Page 62 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

Chapter Thirty

Rosie

Rosie fought to hold her composure after hearing that shit about Maria. She’d tried to hide it while he reminisced the nightmare but couldn’t. She wanted him to be able to talk about his past, come to terms with it while having her there to heal his wounds. She’d screwed that up. He’d noticed her reaction and snapped out. But what bothered her more than his confession was how he went on like it didn’t bother him. It did bother him.

But maybe she was wrong, maybe he did feel better after telling her. When was the last time he told anybody that? Had he told Carly? She selfishly hoped he hadn’t. Stupid. Sick, really. To want to be his first to divulge his nightmares to. Pop his cherry in the world’s most deranged confessions.

She just wanted to be the one to help heal him.

Images of him locked in the closet crying, scared, with his arm hurting from being broken filled her with murder. While his mother went on a date? How fucking sick. And where was his father? Why was she dating? She’d wanted to ask so many questions. The one question she didn’t want to ask was about what Maria had said. About the two of them. Had that been a lie? She was definitely vile. She recalled how she feigned being hurt and blamed Rosie. She was a liar. She prayed for William’s sake that she’d lied about that. She couldn’t imagine that being true and what that would do to a kid. She’d said they were a team. Surely no human, no mother could ever do that to her own child … but then who was she to talk? Rosie had allowed her own daughter to be killed. Maybe she was as bad as Maria.

“You know,” he said, pulling her out of her miserable thoughts. “I think this doorway should be wider.” He stepped back with his paint roller and she did the same.

“Ohhh, that would make the space feel bigger.”

“There’s a light switch here,” he muttered, aiming his brush at it.

“Nothing an electrician couldn’t rewire. I wish I could get some of my inheritance money,” she muttered. “Not about to try that with my psycho parents now.”

“I have money for repairs,” he said, tossing a smile at her.

“I think that would be wonderful, then.”

“Me too,” he mused, looking around. He pointed at the ceiling. “A new light. One with a fan?”

“Oh that would be very nice,” Rosie said, happy that he was venturing out of his depressing life and living. “And you know you could add a mirror over that fireplace. Maybe new tiles too?”

He eyed it. “More trim too,” he said. “For your stockings.”

“I was just thinking that!” She laughed, and then stepped back, looking at the wall they were painting. “What do you think? It’s drying a little dark.”

“I like it,” he said, nodding then looking at her. “You?”

“I love it! Such a peaceful color.”

“Different and bright, that’s for sure.”

“We should consider a tangerine for the kitchen.”

“Or lime,” he said, winking at her, making her laugh. “How about we finish this room and call it a day? Shower and … decide what we do next.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said, making her way back to the ladder.

“You want to switch?” he asked.

“Only if you’re sick of rolling. I like the cutting in part.”

“I like rolling, just checking.”

“You know,” Rosie said, climbing back up the ladder. “Flower boxes outside the windows would be a nice touch.”

“You think?” he asked around the sticky sound of the roller on the wall.

“Do you like flowers?” she asked.

“I suppose,” he said, like he’d never considered.

“What kind do you like? Or what color?”

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