Page 327 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
But there’s a chance she won’t if Shane gets in her head again.
I blast the shower, not caring too much about the temperature, only caring about washing these red rivers down the drain and all my thoughts, too. I take a scrubbing brush to my skin and drag it over my body with a little too much force.
My tanned skin turns a reddish color before I toss the brush into the distance, chipping a tile with such force.
I still don’t feel clean. I feel dirtier as three new injuries and so much blood pours out.
God knows how much time passes before I turn off the shower. The sun is in a different place, and a niggling in my brain tells me it’s time for my medication. I reach for a towel to dry myself, and pop the pills with some water from the sink.
As expected, they leave a lump in my throat that I struggle to get down.
Happens every fucking day.
Not bothering to dress, I slip out my door, using the conventional way to head downstairs and retrieve my phone because while at The Funhouse last night, surrounded by noise and so many people, I’d told Valaria that I’d help her with something this morning, and my mind is blanking.
Bubbles makes no effort to join me as I return to the second floor. She’s already asleep, cuddled on the sofa that she absolutely shouldn’t be on—that sock at her side.
I pad across the hallway floors, phone in hand, lighting the way as I read through messages from Annabelle, asking if Shane was still here, then another that said, I’m assuming he’s left, and you’re otherwise engaged with lil sis.
Fuck, did she have to use that term, really?
I don’t even answer, locking my phone while it’s still on her message.
I shift to the adjoining hallway.
A sock has been placed on Dollie’s door handle, and I spot it instantly. In tacky movies from a few years back—Dad’s favoritekind—a sock on the door handle was an indicator of something raunchy going on in that room.
My hand moves, but I can’t touch the sock—it’s dirty.
A noise from behind the door pulls my eyes up. The low moans and heavy panting straighten my spine, and that feeling of nausea returns.
“Dollie?” I call, but all I’m met with is another moan. Another man’s name.
Too many thoughts run through my head.
What the fuck is she playing at?
Why would she do this?
Shock backs me away, and my spine meets the doorframe, granting me another new injury. I scurry into my room, moving until I reach the bed, and I slump there, dropping my phone to my side.
The door across the hall torments me, knowing that behind the wood, that dirty cunt has his cock so far inside my girl that I can feel it inside me, violating my mind.
It’s fucking cruel. It makes me envision storming across there and kicking the fucking door in.
The only thing keeping my ass planted to the bed is…she moaned his fucking name.
My hands drag over my face, tiny droplets of blood from my more aggressive injury splatting my towel.
My chest tightens, and I reach for my phone, typing a quick message from Lucky while not acting like Lucky at all.
Lucky:
We need to talk.
Come across the hallway, Dollie.
No reply comes. Minutes tick by as I stare at the unread message I sent. No matter how much it hurts to admit, she’schosen this. Chosen him and not me when I offered her to stay here last night.
