God, I hated his. Hated seeing him get his hopes up, hated watching him become happy like he was now. This whole thing was wrong, why couldn't he see that?
"And we're not friends. Whenever we meet for this project, repeats of today are not going to happen. I don't like you, and you're going to have to learn to hate me. Understood?"
“Nope.” I turned my face towards her, smirking slightly. “But I’ll try.” I assured her, messing up my hair by running my hands through it. “All I can promise is that I won’t talk to you out of class. Anything beyond that is sketchy territory.”
"I'll take what I can get," I muttered, rising to my feet and brushing off my jeans, which now had an inked drawing of several roses creeping up the outside of one leg. "And as much as I hate it, I'm going to need your number so we can communicate for the project." Unlocking my phone, I handed it to him, careful to keep our fingers from brushing. "Add yours, and I'll text you later so you'll have mine."
Hell yes! This is the best day of my life! I silently cheered, allowing the excitement to show on my face for a spilt second before I began trying to smother it. I tentatively took her phone, typing in my number. “Come up with a name for my character. If either of our parents finds out we have contact they’ll kill us. I can just put the character’s name in here instead.”
I thought carefully, admittedly surprised that he’d thought of that before I had. After a moment, I gave a small, tense shrug. “Alessandro. I’ll come up with a name for my character on my way home.” That was a flat-out lie, I already knew what she was going to be named…. but I definitely wasn’t admitting it to him. “Hurry up. And no texting me for any reason other than the project.”
“I know, I know.” I mumbled, carefully typing in the name. “I’ll be good, I promise.” I teased, handing back her phone with a grin. I felt pretty damn amazing at the moment. Not telling Mercutio was going to be one hell of a challenge, but I would have to find a way. Especially if it meant there was a chance at anything like this happening again.
I slipped my phone into my back pocket and crossed my arms. “You’re supposed to hate me, remember? This isn’t going to happen again. If there’s another fight at school, and you’re in it, I will not hesitate to break your arm. So snap out of whatever fantasy you’re cutrently immersed in.” I turned to leave, praying that my message had sunk in. “Bye, Montague. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Juliet.” I curled up in the chair, knowing I had a couple more hours to kill before I could head home. I couldn’t even get over the events of the last hour, replaying the conversation in my head. She didn’t like me. Not yet at least. But even if I could just get her to be friendly with me. God, that would be incredible… I came so close.
I spent the next hour in the library, trying to focus on Macbeth and failing miserably. But the next thing to worry about was tomorrow. I was sort of risking my life. Low key risking it, but it was for the truth! What could go wrong?
(Lmao, famous last words, Romeo)
I got home as quickly as my feet could carry me, head still spinning from the onslaught and overload of information. Hell, that whole meeting had been one big mood swing for me, and I needed to learn how to keep it together.
But the first thing I was met with when I climbed into the house through my bedroom window was the absolutely terrifying, utterly heart-stopping sight of my father, sitting on my bed. Fuck. Oh god. Panic welled up inside me, and I withdrew from the window, but he had already turned around. “Julieta?” he growled, calling me by my full first name, “Explain yourself. Now.”
(oh shit poor Juliet!)
I made my way home in a daze, still grinning at Juilet’s words. I had a shot. A weak and terrible shot, but it was still there. I made my way into the bakery, which was preparing to close for the day, enjoying the smell wafting in from the kitchen. I slunk into the back room and up two flights of stairs until I got to my room, flopping down on the bed. If I didn’t plan this very carefully, I could be killed, but if I could figure this whole thing out then maybe I could fix this whole blood feud nonsense for good.
(hehe)
(Oh, Romeo. Poor, naive Romeo)
Fifteen minutes later, I was curled up in a tiny ball on my floor, my whole body wracked with pain. I pulled my knees up to my chest, the floorboards cool against my cheek, and squeezed my eyes shut. “You must learn!!” my father yelled, digging the toe of his boot into my side.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, over and over again, voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry.”
(I’m screaming Juliet is too good for this)
I began my planning, starting off by sending a single text to Mercutio. It read: ”Doing something stupid trmw. Don’t freak if I’m not at school.” I ignored his panicked replies, trying to think my way through his situation. Breaking into my dad’s office wouldn’t be easy, but I had been in there a few times before. I kept my phone nearby in case Juliet texted me, but otherwise took out Macbeth again, trying to create a plan for the play as well.
(Oof, That was a crappily written post by me sorry, I’m currently trying to figure out how to guide my older friend through a heartbreak)
Angelo gathered fistfuls of my shirt and lifted me to my feet. “Do you fucking understand me?!” I nodded vigorously, tears streaming down my face. “Y-Yes, sir—“
I hadn’t seen my father this angry in months. He wasn’t normally this violent…. it was all my fault. “I—I’m sorry—“ A disgusted expression contorted his features, He dropped me and stepped back, his eyes darkening dangerously. “And yet you still won’t tell me where you were.”
(Skip?)
(Omg your friend comes first, don’t worry about it! And yeah we can skip, Romeo might be out of school for the next few days with no explanation so I’ll be piloting Mercutio for now lol)
(I’m not currently texting her or anything, just trying to figure shit out, I’ve got all night
Alright, as long as you don’t torture me with absolutely no Romeo content 😂)
(He’ll be around! Just… not conscious for a little while. You know, give everyone a little scare)
(You’re scaring me oml don’t hurt Romeo 😭
Also would you mind starting? Sorry)
(Np! And he’ll be fine, mostly!)
(mostly???)
I got up, ready to enact my plan. Dad said he was leaving at 5 A.M. sharp and it was nearing 7 now. I sprang out of bed and got changed as quickly as possible. I weaved my way through the many hallways of our house, eventually stopping at a nondescript wooden door. I bent down to the ground, removing a loose floor panel and revealing an alarm keypad. I typed in the four numbers. A green light flashed at me, signalling a disabled alarm as I crept inside.
(mostly???)
(Shhh, it’s okay)
(it’s not okay!!!! Hhhhhh Romeo don’t get too hurt)
Last night, I had cried myself to sleep like the weak, pathetic girl I was. This morning, I’d woken up with more tears coating my cheeks. And oh, it hurt. The bruises throbbed I like any injury from other fights I’d been in, the dried blood crusting over my upper lip seemed to burn my skin.
My father….. enraged was a mild description when it came to his reaction at my refusal to tell him the truth. I’d tried to lie, which had only earned me an extra bruise, so I’d just… given up. Let him mark me up with his fists.
This, I thought now as I pulled on a pair of leggings, miserable, Is why you and I can’t be friends, Romeo.
It took time. Rooting through desk drawers and paperwork. Tracing back files and transmissions. My father was a neat freak. Finding what I wanted still took time, but the real challenge was making sure everything was put back exactly as I had found it. A file turned the wrong way, a paper wrinkled at the edge of the corner, a pencil with the lead dulled. My father would instantly know someone was here.
(I promise he’ll be alive lmao)
(Good Lol)
That morning, I layered on the makeup, blanketing as many of the cuts and bruises beneath a mountain of foundation and concealer, my hands shaking as I applied it…. but it wasn’t enough. They were still visible. Fear coiled in my stomach, spreading poison through my veins.
The moment she laid eyes on me, Marina knew exactly what had happened. “Fuck,” she breathed, grabbing my arm and leading me inside, to the bathroom, where she wrapped me up in a huge hug that caused me to crumble and break down right then and there.
The file was as plain and nondescript as the door to my father’s office, and that’s exactly how I knew I held the right one. “So this is it…” I breathed softly, carefully opening the file. I had hardly read the first word when I heard the floor behind me creak. I whipped around to see my mother standing there, a rolling pin in her hand.
“Mom! I can explain—“ She held her hand to stop me from talking, her face contorting into the sort of fury I rarely saw from her. A quiet rage, as silent and chilling as arctic winds, filled the room. I backed up, hold the file close.
“You’re no son of mine. Not anymore.” She spat, swinging the rolling pin with viscous ferocity. I heard the crack before I felt it. Slamming into the side of my head as the shadows at the edges of the room swarmed to consume my vision.