“I’m sorry, princess. I’m so sorry.” He holds her impossibly close.
I hate it. I hate that he’s touching her at all. My teeth grit together over the image of them—a poor excuse for a parent and the little girl who loves him so much.
That’s the thing with Dollie. She’s gotten in trouble so many times in the past for things she can’t control that she craves love, even from the wrong people.
I guess, in some way, I do, too.
“She’s been hurt, but she’s okay. She just wants to see her brother.” Mom smiles a sad smile, moving closer to me. “How are you doing, baby?”
She looks different from how I remember. Her hair is darker and shinier, and her body is somehow slimmer. Her lips glossed slightly, dropping into an O shape as her eyes find me in the bed.
“Oh, my god! Baby, what happened?” Her grip on the rail at the bottom of my bed turns her fingers white. “What happened to him!”
“Daddy, I missed you,” Dollie interrupts, and Dad just sits there, smoothing her clean hair.
She’s fine with touch.
I take a breath, struggling with the heavy feeling in my chest. A tear finally falls, but it isn’t from sadness.
I saved her.
I kept her safe all that time, and she’s okay with someone who isn’t me touching her.
Dollie’s small arms let go of Dad.
Mom moves to my side, the most tentative touch gracing my cheek. Still, it’s too much.
It fucking hurts.
I push myself away from it.
Tears from Mom’s eyes land on my white pillow. A tiny patch turns gray from her diluted mascara.
“All these scars? That sick bastard did this?” Mom’s blue eyes fill with tears, and the pretty color seems brighter below the sheen.
The doctor and my father are still on the other side of me—Dollie is still on Dad’s denim thigh.
“Don’t be offended,” Dad lowers his head until it rests lightly on Dollie’s. “He doesn’t want to be touched by anyone, and he can’t or won’t speak, either.”
Mom wipes at her eyes, smudging more mascara down her cheeks. Her eyes drift across my throat, tracing the scar.
“Oh, this can’t be happening. Look at him!”
Mom wailing about my image will live on in my ears forever.
She thinks I’m ugly, just like I do.
“He’s beautiful. He’s strong. And he’s lucky.” Dollie’s words call all eyes to her.
But no one sees me like she does. Not the doctor with pity in his stare. Not Mom, sobbing hysterically at my side, rubbing her sweaty hands in a new-looking coat. Not Dad, who can no longer look at me.
Just Dollie…
When Mom pulls herself together, she asks, “Baby, do you know what happened to your brother?”
My gaze meets Dollie’s head-on.
Please, don’t tell them anything.
