Read Online Cuts Like An Angel by Mason Sabre, Lucian Bane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mason Sabre, Lucian Bane
Ads: Link
okay, Rosie?”
She held her lips together tightly and clenched her eyes.
“Rosie?”
“I’m here,” she managed before stifling a couple of sobs in her arm.
“You’re crying again,” he said in that same awe-filled voice, like he had thought he’d dreamed the phenomenon.
“I am pissed, ” she finally managed to squeak out. She got up and paced, letting her anger give her strength. “You shit,” she hissed before yanking the anger valve shut. It wasn’t nice or healthy to aim that at him. He called, Rosie. Better late than never. Sit your ass down.
She sat back down and cleared her throat. “I’ll have that name now; I think you owe me at least that much?”
“Why are you crying, Rosie?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not until you tell me your name.”
“William,” he said after a moment of silence. “Why are you crying?”
“William.” She wrote it down for lack of knowing what else to do as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Well, William, I’m crying because …” She was about to make all sorts of excuses that amounted to clever insults, and then tapped her pen on the desk. Soon, her anger returned and took hold of her tongue. “I’m crying because I thought you were dead. You said you’d call and you didn’t. What was I supposed to think? I’ll tell you what I thought. I thought you offed yourself, but I wasn’t really sure. I waited. I waited for days , William. ”
She sat, realizing she’d gotten up again to storm around in circles. She let out a shaky sigh.
“Say it again, Rosie,” he whispered.
“Say what?”
“All of it. Every word of it. It’s so good to hear you, Rosie.” He had that last-leg tone, that miserable one, and she didn’t like it.
Her heart melted, and she sagged in her chair at hearing the desperate need to be cared for. Loved.
“You know, when I called you that first night …” there was a long pause and Rosie strained to hear, needing to know that very thing, “it was to have somebody to say goodbye to.”
Pain speared her chest until she couldn’t breathe. She covered her mouth and turned her head from the mic, gasping quietly before getting back on. “Well,” she finally said, in a rattily voice. “I’m still here, right? Same as before. I’m not going anywhere if you’re not.”
“And if I do go?”
“Don’t.”
He gave a light chuckle that sent a thrill, a joy, through her. She needed many more of those, and she needed them pretty quickly. “I really like you, Rosie,” he said like a boy longing for that bicycle he knew he’d never get but didn’t mind dreaming out loud about it.
Rosie hurried to prove him wrong, and in the process, crossed major lines. “And I like you, William. Very much.” She covered her mouth to stifle a sob that snuck up out of nowhere. How was he pulling these out of her? What was it with him?
“Can I call you again, Rosie?”
“Yes,” she nodded, a sniffle escaping.
“You’re doing it again,” he said in fascination.
“I’m pretty good at that, yep.”
He was quiet for a little bit before asking, “Do you … do this a lot, Rosie?”
She heard it in his tone; was he special, or did she cry for others like him? Honestly, she didn’t. “Never, William,” she said, crossing line number eighty-three. The weight of all her failures pushed in again and focused on him. “So, I’m glad you’re on the right side of the dirt. Would be a little hard giving me lasagna recipes from the grave.”
He gave her another laugh, and the sheer energy in it made her laugh too.
“God, your laugh is so beautiful, Rosie.”
Ah shit. She cleared her throat with the sudden hammering in her heart. “ Thank you , is the proper response.”
“But you don’t want to really say that?”
“Well, it’s not my strong suit … taking compliments.”
“I understand.” Like it was one of his as well.
“So, how have you been?” she hurried on, ready to move on to brighter, less Rosie
She held her lips together tightly and clenched her eyes.
“Rosie?”
“I’m here,” she managed before stifling a couple of sobs in her arm.
“You’re crying again,” he said in that same awe-filled voice, like he had thought he’d dreamed the phenomenon.
“I am pissed, ” she finally managed to squeak out. She got up and paced, letting her anger give her strength. “You shit,” she hissed before yanking the anger valve shut. It wasn’t nice or healthy to aim that at him. He called, Rosie. Better late than never. Sit your ass down.
She sat back down and cleared her throat. “I’ll have that name now; I think you owe me at least that much?”
“Why are you crying, Rosie?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not until you tell me your name.”
“William,” he said after a moment of silence. “Why are you crying?”
“William.” She wrote it down for lack of knowing what else to do as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Well, William, I’m crying because …” She was about to make all sorts of excuses that amounted to clever insults, and then tapped her pen on the desk. Soon, her anger returned and took hold of her tongue. “I’m crying because I thought you were dead. You said you’d call and you didn’t. What was I supposed to think? I’ll tell you what I thought. I thought you offed yourself, but I wasn’t really sure. I waited. I waited for days , William. ”
She sat, realizing she’d gotten up again to storm around in circles. She let out a shaky sigh.
“Say it again, Rosie,” he whispered.
“Say what?”
“All of it. Every word of it. It’s so good to hear you, Rosie.” He had that last-leg tone, that miserable one, and she didn’t like it.
Her heart melted, and she sagged in her chair at hearing the desperate need to be cared for. Loved.
“You know, when I called you that first night …” there was a long pause and Rosie strained to hear, needing to know that very thing, “it was to have somebody to say goodbye to.”
Pain speared her chest until she couldn’t breathe. She covered her mouth and turned her head from the mic, gasping quietly before getting back on. “Well,” she finally said, in a rattily voice. “I’m still here, right? Same as before. I’m not going anywhere if you’re not.”
“And if I do go?”
“Don’t.”
He gave a light chuckle that sent a thrill, a joy, through her. She needed many more of those, and she needed them pretty quickly. “I really like you, Rosie,” he said like a boy longing for that bicycle he knew he’d never get but didn’t mind dreaming out loud about it.
Rosie hurried to prove him wrong, and in the process, crossed major lines. “And I like you, William. Very much.” She covered her mouth to stifle a sob that snuck up out of nowhere. How was he pulling these out of her? What was it with him?
“Can I call you again, Rosie?”
“Yes,” she nodded, a sniffle escaping.
“You’re doing it again,” he said in fascination.
“I’m pretty good at that, yep.”
He was quiet for a little bit before asking, “Do you … do this a lot, Rosie?”
She heard it in his tone; was he special, or did she cry for others like him? Honestly, she didn’t. “Never, William,” she said, crossing line number eighty-three. The weight of all her failures pushed in again and focused on him. “So, I’m glad you’re on the right side of the dirt. Would be a little hard giving me lasagna recipes from the grave.”
He gave her another laugh, and the sheer energy in it made her laugh too.
“God, your laugh is so beautiful, Rosie.”
Ah shit. She cleared her throat with the sudden hammering in her heart. “ Thank you , is the proper response.”
“But you don’t want to really say that?”
“Well, it’s not my strong suit … taking compliments.”
“I understand.” Like it was one of his as well.
“So, how have you been?” she hurried on, ready to move on to brighter, less Rosie
Similar Books
