Page 383 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
The word angers him, the sight of my terror amplifies his feelings, and his fingers stab deeper into my flesh. My tears collide with them, but the cold stare he has on me tells me all I need to know. He does not care about me or what he’s doing right now.
He’s hurting me again, and he doesn’t feel a thing.
Would he go further this time?
Would he kill me?
I can’t find out.
Because finding out will result in me having to face my parents. Without Ambrose to hold my hand.
“Answer me.” Evil still leaks from his tone, and his face changes before my eyes. A heinous-looking clown snarls in my face, and I sob.
“No,” I whisper, struggling to get the sound out as his hand squeezes my cheeks. “I couldn’t stay away from him.”
Shane doesn’t let go.
The sound of the front door slamming indicates the man I love is home.
The fear that this is all about to get worse fades away as Shane’s hold finally drifts away, sliding down my jaw to my arm.
“Oh, look. He’s home.” Now, he’s whispering, too.
My skin promises a big purple bruise where his fingers once again dig into me.
Not another word leaves my mouth as he drags me toward the bathroom and whispers a little more hate. “So, let’s make sure he’ll never want to touch you again.”
Shane keeps dragging me, my socks sliding over the tiles, until we reach the toilet. He throws me down to the ground, my knees crunching on impact.
I wince, but he doesn’t even glance my way. Forceful fingers yank up the toilet seat, and the other hand grips my hair with even more force, plunging me into the toilet.
“There’s probably a fucking mess down there. If you were in here last with your chronic little illness. Let’s wash it down.”
“No. Please, Shane. Please.” I choke again, this time on toilet water as Shane pulls the lever while holding my head down. He yanks me back up once the toilet finishes gargling, and he tosses me toward the shower.
I fall to the floor and stay there, huddled in the fetal position on the cold tiles.
A heavy blow catches me in the stomach, stealing my breath. My hand moves there, barely shielding me as Shane’s foot kicks me again.
“Now, stay in here with your dead fucking parents, while your brother and I have a chat.”
His words are a heavy punch to the gut. His mentioning my parents, just as they appear, makes me wonder if Annabelle was wrong in saying he doesn’t see them.
Daddy looks so mad… but his stare isn’t on me. Until the door slams, it stays on Shane.
My heart pounds. Tears drop to the floor where I lie.
“Get up, princess,” an Irish voice encourages me.
I do as Dad tells me, forcing myself up into a sitting position before kneeling, all my joints protesting loudly, needing me to sit back down.
Struggling on, I crawl to the door, both parents in tow. A loud plop on the other side tells me the mushed pieces of my hard work just made it to the trash.
Tears, dozens of them fall all at once. My head pounds like my heart, hurting with each drop of sadness.
Hopelessness settles in my soul. Guilt is still there, too. It stabs into my heart, and the pain stays there, twisting harder and deeper.
My own pulse is all I hear when I feel both of my parents’ hands on my shaking shoulders.
