Page 41 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

If he could just push William out of his head. He clenched his fists as he walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Josh would never have been so paranoid about Rosie and her phone, and Josh, would certainly not have wished his mother dead.

He shook his head at himself as he ran his hand through his hair. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do either of these things. He was William; poor battered William who should have died in the river. Stupid William. He fixed himself with a not too friendly glare in the hallway mirror. Eyes, narrowed, scowl on his face. I hate you.

At the hospital, William stopped when they reached the door to the ward. “Do you want to wait here?” he asked, afraid of a repeat of yesterday. Maybe it was better if Rosie waited outside. It was probably his fault Maria had a stroke anyway … bringing Rosie to see her. “I just don’t ...” what? Want to set her off? Guilt pinched at him for even asking Rosie to wait in the corridor, but he didn’t want to send Maria into another melt down. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Rosie said. “I’ll wait here for you, okay? I don’t want to add more stress.”

He hugged her. “Just wait outside the room, then I can call you if I need you.”

She nodded, smiling and then kissed him, her hand running through his hair. “Just here if you need me. Always.”

Maria was in her room, in the bed, not the chair for a change. She had a tube around her face, giving her oxygen and her eyes were closed, skin pale. She looked ... helpless. Guilt tugged inside William at his thoughts and everything mixed up from the night before. He couldn’t decide if he hated her or loved her.

The shadow of the woman who used to be there, peaked out around the soft edges of her face. She had been beautiful once. Her arms lay by her sides, one of them with a catheter, attached to the intravenous line. She had great hands he remembered, soft perfect skin, her nails always done ... always bright red. Now her nails were nothing but brittle stubs, with patches of yellow across them from all the years of smoking. Liver spots covered her wrinkled hands. He had loved playing with her hands ... when she would let him. In those moments when a flicker of niceness came from her to him.

He angled his head to look at her, really look at her, lying there. Chest rising slowly. her once beautiful blonde hair, nothing but long and matted and grey.

Thoughts of his early hope came to him, bringing fresh hot irons of shame to burn through his gut. "I'm sorry," he whispered, unsure of himself … afraid of her, or even saying the words aloud.

Nothing.

The machine next to her bleeped out its signal that she was still alive, but it didn’t even flinch. Nothing to say she had heard him. He pulled up the sorry looking leather chair next to her and let himself sit. He’d have never dared any other time to sit within hitting distance from her. "Rosie is here, too." He wasn’t sure if he was saying it to actually tell Maria, or if it was for himself, to remind him that she was there, for him.

The machine bleeped, slightly different, like she had heard him and her heart jumped, but he was glad she couldn’t speak. His blood boiled just thinking about how she had called Rosie a slut, but then he pictured them that morning, her riding him in the garden. If Maria could have seen that …

As if on cue, like she had been listening and heard him mention her, Rosie slipped into the room, a smile playing on her lips, just for him. Her phone buzzed again, three times, stealing her expression. “Sorry,” she murmured. Pressing the button to silence it. “How is she?” she asked as she moved around the side of the bed to stand by William, hand resting on his shoulder.

“Resting.”

“Rest is the best thing for her,” she said, leaning down so that she could lay her head against his. He reached his hand up to hers, holding her hand on his shoulder and leaning into her. “My grandmother had a stroke,” Rosie said, quietly. “She recovered pretty well from it. Just sometimes she would stumble, but aside from that, no one would know.”

“Maybe Maria will, too,” he said, fighting the disappointment in his voice.

“She could …”

Moving closer, William’s hand rested on the bed near Maria’s, and he stared at her gnarled fingers with fear. Such small hands, dainty from what he remembered, but still they wielded much pain and suffering. He slid his hand closer, grasping the lifeless limb at the last moment before he could think. It had been a long time since they had held hands. Her hand was her warm, and the skin softer than he expected. I'm glad you can’t spoil this for me, he thought to himself.

Maybe that was why she had a stroke. Wasn’t that why it got its name? He wasn’t the believing kind, but stroke was nicknamed that as a stroke of God. God coming down with his ... wrath and striking the person with it. Maybe he had silenced her.

Taking hold of her arm with his other hand, William leaned forward to rest his forehead against his mother’s leg and closed his eyes. His mind wandering and fighting with itself. This wasn’t supposed to be how their lives went.

"We think she should be okay," said a gentle voice from the door. William raised his head to see a nurse. "Time to check her stats," she explained.

"Of course." William let go of Maria’s hand and pushed his chair back, slipping his hand into Rosie’s. She gave it a squeeze, letting him know she was there and making his heart soar with it. No one … No one had ever given a damn about him like this.

"No, no. You don’t need to move,” the nurse said.

"It’s okay. Makes it easier for you." He cast his eyes to Maria. She wouldn’t know he was there or if he wasn’t. She wouldn’t care anyway unless she needed someone to vent her anger out on.

"They think she should come out of this okay. Maybe a little slow with her speech. The damage doesn’t seem that extensive, but with stroke patients, you never can tell." She stared wistfully at Maria. William wanted to shake her. This was not some poor woman in the bed. His anger rose in his chest. William and Josh fighting in his head; the bad son and the good son. No, this was a bitch. Funny that, anyone wanted to show Maria a little of sympathy and he wanted to slam their heads into a wall and wake them the hell up. "It’s all on her now."

"She’s stubborn," he uttered quickly, and he didn’t mean it in a good way.

"Yes, she is." The nurse wrote on Maria’s chart. “Are you staying for the rest of the day?”

“Ye—“

“Yes, we are,” Rosie said at the same time as William, cutting him off. “As long as she needs us here.”

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