Page 347 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
“You did a lot of things wrong, Shane.”
“Name one. Go on!”
“You lied about that letter and broke my heart!”
His teeth grind together, showcasing the sandwich he had for lunch between the small gaps. His head bobs, and I wait for his anger to blow any second as a creepy, overly stretched smile appears on his face. “So, that’s what’s bothering you. That your special big brother wasn’t mean to you, after all. He still murdered both of your parents.”
No, he didn’t.
“You cheated.”
“Like that’s worse.”
“You beat me for finding out. That’s pretty low.”
“Oh, I got my karma though, didn’t I! Big bro was there to save the day! Did you ever ask how I was after his fist smashed into my face all those times? No, not once!”
“Why would I! You caused it all.”
“It always comes back to what I did, but it wasn’t even that bad. I didn’t actually fuck any of them.” Shane’s bad breath slaps me in the face, overpowering the stench of cheap aftershave cloying on his collar. His weak jaw juts out, almost touching me, spit flying everywhere as he says, “I wish I had fucked them.”
He tosses me away, and my bruised face hits the car door. Rain pelts down on me, wet sprinkles of sense. I have to get out of this car.
“Yeah.” I find the strength—the courage—to nod, agreeing with him as I unbuckle the seatbelt that’s attempted to choke me multiple times today. “You should have, Shane. I wish I’d fucked someone else, too.”
Without another word, I reach for the door handle.
Freedom is calling me as I kick my legs out.
A heavy arm drags me back, slamming me into the worn leather seat so hard that I feel it bounce.
Hands lock around my throat, so many fingers digging into my windpipe and delicate bones.
“Do you really wanna do this? Die on the side of the road?” Shane’s words are all I hear, the low, sinister promises standing out against the traffic that’s become white noise.
My desperate attempts for breath don’t make it past the cutoff point of his fingers. I claw at them, but I can’t move his dry, calloused hands, even a fracture, not even enough to wheeze.
Desperate fists push at his chest and face, but his fingers only tighten.
This is it; I’m going to die.
Will Ambrose know how I feel?
Will he be okay?
“You’ll never see him again. Oh, just imagine how hurt he’ll be. Imagine how he’ll drag that blade across his throat, just like he did your mother’s.”
Tears flood my eyes, ready to repent.
He didn’t do it!
Forcing my eyes up to Shane’s hateful brown stare, so much discomfort fills me.
His blown pupils stare back at me, revealing humanity has left him. He feels nothing as my hands weaken. My nails scratch at him because that’s all I can manage.
My name calls to me from somewhere in the distance. My eyes move side to side, expecting to see a phantasmal figure of Daddy, if he forgives me, ready to take me to heaven or wherever it is we’ll go.
But the accent isn’t Irish.
