I've eaten up all the chocolate, i've smoked all the Craven A, and as you still were not there. I've emptied all the Rhum and Coke, i've dismantled all your framed pictures, i've cut your curtains up. What she needed was to get out of the house. She pulled on her biggest trenchcoat, grabbed her oldest copy of Moby Dick, and headed for the coffeeshop not far from the apartment. He ran his thumbs over her cheekbones and kissed her forehead. Then she buried her face in his blue dress shirt and sobbed. "Scully? Sweetheart please talk to me." A sniffle turned into a snort. So while Missy changed imaginary diapers, Dana shot BB guns and got into crab apple fights with the boys. Until she started having the dreams: nightmares of plastic babydolls wielding knives and handpuppets trying to strangle her while she slept.
"The dream about the dolls. You think that's about you being a bad mother?" They stood next to the doorway to the restaurant, letting customers enter in their winter coats. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. Missy adored playing house-feeding the dolls their fake formula and putting throw pillows under her clothes to pretend she was pregnant-but, even as a tiny girl, Dana knew it was just a game. Dream life, as a child, she had dreams about dolls. In the northwest corner of their shared room, she and Melissa had a whole family of plastic and cloth children, asleep in a miniature crib.
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