Of all the damn photos.
“It’s a funny one.”
“Yeah. They get to laugh at me.”
“Dollie, these guys still wanna take you to bed, even when I chose an innocent goofball picture. You can’t help how hot you are. Go back to the stick man.”
“He could be anyone.”
“So, ask who he is?”
“He could lie.” I don’t wait for her to answer as I remove the awful photo of me, watching as it reverts to the little stick figure in a sticky-out dress.
“Wow. Now, you look like the perfect couple. A match made in MateMatch heaven.” She laughs. No snort follows this time.
And she’s the only one finding this funny, as I have no interest in being this guy’s match or any other guy.
CHAPTER 22
Ambrose—present day
It’s been a long morning, and my eyes are heavy. I came here to Mrs. Bannadosi’s house after work. That was six hours ago. Early morning birds chirp at the window, and I debate going home to a place where I won’t hear them.
Dollie will be home alone today. The idea of her creeping around rooms to avoid the shadows that frighten her hurts me.
I should be there, fixing the wall that I still haven’t done because she and Annabelle barely left the reading room yesterday. I shouldn’t be here, sitting and waiting for death to come and go, and yet, it seems like the easier option.
It doesn’t matter that it could be the perfect time for me to tell her that I’m living there, too, and she isn’t alone and has nothing to fear.
But my being there will only scare her more.
I know that because during one of their random conversations, she told Annabelle she wanted nothing to do with me. She didn’t say why, but there was a tremble in her voice when those words came out.
For whatever reason, she’s afraid of me. That hurts, too.
It makes me wonder if she actually knew it was me in the music room.
I’m not sure anymore.
All I know is I couldn’t possibly ease her worrying about staying in that house now that Annabelle has gone off somewhere to work, doing whatever it is that she does.
Staring at the meaningless quotes on the kitchen wall, I take a sip of water from the same cup I use whenever I’m here. The dryness in my throat appreciates the drink more than the cries inside me that beg for alcohol instead.
Stretching my fingers as I set down the basic black mug, I examine the swelling in my hand from punching Shane. It’s worse today.
On the plus side, there’s still no sign of him.
Judging by the stuff Dollie said in the other conversations I’ve eavesdropped on, she expects him to try to return. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t answered my basic greeting on that terribly tacky dating app I downloaded when Annabelle did the same for her. I’d heard about it on my way out and couldn’t stop my fingers from creating an account.
It isn’t something I should do, talk to her under false pretenses, but it might be my only way to talk to her. To keep her company when she needs it. To ask for it when I do.
I open it up, and the big MateMatch icon greets me in the center of the screen.
Selecting an updated profile picture that hides my face, I try to entice her with a bit of luck of the Irish. I think I have a chance as long as Shane doesn’t come home.
That thing can’t fucking come back.
The idea alone makes my stomach turn.
