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How does a girl cope when her twin flame is the definitive bad boy? (18+ Erotica)
Chapter 8 | Chapter 9: The Return of Madame Rosario
Sally stared politely at the fairground fortune teller. “W-what are you doing here?” She put a hand to her lips as though the question had escaped unintentionally. “Sorry, that sounded rude.”
“Not at all, dearie. One of our fairground lads has been admitted to the third floor. I came for moral support, and lost my way. Then found you.” She peeped through the door, and her smile faded as she saw Iain lying in the bed. “Och, my dear. I am so sorry.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Would you think me very forward if I just came in for a moment?” She waved the coffee flask in her hand again. The flask was encased in a wicker basket, and for some reason Sally couldn’t help but think she had seen one like it somewhere before. “The vending machine coffee is terrible, I have some good stuff in here. It looks like you could do with some.”
She moved out of the way to let her in. “Please come in. That’s really kind of you.”
“It’s just coffee, my dear.” Molly walked in, and looked over at Iain. “What a good looking boy your brother is. Like a little angel,” she said softly. “You know when I was young my mother used to tell me that angels walk amongst us. People with special needs harbour the souls of angels, come to Earth to guide us, she’d say.”
Sally couldn’t mask her surprise. She said in a slightly thickened voice, “He’s autistic. How did you know?”
“Is he? I had no idea. How are you holding up?”
She shrugged. “Oh, I’m OK. My brother is the brave one. He made me brave... But where are my manners? Please sit down.” She had been using the only seat in the room. She offered the armchair to Molly.
“Nae, I couldn’t possibly inconvenience you, my dear.”
“Please, I’ve been sitting all night. I’m all right standing.”
Molly sat down, with a small sigh. “You are a good lass.”
She didn’t respond, not trusting her voice to speak without breaking first. Moving over to the bedside table, she took two glass pitchers, as Molly unscrewed the top of the flask. “We don’t have to talk,” the lady said. “Sometimes I find it just feels good not to be alone.”
She nodded again, and reached for the flask with shaking hands. “Sorry I’m not being very good company.”
“Nonsense. Here, let me be mother,” Molly said, standing up. “I’ll pour.”
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she watched Molly pour the hot milky-brown liquid into the provided cups. Molly handed her a full glass. “Here, lass. Get that down you. It’s just the right temperature. Do you good.”
She took a sip. It tasted delicious. Warmed her all the way through. “Thank you.”
“Better? Good.” Molly twisted the flask top shut tightly, took her own glass and sat back down.
They sipped in silence for what seemed like a long time. Sally got to her feet and walked to the window, peeked through the blinds. It looked out onto the neighbouring clay roof tiles of the hospital’s Georgian style buildings. There was no real view of the horizon that she could see, but it let her look back at the outside world slowly waking into life. She noticed how the cold morning had left its scratch marks on the corners of the window where it met the glass, warmed on her side by the artificial heat of the room. Somewhere in the near distance a solitary crow cawed. Both found an echo inside her own soul.
Molly said, “Looks like rain, doesn’t it? We’ve been lucky so far for winter. The days have been mild. Nights are chilly though, I find. A bit of rain would be nice, though. It’d break the cold, as they used to say.”
She turned back and smiled in response at her guest’s small talk. In what felt like the space of a second, she felt the echoes inside her die down. Feeling so drained just moments before, the drink had seemed to energise her senses. “I can’t tell you how good this is,” she said at last.
“I’m glad... You know, if you want to talk, I’m a good listener. I won’t advise if you don’t want me to. I’ll just listen.”
“I could do with some advice. I feel like such a fool.” Despite her best efforts, two large tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You may feel like one, but you aren’t one.”
Looking at Iain, Sally felt like she was in a bad dream, only it wasn’t a dream, it was real, and she didn’t know if she was ever going to come to terms with it. “You know we always like to think there’s a reason for everything. I’ve been trying to figure out what purpose there is in a nine year old boy lying here. Iain’s never harmed anyone in his life.”
“It’s horrible, I agree. When something like this happens, it’s difficult to see how good things can come out of bad.”
Her eyes were full of hurt and puzzlement. “What good could possibly come out of this?”
Molly took a second before she replied, taking a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “You know I read somewhere about a local young soldier, whose wife took her own life while he was away fighting. She jumped from the Seaton Cliffs. It changed his life forever. Gave up his spare time to patrolling the cliffs, talking people out of killing themselves. He became known as the angel of Seaton Cliffs. They say he saved more than twenty-three lives during the time he spent patrolling. Turned the loss of one life into the saving of others.”
The story seemed to spark recognition in Sally’s mind. “I think I saw a piece about that in the news. Wasn’t his name Kevin Laidlaw - or something like that?” Kevin? Now, why does that name ring a bell?
Molly nodded emphatically in agreement, her animated hands accompanying her speech. “Aye, I think you’re right- and wasn’t there that story about a homeless man who saved a woman and her child when she went into labour at a motorway truck stop near here? The lady gave birth, but the baby girl was blue and not breathing. So this long haired, hooded stranger calmly steps in, unwraps the umbilical cord from the child’s neck, ties it in a knot, and rubs her back, helping her to breathe. He disappeared without trace, not waiting for thanks. Poof! Into thin air.”
“He was called the Jesus of the Lallans,” Sally said quietly. “I saw a story about that, too. That stop is not five miles from here.”
“Angels in everyday life you see. All around us. You just need to know where to look.”
Sally tenderly reached over to Iain, trying to bypass his breathing apparatus to stroke his hair. “Do you really believe that people with special needs have angels for souls?”
“We need to give ourselves reasons why people are born the way they are, or why things happen as they do... I don’t think it really matters whether it’s true or not. It’s whether it helps or not. You know, I love that angel myth my mother used to tell me, but I prefer to believe in angels in everyday life, too- don’t you?”
“I wish I knew what to believe in. I just don’t know any more.”
“I can’t blame you for thinking that when we live in a world where children suffer. But there is only one power I know of that can lessen that suffering, the only thing we really need to believe in.”
“Which is?”
“Love, my child, love.”
Molly had said it matter-of-factly, but it gave her goose pimples. “You really think love is the answer?“
“If you look deep within yourself, my girl, I think you know it, too,” she murmured. "Without love we are all skeletons missing their skin. Don’t resist letting love into your life. Open yourself to it, and your love will bring your brother back from the dark.”
“You don’t know how much I want to believe that...”
“Believe it, my dear. I always believe that if you wish hard enough, if you love long enough, anything is possible. Love is what gets us through the darkness.”
“Or puts you there in the first place.”
“Och no, my dear...” Molly paused, before resuming with, “Will you allow me to tell you something of the love I saw from my own family?”
After an almost imperceptible nod from Sally, she continued, “I came from a poor family. My father was a miner. When I was a child they had stopped using pit ponies down the mines, but my dada had kept his father’s pony when they retired it. For centuries these ponies had a miserable existence, down in the dark mines, used for our needs. But those miners that worked with these animals really loved those ponies. My dada would often go without to feed his father’s pony. She had saved my granddad’s life, you see. It was when...”
As Sally immersed herself in the story, she found that Molly’s soft voice had a calming effect on her energised senses. She relaxed her head against the window, glad just to listen, sipping her coffee. Her mind conjured up images of the poor hard worked pony refusing to leave the pit until she had found Molly’s grandfather. “It was love, my child, that would get those ponies to go down in the dark pits to help work the mines, and it was love that saw man and pony lay down their lives for each other in times of danger. Miner and pony knew that although their love had lead them into darkness, it was the only light that could shine the way out for them again.”
Sally felt a lump forming at the back of her throat. The story had touched a hidden nerve, and awoken a memory. She knew about pit ponies, too, even though they were long before her time. Her father had owned the local pits, worked them, but they had stopped using ponies after the outbreak of the Second World War. One of the few times she remembered her father’s eyes soften was when he spoke of the pit ponies of his childhood, at those parties where she had been banished to the top of the stairs.
Molly smiled knowingly at her, as though reading her thoughts. “I can see you know what I mean.”
She gave a sigh, deeper than she had intended. “My father owned the local pits around here.”
“The McMasters Mines?”
She gave a quick nod, feeling embarrassed. “You’ve heard of them, then?”
“Och, sweet child, who hasn’t? It’s in all the papers! Your father sold his pits to a huge foreign company just before he died didn’t he? Disinherited his children from the large part of his estate. And here I am with the legendary Paul McMasters’ children!”
The legendary Paul McMasters. The man who couldn’t love his children or his wife. They had been disinherited from their father a long time before the old man had died, she thought. The past haunted her even in the company of strangers, how would she ever escape it?
She managed to push herself away from her thoughts to catch the end of Molly’s sentence, “...Now that company is coming in to do- oh, what is it called? All the green groups are protesting over it, are they not?”
“The oil drilling explorations for shale gas. They call it fracking.” The energy firm her father had sold his interests to had won a government contract to drill for this relatively new way of mining. Exploring the coastal province for shale gas was done by a controversial practice known as hydraulic fracturing, or fracking - an apt word it seemed to her, as the proposals had served to fracture her local community. The explorations had prompted environmental concerns and angered the local residents fearing the extraction process was going to pollute their drinking water, cause earthquake tremors, and damage the natural habitat, while others thought it would bring life back to an area that had effectively closed down with the pits.
She had been powerless to stop the acquisition of the McMasters Mines to the international conglomerate, and when her father’s former company had eventually been given the green light to carry out exploratory drilling for shale gas, she felt like it was the old man’s final two fingers up at a community he came to shun and despise after his wife ran out on him. Others, like the kind-hearted Dr. Merryweather, their family doctor and one of the few remaining friends of the old man, had disagreed, thinking it was the best thing to happen to their little historic town.
As if reading her thoughts, Molly continued, “Love is what you make of it, my dear. Your father made his decisions, and you will make yours... Your brother is fortunate to have a loving sister as yourself.”
Molly smiled at her as she spoke, so kindly that she said quickly, “It’s my fault my brother’s lying here. He’s here because of me.” Admitting it out loud seemed to open the floodgates in her, and she covered her face with one hand, beginning to weep suddenly.
“Hey, now...” Molly stood up, placed her cup on the bedside table. She took Sally’s pitcher and placed it next to hers.
“I’m s-s-sorry-” She couldn’t control her sobbing. Crying in front of strangers. What’s wrong with me?
“There’s no need to be sorry,” she said, hugging Sally tightly. “You cry if you want to. Crying is not a sign of weakness, my child. There now, cry it all out. Get it all out of your system.”
Sally shook her head. She spoke in a torrent of words, flowing garbled, but free. “I’m responsible for him and somehow - and I don’t yet understand how - he was left home alone. I should’ve checked the babysitter, but I was so- so- I can’t explain how low I was.”
How could she admit she had felt so bad about the break-up with Stephen, she had allowed Daisy to persuade her into going out for a change? She had been grateful to leave it all up to Daisy to plan the babysitter, to leave her phone at home along with her worries.
Molly placed her hands on Sally’s shoulders and looked up into her eyes. The lady’s gaze seemed to catch Sally. “Do you remember I told you about your twin flame, child, back at the fair? Well you thought you’d just lost the love of your life. You were grieving, lass. I didn’t need to read your palm to see that.”
“That’s no excuse,” Sally said managing to get control of herself. “I should know better.”
“Och, you’re human, child. Stuck with responsibilities at far too young an age for far too long.”
“You don’t know-”
“I know love when I see it, lass, and the love you have for your brother will help him, not any misplaced guilt you might have,” she assured her. “Get out all the self-pity now, because you need to be strong for your brother. But I won’t hear you blame yourself for this.”
“If only you knew...” That I’m just as bad as my mother. She had deserted Iain, and this was the price she was paying now. “If he- he... I don’t know what I’ll do... All night- and just now, I’ve been thinking about anything else but that-” Sally gulped hard, “I’m to blame. I failed him. He trusted me, and I failed him. I’m trying to be strong, not to cry... but I feel so guilty.”
Molly gently guided her to sit down in the armchair. A linen handkerchief appeared in her hand as if by magic, and she handed it to Sally, who took it gratefully. “You can’t blame yourself for this. That you feel responsible shows you have a good heart, but your brother isn’t here because of anything you’ve done, my girl. That sort of thinking leads you down the wrong path, Sally.”
How does she know my name? She racked her brains trying to remember telling Molly her name. “Did- did I ever tell you my name?”
Molly smiled charmingly. “Why you must have done. Back at the tent. Or come to think of it, maybe I read it in the newspaper.”
She nodded, feeling silly. She wiped the handkerchief across her cheeks like a child, caught the faint scent of lavender as she dried her nose. “I can’t help the way I feel.”
“That’s because you beat yourself up too much, my girl. It seems to me people have been doing that to you all your life, and yet here you still are. Fighting. You must keep telling yourself that.”
“I guess...” She said it, but she didn’t really feel it.
Molly waved her doubt aside in her sensible way, perching herself on the edge of the bed. “Listen, let’s just say for the sake of argument you were at fault. Let’s say it was your idea to go out and leave him home. Well, where’s the person who was meant to be minding him? Aye, you had enough, you wanted some time to yourself, but you didn’t plan to leave him on his own, did you? I’m not looking to pass blame to anyone here, just saying that in an accident like this there’s no one really to blame until you know the full story. Do you even know yet for certain what happened?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t spoken with the police yet. I thought I might see them at the hospital, but Iain had been here for two hours by then.”
“See? Don’t start filling yourself up with unhelpful feelings when you don’t even know what really happened yet. As to why things happen... well, blaming yourself is the easy way out. It’s not what we’re dealt, but how we deal with what we’re given that matters. You can’t do that unless you keep your mind on the present. The gift of being present is the best thing we can give to ourselves in life. I read that somewhere. Being stuck in the past keeps you there, my child.”
“I do that a lot,” she admitted somewhat ruefully. “I know I do. My mind wanders back all the time, I can’t help it. I told you I am a fool.”
Molly’s voice was gentle, but resolute. “A little reflection is always a good thing, but beating yourself up over things you can’t change, especially things that aren’t your fault, is no good for you. And importantly, no good for the little one over there who depends on you now more than ever.”
“You’re right, I know...” But how can you possibly know about my life? If it was from simply reading my palm, then why didn’t you warn me about this? She stopped herself just in time from saying it, because something inside Sally told her that this lady knew a lot more than she let on.
Molly leant over and rubbed her hand reassuringly. “I know, you know. You’re an intelligent girl. I can tell what a clever wee thing you are, and you’ve worked it out for yourself in your head - but it’s good to hear someone say it out loud, isn’t it?”
Sally conceded, handing over the handkerchief with an apologetic look. “Can I get this cleaned for you?”
“Nae, you keep it dearie.” Molly reached over for their coffees. “Just keep saying over and over in your mind, you going out to the fairground did not cause this to happen. Keep saying it, for even though you may know it to be true, until you start to feel it, you won’t truly believe it. Until then, you’ll just be wasting precious time chasing ghosts around your head.”
Putting the handkerchief in her pocket, she gratefully accepted the coffee again. It had been a long night, and it looked like the day was going to be even longer, but she was decidedly glad of her strange guest’s company. “You must think me such a flake. Like those fictional heroines who can’t do anything but scream for help.”
“Well I say that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is ask for help.”
She knew in her heart that what Molly said made sense. An inner voice told her that what Molly had to say couldn’t be labelled as just advice. It was wisdom she had rarely found in her books. “I really did get what I asked for when I said I could do with some advice, didn’t I?”
“Advice? Not a bit of it, my dear. I just told you things you already know. It’s just that sometimes we can’t hear ourselves. You have to start believing in yourself more than you do now. There are others that believe in you, aren’t there?”
Sally finished her drink and looked down at her empty glass. There was one name that came to mind first. Stephen.
End of Chapter 9 | Read Chapter 10
Yours in love,
