“Why don’t you care?”
She crouches, pushing the hands away from my face only to replace it with one of hers, the fingers cooler than mine. “I do care. This is me caring.”
Rosa stands again and helps me to my feet. I adjust my clothing, tidying as much as the situation allows. When she leads me back to the sofa, I follow her, meek as a lamb, still tense with the fear that I’ll hurt her.
“Do you want me to go?” she asks, and I know what I should say. Instead, I can’t say anything, the lump in my throat too large an obstacle to fight past. When she reaches out to squeeze my hand, I grab hold of her like a lifeline.
She sinks onto the floor, resting her head against my shoulder. Each small point of contact a delight.
While I’m trying to think what to say, how to make everything better, I slip into a deep dark hole of sleep. By the time I fight my way back to the surface, Rosa’s long gone, and the moon has slunk away from the night sky, sheltering behind the horizon like a coward.
CHAPTERELEVEN
ROSA
On Sunday,I take a seat opposite Ceecee and pass her a date scone from the local bakery.
“Ooh, thanks love.” She happily opens the butter sachet that came with it and spreads a liberal amount across the first half. “And it’s still warm!”
I wait until she takes a bite before opening my mouth to ask a question, but she gets there first.
“Let me guess. You’re bribing me for some nefarious purpose.” She takes another enormous mouthful, face joyful as she chews. “If you want me to take on a client, the answer’s no.”
“It’s not that,” I assure her. “But I wouldn’t mind your input on what to do with one.”
“Tie them up. Isn’t that your speed?”
“He’s nothing that straightforward.” Even though I want her advice, I find it hard to divulge anything about Trent.
It’s not like he asked for my help. He’s found his own way of dealing with his problem and just because it’s obvious it won’t last for long—and might even add to his issue—doesn’t mean he needs me wading into the midst.
“When we’re… he needs to hurt me. It gets so bad that he stops rather than risk it.”
“My advice is to find a new client.”
“But there must be—”
She holds up a hand to cut me off. “Honey, you’re eighteen. You’ve got enough on your plate with your work and your studies and your mum to worry about how some guy gets his rocks off. If he needs help, let him see a therapist.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “Aren’t you the one who told me that’s half the job?”
“To be a friend and a sounding board is the job. Not curing some guy who wants to harm women.”
“He doesn’t want to. He has the urge to.”
“And when you’re reliant on him controlling himself to avoid getting hurt, you’re in trouble. Because maybe one day he doesn’t try to stop.” She clocks one look at my face and bursts into laughter. “Don’t ask for my advice if you don’t want it, hun. If he can afford you, he can afford a shrink.”
“I don’t think he’d go to one.”
“Then he doesn’t really want to change, does he? Which leaves you in more danger, doesn’t it?”
I nod, the movement creaking with annoyance.
“He doesn’t know this address, does he?”
My eyes widen as I glance at her, startled at the thought. “No.”
She nods and moves to the sink to rinse out her cup. “Good. We don’t need those types hanging around, creating a nuisance.”
