Page 67 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

But she was meant to be the strong one here. She was meant to be the one who calmed William when he was losing it. Not the other way around. As William tightened his arms around her, she slid her arms around his waist and held him like she was never letting him go. Which she wasn’t. Not ever.

“Your parents have gone. I checked. Their car is gone.”

“I wish they wouldn't come back,” Rosie said, against his chest. “I wish they would just get on a plane and go home.”

“I’m sorry for what she did. Maria …”

“It’s not your fault. All those things she said. You know they’re lies, right? You know it’s just some crap my parents made up.” Yet as she saw the envelope her father had given her on the floor where she’d dropped it, she knew some of it wasn’t. Things just weren’t the way they had said it. It was impossible. She wanted all of William’s secrets, yet she was too afraid to share her own with him. If he knew … he’d never talk to her again.

“None of it matters to me, Rosie,” he said. “Lies, truth. I don’t care. All that matters is here and now.”

“Even if I’ve been in a looney bin?”

He kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek against her hair. “Even if you’ve been in the looney bin.”

She let him hold her for a few minutes, both of them in silence. She could hear his heart beating, and she loved the way his chest rose against her cheek. She loved the smell of him too. Except tonight that smell was mixed with the tang of the beer he’d had. When she did pull away enough, she wiped at her eyes and then frowned.

“What did you do to your hand?” Blood decorated his knuckles across his right hand. He flexed his fingers, wincing as he did it.

“I lost my temper a little.”

“Did you …”

“The wall,” he said. “It might need a little bit of fixing, though. I think between your parents and my mother; they’re going to drive us to new heights of insanity.”

Rosie could only nod. “I have to talk to them tomorrow. Tell them to go, that they can’t stay.”

“They’re not going to give up.”

“No. I know. I should never have told them where I was. I thought I was doing the right thing, letting them not worry about me.”

William lay his hand against her cheek, and she leant into it. She closed her eyes at the sensation of his thumb going across her cheek. If only it were just the two of them. No one else. No one like her parents or his mother to get in the way. “My mother doesn’t like to lose. Getting rid of them is going to be hard.”

“I can see that about her.” He slid her back to him, this time kissing her mouth. “Let’s get cleaned up and go to bed. Forget about them. Whatever shit they have planned, we’ll face it. We’ll face all of it.”

In the morning, it didn’t seem as bad as it had the night before. Maybe that was because the sun was shining through the small gap around the curtains. Everything always felt good when the sun shone. Rosie went to turn over, to snuggle into William, but he beat her to it and moved along behind her, pressing himself against her. He kissed the side of her neck.

“Morning,” he murmured. He slid his hand up, holding his palm against her breast. She placed her hand on top of his.

“I feel like I have a hangover without the fun parts from the night before. I have the most awful headache.”

“Go back to sleep. Maybe it’ll pass. We could--” Whatever he was going to say cut off with the sound of his alarm. “Ah, Jesus. I have a meeting today. I’d forgotten all about that.” He flopped back in the bed, and Rosie turned to face him. “Maybe I can call and change it. I don’t want to …”

“You go to it. You can’t miss work.”

“I know, but I can’t leave you here with my mother. I …”

“I’ll grab a bath while you’re gone. Try and shift this headache. She can't get up the stairs to me anyway.”

“We could go to the village near where we had our picnic. They have a small farm there, a Christmas tree farm. We could go and buy one. Pick our own perhaps?”

Was he serious? The idea of it sparked something in her, made her giddy. “A real tree? I’ve never had a real one before.”

He nodded.

Her mother didn’t like the real trees at home. She didn’t like the way their needles dropped or the way they smelt. Rosie loved the scent coming off them. Sometimes, she’d go to the stores just to smell that.

“You know I’ve never decorated a Christmas tree before?”

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