Page 30 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

“Your mother? I thought she was ….” Her voice trailed off. Yes, like everyone, Rosie probably thought she was dead, and he never corrected them. His mother was dead to him … the mother he should have had. The mother who was meant to love him, not beat him.

“What the fuck are you doing here, you little shit?” Maria squawked as soon as she saw him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

“I thought you might like a visitor,” he said, swallowing hard and forcing himself into the room even more. Shame flushed his face … shame that this is what Rosie would see. Rosie would know that even his mother couldn’t love him. Maybe realise that she shouldn’t either.

“I don’t want no fucking visitor. I am trying to watch my soaps.” Her television was on. Yes, he had forgotten her no visitor rule during television show hours.

“Sorry. I …”

“Well you ruined it now anyway, haven’t you, you little cunt? Always the same. Thinking about yourself?” She grabbed the remote and jabbed the button, flicking the screen off. Then she saw Rosie. “You brought your little trollop with you?”

“This is Rosie.”

Maria leaned closer, coughing from the movement, a deep guttural cough, rattling phlegm and all the shit in her chest. “You’re still with my William?” she asked.

“Yes,” Rosie said, weakly, stepping into the room.

“Why?”

Rosie looked at William briefly. “Why?”

Maria gave a throaty laugh. “She deaf or just plain fucking stupid?” she said to William. “No wonder she hasn’t left yet. Look at her. Thick as two short planks that one.”

This was a bad idea. Big bad idea. He pinched his fingers together, letting Maria’s words roll off him, but he was useless. So damn useless. He couldn’t tell Maria to stop. He couldn’t defend Rosie against her and all the hateful words she wanted to spill out. The look on Rosie’s face told him that her words touched her and not in a good way. Was she hurt? Angry? Confused? All three maybe?

He’d had a lifetime of it and they struck him so many times like lightning down his spine. But then she was his mother. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to reach Rosie the same.

“This was a bad idea,” William barely said, ready to err on the side of caution. “I’m sorry. Let’s go home.”

“Home? My fucking house?” his mother shrieked.

“It’s my house, too,” William said, hearing the weakness in his words. It was that familiar sick need to plead with her, get her to see reason, be fair to him for once.

“Not yet it isn’t. I’m not dead yet. I can still change my will you know. Get you kicked out.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you have thrown me on the streets, would it?”

He ground his teeth, clenching his jaw hard enough to make it throb. Don’t feed into it. Don’t. But his past had a way of jumping out of him, ready to accuse her back. Ready to make her see what she was, what she’d done, make her answer. She’d put him on the streets when he was a child. Kicked him right out of the house, in the middle of the night, just because she could.

This was enough. Rosie had seen it. She’d seen enough. “We need to go. I’ll come see you tomorrow,” he called, dashing to Rosie and grabbing her hand. “I'm sorry,” he muttered. “This was a mistake.”

“Don’t be bringing that bitch with you tomorrow. And she better be out of my house. I ain’t livin’ with no trollop and listening to you fuck her every night.”

Rosie didn’t say anything, and maybe she was too shocked … too disgusted as he led her back out of the room, his pulse throbbing in his temples. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought you.”

“William …” Rosie clutched his hand as he tried to march her away. “William …”

She pulled her hand free, and he continued a few paces toward the door.

“William,” she hissed. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry, Rosie,” he said, turning. “It’s a mess. It’s all such a fucking mess.”

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