Page 1 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

Chapter One

William

She would not come, would she? Why would she? Why would she come back to this shit-hole ... to this place ... to him? After what he had done. William leaned against the tiled wall outside the airport terminal. It was raining, as usual. It dotted the ground around him, landing occasionally on his jacket and face when the wind caught it. Outside, planes came and left, each one of them carrying promise and hope, and maybe heartbreak—some of those passengers would never come back.

The way he stood, with his hands pressed together in front of his face, anyone looking would think he was praying—either that or having a mental breakdown. He breathed, making the skin clammy around his mouth and nose, and sending himself dizzy with the lack of fresh air.

She would not come. She wouldn't.

He exhaled harshly and slowly moved his hands apart before letting them slide down his shoulders and arms until he was practically hugging himself. Digging his fingers into his biceps, he let the nails pierce his flesh through his clothes. He should just go home now. He should leave and not put himself through this. Not stand there like a fucking loser waiting for a plane to empty of passengers. He'd be the one left standing there ... the last one, waiting long after even the pilot and crew had left.

Pushing himself off the wall, he dared to glance around at the first status board hanging in the hall, big and bright, numbers scrolling. The big 'Arrivals' title blinked in neon in a secret code of fate's Fuck You, she didn't get on the plane, William.

He knew her flight number like a song. He knew so many numbers this way—his date of birth, his phone number, the number to fucking Maria's doctors. All of them. His eyes homed in on Rosie's flight immediately, the glaring 'On time' status staring at him. Yeah, the plane would be on time, but she wouldn't be on it.

He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. Calm. He pinched his middle finger and thumb together on both hands the way Carly had shown him. It was her new thing for him. So far so good. But then it had been an emergency resolution for when Rosie hadn't come two weeks ago.

She'd only been going back home for a week, and suddenly, it was another week and then another. The second time sent him into major panic ... so major he'd called the crisis team because he didn't know what he'd do. She really wasn't coming back. He was sure of it.

He pressed his fingers and thumbs together so hard that he was sure he would break them. Tap, tap, tap ... Calm, William. Breathe. She'd not called. She'd not cancelled. Shit. Maybe she had. Maybe he'd just missed it.

He yanked his phones from his pocket—his and Josh's. If she didn't come back, William would die for sure, and Josh would live; he'd make sure of it. He would, because Rosie had made promises, but they were lies. They were the lies he'd heard forever, and he would know for sure that William had to go. His mind wouldn't stop. Like a fucking monkey mind, Carly liked to say. Shit, his was a baboon doing cartwheels right now. It raced so damn fast it made him breathless and lightheaded.

He glared at both blank screens. Blank. See? No messages, he tried to calm himself. Tried to make his mind see she hadn’t messaged. This was Rosie. His Rosie. She wouldn’t do that to him.

But what if there was no signal? What if she'd sent it and he had been out of range? The part on the motorway that was a good twenty-minute stretch where there was no service. She could have sent a message then and now those messages were lost somewhere out on the stratosphere and here was William, fucked, alone, and left like an idiot, again.

Why did he fall for this shit all the time? Why? What kind of moron was he?

Fuck. Get a grip.

He glanced back to the board. 'Delayed.' His heart stopped, his grip tightening on his phones; he could hardly focus on the new expected time. Three minutes late. That was all. Why did they have to post that? Did three minutes really matter? Really make it worth crushing the hearts of those waiting in the arrivals’ lounge for the split second?

A woman next to him sighed. "Always delayed these things, aren't they?" She looked to him as she brushed fake blonde hair from her face.

William blinked. Yes, she was talking to him. "Maybe someone stopped it and got off," he uttered, his mind racing over a million possible outcomes, and none of them ending with Rosie walking through that gate.

The woman half-laughed, half-looked at him with pity and raised eyebrows that caused creases in her forehead; the same way everyone looked at him at the hospital when he went to see Maria. Or maybe they were pitying Maria for having him in her life.

Even he pitied Maria for having him in her life.

William smiled at the woman, turning it to a chuckle and throwing on the mask of normality he had perfected.

"Maybe," she uttered back.

He walked away without another word—walked off before his mouth could spit out any more of his weird and wonderful thoughts. Of course, that took him in the opposite direction of where he wanted to be, but right then, everyone there pressed in on him. Their presence—a buzz against his head, throbbing, probing. Shouts and talking, cries, commands. All of it too much for William's mind to find that calm and happy place he so desperately needed.

Walking to the large observation windows, William focused on the lights of the runway; they shone out into the distance. Nine hours of silence he'd had. Nine hours. His mind was about to take a detour even farther than it already had. His thoughts swam, and he pressed his forehead against the glass. He opened his phone, scrolling to the last text from Rosie.

Boarding. See you on the other side xxx

She'd added kisses. Three of them. That was good, wasn't it? It meant that she was happy. She was boarding. He'd checked the internet right when she said, and the information on the carrier's website had been a little off. Said the flight had taken off thirty minutes beforehand. So, she couldn't have been on it. He tried to reason with himself that maybe the text message was delayed. That happened sometimes. They were never usually big delays, but it always occurred on those important text messages, and at those moments when his mind was about to take a swan-dive off the cliff and crash into the rocks.

Delayed message ... just a delay.

Another information board came into view, hanging just outside the bathrooms. Rosie's flight ... 'landed.' He read the numbers again and again. Tracing his finger across the invisible line in the air in front of his face just to make sure it all lined up.

Shit. His heart soared, and then crashed and plummeted down to his feet. His head swam, his throat closed, and William stood, still staring at that word. Landed. He looked around him, seeming to come out of a trance he hadn't recalled going into. How far had he walked?

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