Heavy breaths cause her chest to lift and fall.
Slowly, I edge into the reading room, ridding the extra space she put there by taking a step back.
Bubbles rushes to me, running around my legs and leaving Dollie alone.
Visibly, she shakes in front of me, tears streaming from her eyes.
A wave of self-hatred washes over me and makes me feel impossibly worse.
Because she doesn’t want me here, her fear is because of me.
Trembling myself, I extend a hand and reach for her. My rules with touch never applied to her, and there’s a desperation inside me that pleads to let her know she has nothing to worry about.
It’s just like that night in the foyer.I try to tell her with a pleading look.You’re safe with me.
“Don’t you touch me!” She spits, falling away from me and landing on the floor.
Her attitude towards me is completely different to the night in the foyer. So, I was probably right in thinking her head portrayed me differently then.
Bending to her level, I extend a hand again, and again she refuses to take it, scooting herself back before she climbs to her feet.
Long socks drop from her knees to her ankles as she races through the room. Bubbles stays with me. Her stare, for once, has what feels like judgment.
Picking up the phone, I do it carefully, not to touch the floor, and I examine it, finding no noticeable chips or cracks.
It’s a weak attempt to dull the aching in my chest by keeping myself busy.
It fails, and I’m the reason the phone almost hits the floor for the second time when I can’t stop my hands from shaking.
Annabelle’s voice is clear with the phone in my hand, “Dollie? Dollie, what is going on? Are you okay? Do I need to call the police?”
All I can do is breathe down the line.
Needing to avoid Annabelle’s panic because my own is still running wild, I hang up the phone and send a quick text. Ashort explanation of what’s happened informs her that she has nothing to worry about. That I’d never hurt Dollie.
Whether she’ll believe that, I’m not entirely sure.
A single minute passes with no reply before I head into the kitchen, finding the door that leads to the bathroom closed and rattling. I know in my soul, Dollie is rocking on the other side.
Letting the table take my weight, I release a heavy breath.
Fuck, tonight couldn’t have gone worse.
Bubbles paws at the bathroom door, leaving a few scratches in the dark paint.
Fuck it.
I ignore the minor damages she’s causing and Dollie’s broken sobs so I can leave and not come back.
More aware of my limp as I try to dodge my new pet, I move to a drawer in the kitchen, the one where all the pens and loose scraps of paper have always been kept. I pull out everything I need to write Dollie a note.
I sit at the table, letting the pen glide across the paper. Mentally, it takes me back to prison. Back to all the messages I wrote to her.
She’ll probably ignore this letter, too, rip it up, and toss it in a paper graveyard.
Still, I write…
Do you like her?
