Page 173 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Feeling my eyes on him, he lifts his gaze to me. A squinted gaze and smile sit on my face as I enjoy the discomfort I see beyond his bruises.
“Here’s your water.” Dollie appears, setting down the bottled water on a nearby window ledge. “I’ll just go back in super quick to give Bubbles breakfast.”
“So, that’s the dog’s name?” Shane asks, an ugly expression on his face that questions her as much as his words.
“Yeah.” Dollie smiles the biggest smile.
“It’s a bit of a weak name, isn’t it? Especially for such a mouthy animal.”
Annabelle’s eyes roll, directly meeting with mine.Come scare him off,she mouths, pointing behind her.
I’m tempted to.
“She isn’t mouthy. She was just saying hello earlier. And she came with her name. Maybe if today goes okay, we can take her on a walk, and you can get to know her.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not? You always wanted a dog, too. She won’t bark constantly if she gets to know you.”
“It’s not the barking. I like dogs, but not poodles. They’re ugly fucking things.”
“She is not. She’s beautiful!” Dollie snaps defensively.
“Where did you even get her?”
“Ambrose got her for Dollie’s birthday. And she really is the best gift,” Annabelle taunts Shane.
“What, he bought you a dog? You’re friends now or something.”
“He came home with her and said she’d be good company for me. I don’t really see much of him.”
“Has she been?”
“Yeah, I love her.”
“Well, if you love her, I love her.” Shane smiles, all false. So false, it grates on my skin more than my nails as I set my gauge on the window ledge and scratch away at myself.
Shane’s eyes roam her body.
The attention, because Dollie hardly ever got it—something I’d learned from Lucky—is something she craves.
“What?” Her smile is radiant and worthy of so many compliments.
But Shane doesn’t know how to give her one. “Nothing. It’s just those overalls are funny. It’s kinda like you’re dressed like Chucky.”
There’s no elaboration on whether he’s referring to the cartoon character or the psycho doll, but I’m sure Dollie used neither for her inspiration while getting ready.
“Go on, feed the dog.” Stepping away from her, Shane returns to Annabelle, steadying the ladder while she’s halfway to the top, still eyeing me.
Dollie is overfilling the dog’s breakfast bowl when I enter the kitchen. Kibble spills across the countertops, but it’s fresh and free from dog drool, so I bite my tongue over the potential germs.
Grabbing what I need to make myself cereal from the refrigerator and cupboards, I sit at the table.
Flour is still spilled from her early morning baking. A piled-up tray of croissants and pain au chocolat style delicacies sit amongst the mess on my black plate.
I fight the urge to take one, inhaling sharply.
Forcing myself to look at anything else, I glance around the space. My usually dark kitchen looks different since Dollie got a paycheck. It hosts a gothic Barbie slash fairy cottage-core in a color crisis vibe.
