Page 46 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rosie

Rosie sat in the car, eyeing the house. Only hours before, it had been a potential home. Now … it felt like the Amityville Horror, possessed by a horrific past that waited to devour them. What would she do now? Like a bad omen, she recalled the way William acted after sex that morning. His guilt. Shame.

She eyed the windows, feeling his demonic mother’s eyes peering back at her. The place was cursed with her.

Fear made her heart race. She’d watched too many damn horror movies. Too many houses possessed. This was real. This was William’s real life. Real nightmare. She was here to help him. Save him.

She yanked open the door and climbed out of the car, slipping her sunglasses onto her head as she shut the car door. She surveyed the yard, the home. How had this happened? How had she gone from seeing the place with such warmth and hope, to wanting to call a priest?

Well, she couldn’t call a damn priest. She’d have to spend days at confession first and she didn’t have time for that. This was a matter of Science, not Spiritualism. If she was wrong … well, she’d cross that bridge later.

For now … she needed to take the house back from his past and make it theirs. And she knew just how to do that.

Rosie ran upstairs and changed into clothes she could ruin. Because ruin she would, with what she had in mind. She began in his bedroom, with the walls. After eying them and determining what she could do, what it needed to make it their own, she came up empty. She could start with cleaning. Hurrying downstairs, she gathered supplies and a bucket of hot water, planning to sanitize and wipe everything down. Starting with the shit on the walls, she removed an old picture, noticing immediately that the walls were equally dirty. She removed everything off one and began sponging it down. Five minutes in, she realized she noticed the wall paper bubbling at the edge seems. Oh God. Shit.

She pressed down on the bubbles, biting her lip and looking to find many more bubbling spots. Crap … crap. She hated wallpaper.

The idea to remove it all hit her like mad cow disease, and she began peeling only to discover she was merely removing the top layer, and the glued paper was remaining. God no. This would definitely mean they’d have to redecorate. Paint would cover anything. Maybe they could paint right over that perfectly glued on paper. Very plausible. She’d wait for him to help with colors of course.

She continued working till she was pouring sweat. Finally done, she gathered it all and stuffed it into a trash bag then, hauled it downstairs. She went out the kitchen’s backdoor with it and plopped it there. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, sucking air into her overworked lungs. Nothing.

She shoved it back in her pocket and slid her sweaty arm over her brow as she stalked her way back up to his room, gathering all the rest of her mess. She checked her phone and added an I love you text and sent it to William.

Four hours later, she had his room, and the hallway stripped of wallpaper. And still no message from William. “Little shit. Come on,” she muttered. “You’re being ridiculous.”

She went into the kitchen and decided to leave that for last if she even did anything with it. She headed to the dining room. More wallpaper ... and pictures. She eyed all of them as she took them down, her upper lip rising in disgust as she considered each piece and what it might mean to him. What sort of curse did it have on him?

It all need to be burned but she wouldn’t be the one to do that. She hauled all the pictures from the dining room to the kitchen for easier wiping. She decided to text William and let him know what she was up to again. Come home soon. I’m having all the fun here without you.

She smashed the send button and paced at the sink, staring down at her phone. Where the hell was he?

The phone buzzed, and she shrieked, nearly dropping it. Her mother. She hit the phone button. “What,” she gritted, ready to kill her.

She gave a snorted gasp. “What,” she demanded.

“Yes, what, what?” Rosie hissed, pacing. “I lied, okay? I’m not coming back. Never intended to. Shocked you didn’t see that one coming, momzy.”

“You little bitch,” she muttered. “Don’t you think for a second that I can’t reach you from here. I can. And I will.”

“Do whatever you want Mom,” she cried, lightly. “I don’t care. I told William all my secrets so you have nothing on me!”

“We’ll see about—“

Rosie hung up on her. “Yes, we will,” she said at the phone. “We’ll see about that, you’re seeing right now, you’re seeing little Rosie isn’t your puppet.”

She was starved. She dug through the pantry and found fixings for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As she ate, she pulled out the phone and texted William. Still here. Still cleaning. Still love you. Not leaving. Ever.

She hit send and drank down her milk, looking at her phone when it buzzed. She rolled her eyes at seeing her mother’s text then shoved the phone in her back pocket, not looking at it.

Rosie pushed away the depression fighting to settle on her. He had to come back, eventually. What if he was in trouble?

She stiffened as she considered. Would he go to the hospital? Stay with her?

She recalled how he held her hand and how she’d wanted to slap it off her. She barely knew the woman and already hated her with a passion. A passion she was sure would only grow stronger each day. To think she’d be in their lives.

Rosie made her way to the bathroom, ready for a shower. In case he called she needed to be prepared to leave. And she smelled like wild onions soaked in salt. She reeked.

By the time she finished her shower, it was nearing eight o’clock and her temper was beginning to flare again. She texted him again. Where are you? This has gone far enough William. Get back home. I’m over here by myself and scared. It’s not safe I’m sure. Where are you? What are you doing? Are you okay? Can you please at least let me know you’re okay? I love you. I’m not leaving.

She hit send and sat on the bed with a sigh. Lying down she held the phone to her chest, silently willing him to call or text, or anything.

But he didn’t.

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