Page 108 of Off-Limits
“And she really said she would tell Shane she saw my dad touching you like some sicko?”
“And then some.”
“What the fuck is wrong with this family?!” she grouses, throwing her hands in the air and pacing. “Why would she do this after all these years? She signed a prenup, she has to know this won’t work…”
“Wait, why hasn’t she gone through with it?” she asks, raising a sceptical brow at me.
This is what I was afraid of.
“What did you say, Dottie?”
Here goes.
“I told her that if she didn’t leave you and Damon alone, I would lodge my own statement of what I saw when we were kids,” I say, swallowing hard, and quickly adding, “but you know I never would. I just needed her to know that I knew, and I saw, and I wasn’t going to allow her to bully me or hurt you and Damon.”
Sweat dots Arrie’s brow as she keeps swallowing, and her face starts to lose colour. Panic flares to behind her eyes, and I quickly grab her before she collapses. As soon as my arms are under hers, her feet give out, a sob wrenching from her that makes my heart near detonate with the anguish she’s feeling.
Keeping my legs, I pretty much drag us both to my bedroom, laying Arrie down as softly as I can before collapsing beside her. Cradling her in my arms, she rolls up into a ball, sobbing while I hush her and tell her everything is going to be ok, even when I’m not sure if I’m telling her the truth.
After what feels like hours, Arrie finally stops and wipes hereyes, moving from my arms but staying on her side to look at me like we’ve done so many times before. I can sense the energy has shifted, the tension lessened, and it makes me feel hopeful.
“You’re not off the hook.”
“I know.”
“You made me ugly cry.”
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips and Arrie returns it.
“No, I don’t. Not even a little bit.”
The next morning, I wake before Arrie and head to the kitchen, feeling like I’m hungover. Putting the coffee on, I yawn and head into the lounge, my creativity calling to me even through the fog.
Sitting down, I uncover my paint and get stuck into it. I get lost in it, the soft acoustic metal music I put on, lulls me into a sense of security and I grab onto it with open hands, as mine fly across the canvas.
I don’t know how long I’m painting, but when I hear a shuffle, I spin around to see Arrie standing there with her eyes hanging out of her bird-nest head as she looks at the painting.
Insecurity threatens to snow me under, but as Arrie steps further into the room. I can see the awe in her eyes.
“Holy fuck, Dottie, it’s…”
“It’s what?” I ask, nervously.
“It’s morbid, but beautifully poignant as well.”
“Thanks?”
“Oh, shut up. Look at it.”
I turn back to painting, trying to see what she sees.
“Is the little girl in the caged heart, you?”
I nod, unable to form words.
