Will I ever get out?
Will I go to prison instead? Because this is murder, and there’s no justification for that in the eyes of so many judges who would have respected my father.
Wherever I end up, one thing is for sure as I’m pulled from the ground, seeing Dollie only feet away, all the heartbreak behind every tear...
I’ll still need you.
I’ll still need you.
I’ll still need you.
CHAPTER 73
Ambrose—present day
Arush of vomit climbs my throat, but I force it back down. The ugly taste distracts me from the pain inside my chest that hurts slightly more with each breath in.
The taste runs down my throat as I swallow.
Nausea is constant since being exposed to Dollie, since opening my eyes to feelings I’d hushed for years. It’s almost like my stomach is telling me that she’s bad for me. My soul and every other part of my body say the opposite, that I can’t live without her, even when it hurts to be close.
But I’ve ruined fucking everything.
I touched her after she asked me to stop, and I’ve thought about it all night and haven’t slept a wink.
I swallow again, but my contracting stomach has other ideas, sending the wave of vomit back up my throat. I barely make it from my bedroom to my bathroom sink before that bite of pizza and all the other snacks from yesterday eject from me.
I fill my mouth with cold water from the tap, swishing it around my mouth before doing the same with mouthwash from the cabinet.
Morning light peeps in from the window behind me and tries to blind me as it reflects from the broken mirror into my eyes.
I groan and open the cabinet glass to divert the sun.
From inside the cabinet, the daily meds I force down my throat greet me. It’s not time for them yet, but pretty soon, they’ll be clogging my throat like they always do.
I step back from the sink, still using the basin to support me. The nausea has passed, leaving behind the filth I feel all over me.
She’d told me to stop.
I didn’t.
I should have.
My head drops forward, catching the edge of the glass door. My skin splits on impact, a tiny red trail dripping through my eyelashes.
I blink, watching the splatters stain the white porcelain, my thoughts still on Dollie as a sinister voice from my past echoes in my ears. “Do you feel better about the kick? I kissed it better like Mommy would.”
Sending a fist into the mirrored door, I break it again, further distorting the ugly face staring back at me.
Quick to look away, I pull the shard that sticks from between my knuckles, kick off my sweats, and step into the shower.
My fucked up looking hand bleeds out, the wound vicious and angry. But not life-threatening. It doesn’t stop me from creating the red line that appears on my skin close to my tattoo, following the sharp edge of the shard across my flesh.
Another two times, or Dollie won’t forgive you.
Following the directions from the noise in my head, I draw two more jagged lines in my skin before I drop the shard, and it clambers away, shattering into two small pieces.
She has to forgive me. I might just die if she doesn’t.
