs feeling weaker than ever. I hold back the vomit in my stomach as I tap his back three times.
Assuming I want his attention, he snaps, “What?”
“I—uh—I really can keep her quiet. I know how.”
A wary glance that shows little faith hits me over his shoulder.
“You have one chance. I won’t tell you again.”
Removing his hand from Dollie’s mouth, she stays silent now but rocks again.
Another look comes my way, this one with a tiny bit of trust. I turn away from it, not even wanting that from him when I need it most, if I ever plan on us getting out of here.
With each day that goes by, I wonder why we’re still here, still alive…
With that thought in mind, I climb the dresser. I offer my ribs to Dollie, all their bruises on display as my wet T-shirt isn’t on my body, and she cuddles in.
I suck in a big breath and do it from my mouth because she smells like death.
Putrid odors cling to her matted hair and dirty legs as she holds me tightly, taking my arm in her hands. I let her play with a single strand of hair that fascinates her so much.
It reminds me of when Mom caught her playing in the dust at the new house. The stress it brought out in her brings her yelling to my ears in tattered memories. It brings stress to me now, and a tear falls.
“You have one chance, boy.”
Another tear falls as I nod.
Colin moves away, the water parting at his feet like he’s some kind of god.
The fourth step takes his weight when Dollie’s rocking intensifies. Her noises that will have him turning around will start any second. I know her too well.
“Shh, shh, shh,” I coo, rocking with her a little. “I’m gonna sing you Mom’s lullaby, okay.”
Mom’s lullaby is Dollie’s favorite song in the world.
Tugging the little hair, Dollie nods. Silently.
“Dude!”
I blink back to the bar, and a man standing before me with an unimpressed look, tapping his fist on the bar. He isn’t dressed like a clown, which helps me tolerate his shitty attitude.
“How about some service?”
I nod, and with my gaze on him, I blink again a few times, giving him a silent go-ahead to tell me his order.
Poison.
He likes the green stuff, apparently.
I fill his drink, and he dumps some money on the table. Short a dollar, he’s gone before I tell him that. It’s probably his way of saying fuck you to me.
