Page 41 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Eighteen

Rosie

She was the devil after all. She had to be. There was no other explanation for it. Rosie stayed by the door watching William ride off into the night, and then she stayed there a while longer until she could no longer hear the roar of his bike. It felt so hard to close the door on him, even though he wasn’t actually there wanting to come in. Closing it made her feel like she was shutting him out, leaving him on his own to deal with the demon inside his head, while leaving her with the demon inside the house.

If it hadn’t been so cold, she might have stayed there until he came back. She might have sat on the steps and listened for him, let him know in her own way that she was with him no matter what happened. But the wind was icy, and it blasted against her cheeks making them sting. Her eyes watered every time another blast rounded the corner and smacked her in the face.

“Please be safe,” she whispered to him, sending all the love from her heart to him like it was a light she could send out into the world and somehow it would find him. Somehow it would make him feel better, feel more than he did. She closed the door and locked it behind her, and for a while, she stood motionless in the hallway. Her legs had become as heavy as lead, her heart a pulsing rock in her chest, and all the while, she stared at Maria’s door. She was not going to win this. “I swear to god; I won’t let you.”

She might not have been able to save the child William was. To save the little boy who touched her heart every time she heard his stories, felt his pain, but she could save him now. She could stand with him and give him the strength he needed.

There was no doubt in Rosie’s mind who had put the dirty dishes away. A cruel move, cruel to someone like William when things like that were the very things that kept him sane. She knew too, Maria knew, she had to, or why do it?

“You’ll not hurt him anymore.”

When Rosie stood in the kitchen, just in the doorway, she tried to put her mind like William’s, to think like he would and see it the way he would see this. It was the only way to get it right and not cause him more harm. She’d make a start for him. She knew how he liked things and how it would make him feel better, make him calm down so he could fight the monster that had claws wrapped so deep into him he had to leave the house just to think.

“Oh, William,” she breathed, feeling the weight of it all against her. She took a breath and let a slight sob out. Any more and she’d maybe find herself charging into his mother’s room making demands.

It took her a couple of hours, but Rosie managed to get every plate, mug and bowl out of the cupboards and stacked in neat piles on the counter. God knows how anyone had so much stuff and where it had been hiding. It surely didn’t look like it would all fit back in. maybe this was a blessing in disguise. They could get rid of things that they didn’t need, chipped plates, bowls that didn’t match. They had thrift shops; Rosie was sure. No, charity shops they were called over here. Yes, she would sort them and let William go through everything. She didn’t want to throw out something he was holding onto, a favourite mug, or bowl or something.

She loaded the machine—cups and bowls for now, and some of the cutlery. At least enough for them to use in the morning, if William could find it in himself to use the kitchen while it was in this state. She worked on the cabinets, emptying and cleaning them. She used the yellow gloves from under the sink and the bleach. Bleach always made a place smell clean and fresh. Every cupboard got wiped, inside and out. She wiped the handles and the panels. She shone the taps. Not an inch of the kitchen was missed. She cleaned until her nose protested and stung from the sharp bite of chemicals, and her arms ached from reaching up high.

He’d not come home to a mess and the ability to spiral again. She picked up her tub, rinsed it and even mopped the entire floor to make sure there was not a thing missed.

When she was done, she went to their bedroom with the idea of lying there and waiting for him, but when she was at the door, her heart lurched at the sight of their crumpled sheets … crumpled from their love making, which felt strangely like days ago, rather than just hours. It had been their fortress, keeping them both safe. It was a desolate, lonely place without him.

The sweater he had worn before bed was hanging on the back of the chair in their room. She picked it up, raised it to her face and inhaled deeply, flooding her senses with William. Without a thought, she pulled it over her head and wrapped herself up. She had put her pyjamas on before going down, but she slid her top off, needing to feel the fabric that had touched him, against her bare skin.

She went to the office. It was too hard to stay in the bedroom and wait. If she sat in the bed, she’d end up a mess by the time he got back and that would do neither of them any good.

At least in the office, she could do something useful, or even play one of the games he had on his machine. She could play that one he had where you got to make people, then she could make Maria and kill her off somehow. Watch her scream for help.

First, emails. As she waited for the machine to load, she curled up on his chair, and used his sweater like it was him holding her. It was almost like she could conjure him up and make him come home if she thought about him enough.

The email from Peter threw her out of her safe zone. She’d almost forgot about it. Talking to Peter felt like a week ago. But his name was there, big and bold and demanding her attention in her inbox. The fucker had even added a read receipt to it, so he would know when she’d opened it. It was on her to find a way to by-pass that, just to spite him. Maybe even delete it and send him into panic when he got a deleted notification instead, but that would make him call, and he was one of the last people she wanted to speak to just now.

She took a breath and clicked the email. “Please print off and sign the attached form. Email back an electronically signed copy too.” She rolled her eyes and scrolled down to the bottom and double clicked the attachment.

It opened up a legal looking PDF file, all letterheads and legal wording she wasn’t sure she understood at five in the morning. But she skimmed the details, taking in words here and there. Injured party … acceptable contractual amount. “Fifty thousand?” She almost shouted the words. Her eyes peeled back at the sight of it. Her heart slammed so abruptly into her chest it made her gasp for air. Fifty thousand dollars? Was he insane?

She could hardly breathe as she read it again. But she picked up the office phone and dialled Peter. He answered right away. He’d probably been waiting, the bastard. Got an alert on the read receipt and then sat by the phone. “Are you fucking serious?” She shot out. “Fifty thousand. I don’t have fifty thousand dollars.”

He was calm on the other end of the line, which made her want to reach in and kill him. “I think it’s more than reasonable, don’t you?”

“No. No, I do not. Fifty thousand, Peter? What the actual fuck?”

“Ten thousand for every year.”

“A year? We weren’t …”

“The original contract was drawn up five years ago. You signed it back then. So yes, Rosie, five years. I think it is more than fair given the circumstances. Count yourself lucky. I could have asked for a whole lot more. I could demand a monthly payment for the rest of our lives. Take it to a lawyer; see what they think. I am sure they’ll agree.”

She was almost too shocked to speak. Five years … had it really been five years? She counted them back and found Peter was right. Despite being in bitter English cold, she felt suddenly warm. “I don’t have fifty thousand.”

“Well, you can always come home,” he said, nonchalantly, like it was his intention. It probably was. Throw a figure out there that wasn’t big by any stretch, but to Rosie it was massive, and he knew that too. “I am more than willing to forget the whole thing if you come home. Your parents agree with me on this one and your father says this is your mess and he isn’t helping you out of this one. Not like last time.”

“Last time? What last time. I never …” She sat forward on her seat, her mind rolling over all the possibilities and when she found what he meant, her stomach went cold.

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