Read Online Cuts Like An Angel by Mason Sabre, Lucian Bane - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mason Sabre, Lucian Bane
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dial.
Rosie answered before the first ring ended. She’d been waiting? Waiting to join in with the beautiful song. To take her place.
“Mental Health Helpline. How can I help?”
William rolled onto his side and let out a breath, clenching his eyes shut. Her voice was the new music he wanted to hear. She ignited a spark inside his heart just by speaking.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk,” she soothed just as always. “We can just sit together a while, but I’m here if you want to.”
William closed his eyes. He wanted to. God, he did.
Chapter Eight
Rosie
Rosie silenced the voices in her head by filling her paperwork and speaking aloud as she did. Her mom always said you couldn’t think of more than one thing when you were talking, and she had a lot she didn’t want to think about—Ms. Mandy being dead, bills being due, money being gone, and being wrong about Josh, to the man who never called because he was dead—because she couldn’t save him. She couldn’t save him, or Ms. Mandy, or countless other people that called in and ended it all.
So, filing. She had to do something that didn’t allow her brain to think about any of it. She had to go on. There was no veering off the path, no turning back, and no giving in or giving up.
An hour later, and there was nothing left to do. She could go organize everybody else’s files maybe. Only, that would put her away from the switchboard. Not a single call all night yet, and with her luck, they’d call the second she was away; it would be the call that could’ve made a difference, and she’d be to blame.
Besides, it was nearing the witching hour. Maybe she’d write her mother a nice, long letter.
She pulled out some paper, clicked on a pen and got to writing. She wrote everything she felt, and boy did she feel a lot. She nearly missed the blinking light in her furious pen pushing, and grabbed the headset.
“Mental Health Helpline, I’m here to help you.” Rosie , she added in her mind.
The breathing on the other end made her heart lurch in her chest. “Hello?”
She jerked off the headset and stared at it when they hung up. She shook her head, steadying her breaths. Just stop it. Stop your damn panicking over everything. Stop your looking too far into everything, reaching too high, too low. You are a professional— she searched for the proper term and her shoulders sagged. What was she? A professional volunteer?
A little girl playing doctor on the poor patients.
She jerked the pen back and got to finishing off her mother’s letter—really letting her have it the way she needed to get it, holding nothing back. Page after page flowed from her hand like blood from a festering wound that got deeper as she let it out.
A novel later, she ordered all her papers into a neat stack. She licked her index finger and began counting the pages in her letter book. Wow. Twenty-three pages long. A sense of pride filled her. The number was impressive. Maybe she could be a writer in her spare time. She was pretty creative.
The red light blinked again, and she could only stare at it for the first few seconds. Her eyes darted to the clock, and for the first time in her job, she contemplated not answering the phone.
Don’t be stupid. She shot her arm across the desk for the headset. “Mental Health Hotline, I’m here to help you.” Rosie’s here.
The silence on the other end gripped her like hands around her throat. “Hello?” she barely managed before closing her eyes.
“Rosie.”
Rosie’s eyes popped open and she sprang up from her chair with a huge gasp.
“Are you okay?” the voice whispered.
Rosie paced, fighting to catch her breath, fanning her face. “It’s you?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call, Rosie.”
“Oh my God, it’s you,” she shrilled, sitting down then standing. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” she muttered, putting her trembling hand over her brow and fighting the surge of tears.
“Are you
Rosie answered before the first ring ended. She’d been waiting? Waiting to join in with the beautiful song. To take her place.
“Mental Health Helpline. How can I help?”
William rolled onto his side and let out a breath, clenching his eyes shut. Her voice was the new music he wanted to hear. She ignited a spark inside his heart just by speaking.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk,” she soothed just as always. “We can just sit together a while, but I’m here if you want to.”
William closed his eyes. He wanted to. God, he did.
Chapter Eight
Rosie
Rosie silenced the voices in her head by filling her paperwork and speaking aloud as she did. Her mom always said you couldn’t think of more than one thing when you were talking, and she had a lot she didn’t want to think about—Ms. Mandy being dead, bills being due, money being gone, and being wrong about Josh, to the man who never called because he was dead—because she couldn’t save him. She couldn’t save him, or Ms. Mandy, or countless other people that called in and ended it all.
So, filing. She had to do something that didn’t allow her brain to think about any of it. She had to go on. There was no veering off the path, no turning back, and no giving in or giving up.
An hour later, and there was nothing left to do. She could go organize everybody else’s files maybe. Only, that would put her away from the switchboard. Not a single call all night yet, and with her luck, they’d call the second she was away; it would be the call that could’ve made a difference, and she’d be to blame.
Besides, it was nearing the witching hour. Maybe she’d write her mother a nice, long letter.
She pulled out some paper, clicked on a pen and got to writing. She wrote everything she felt, and boy did she feel a lot. She nearly missed the blinking light in her furious pen pushing, and grabbed the headset.
“Mental Health Helpline, I’m here to help you.” Rosie , she added in her mind.
The breathing on the other end made her heart lurch in her chest. “Hello?”
She jerked off the headset and stared at it when they hung up. She shook her head, steadying her breaths. Just stop it. Stop your damn panicking over everything. Stop your looking too far into everything, reaching too high, too low. You are a professional— she searched for the proper term and her shoulders sagged. What was she? A professional volunteer?
A little girl playing doctor on the poor patients.
She jerked the pen back and got to finishing off her mother’s letter—really letting her have it the way she needed to get it, holding nothing back. Page after page flowed from her hand like blood from a festering wound that got deeper as she let it out.
A novel later, she ordered all her papers into a neat stack. She licked her index finger and began counting the pages in her letter book. Wow. Twenty-three pages long. A sense of pride filled her. The number was impressive. Maybe she could be a writer in her spare time. She was pretty creative.
The red light blinked again, and she could only stare at it for the first few seconds. Her eyes darted to the clock, and for the first time in her job, she contemplated not answering the phone.
Don’t be stupid. She shot her arm across the desk for the headset. “Mental Health Hotline, I’m here to help you.” Rosie’s here.
The silence on the other end gripped her like hands around her throat. “Hello?” she barely managed before closing her eyes.
“Rosie.”
Rosie’s eyes popped open and she sprang up from her chair with a huge gasp.
“Are you okay?” the voice whispered.
Rosie paced, fighting to catch her breath, fanning her face. “It’s you?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call, Rosie.”
“Oh my God, it’s you,” she shrilled, sitting down then standing. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” she muttered, putting her trembling hand over her brow and fighting the surge of tears.
“Are you
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