Page 223 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Ambrose:
I’d give up my life for her.
Dead still, the darkness around me brings some kind of serenity as I wait in the cold, thankful for my hoodie that’s now clinging to my chest as it puffs out with anxiety. One sleeve is rolled up to the elbow, letting my blood spill on the gravel below.
Annabelle:
I know you would.
Okay, I’m in. Operation brother to boyfriend is a go.
My fingers itch, tips on the screen, ready to tell Annabelle that I can never make that switch. I let them drop because I have no idea what Dollie and I can ever be if we evolve into something more than siblings.
Annabelle:
Shane doesn’t make her happy, and he’s already made her sad tonight.
So, how do we get him out of her life?
My fingers fly back onto the screen, typing the fastest message I’ve ever written.
Ambrose:
What did he do to her?
My anger warms me, hot blood pumping faster, bleeding faster down around my wrist as it pours from my forearm.
Annabelle’s agonizingly slow fingers type something.
She takes too long.
I rush to my car, needing to be home as soon as possible.
Slumping in my seat, there’s another message staring up at me from my lap as I force my car key into the ignition.
Annabelle:
Physically nothing. But like I said earlier, he made her go upstairs, and she doesn’t like being upstairs. Her bedroom is gutted. Things she loved have been bagged, ready to be tossed. Her bedsheets changed.
They’re staying up there tonight.
You know how this will be for her. The whole staying upstairs isn’t going to be easy for her, but having to throw away her things after rediscovering them? She won’t like that.
I let my eyes roll shut, feeling Dollie’s pain more than my own. Pulling my sleeve down, my blood darkens the already black fabric.
Her sad face fills my mind, tears on both cheeks, and a flush that matches her pretty hair.
The way Dollie feels about her things isn’t like most people. It’s more extreme. She’s bonded with them and loves each possession. The idea of her having to destroy or part with them permanently hurts her, as if these inanimate objects have feelings.
Ambrose:
I’ll check on her when I’m in.
The best part about her sleeping upstairs is that I’ll be close enough to hear anything that happens in her room.
Ambrose:
They can’t be together.
