Page 49 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

“Yes.”

“Do you think maybe to explain? If someone was planning something so dreadful would they make so much effort to call you?”

He thought back to Maria. Maria would. Maria would make sure he got every fucking message until he was down on his knees begging her to stop. “She might, if she hated me enough.”

“And do you think Rosie hates you?”

He thought back to her that morning. The way she had sat on him, taken him into her body. He pulled his hand from Carly, pressing his palms into his eyes. “I just fuck everything up.”

“Should we call her? She must be worried.”

“She might be on a plane, going home.”

“And she might be at home going out of her mind.”

That part of him inside who felt Rosie, who took her in so deeply … the child who needed care, longed and ached. The vulnerable parts of him that he had only shown to her. “I can’t,” he said finally. “I just can’t.” He couldn’t stand the idea that maybe it was true … the way he saw it in his head. Maybe she was leaving and he would know for sure.

“William …”

“Can I just close my eyes a moment? Please? I just need something … I can’t think.”

“Okay,” she said, resting her hand on his knee. “Would you like something to eat? Drink? I make a mean hot chocolate. It could warm you up.”

“No,” he said, leaning back, his eyes closing before he even had time to relax or throw up at the mention of putting anything more in his body. He’d downed a gallon of whisky and saltwater in the span of an hour. He was tired … so fucking tired.

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