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Romeo had been told he was a lot of things.
Romeo was smart.
Romeo was kind.
Romeo was strong.
Romeo was everything one needed for a perfect life.
And Romeo was also pretty.
He was beautiful, with his long blond hair akin to gold, thin crimson lips and a face which gave him an attractive androgynous look which turned heads left and right. It was quite ironic, really. He had been compared to fairy-like creatures, to a succubus or even to an angel, though he was far from being angelic. An angel was supposed to bring good to others, was supposed to be innocent in a candid and painful way and carry the words of Gods. Or at least that was what he scarcely knew from one of the books inside the orphanage’s library and which they had to read at some point.
But he was not this kind, gentle and selfless person, with a halo stitched onto his head, wings of pure white iridescent candor sprouting from his back.
Romeo was, in fact, a selfish person.
From the beginning of his life as soon as he had been able to understand what an ‘orphanage’ was and the meaning behind this word, he had begun to want. To desire for something he did not own. He yearned and envied in such a way his clear blue eyes would darken until they resembled the bottom of a dirty, abandoned little pond, rather than something akin to the usual spiel of his eyes being as ‘beautiful as the sky from which he had fallen’.
When he saw other children walk away from the orphanage from which he had come from (he had not been borne out of a mother’s womb, but from a metallic cradle which spat him out in this world, alone and without a single touch of love), his lips would purse in an ugly grimace which resembled a wounded animal. A repugnant, disgusting filthy thing. One with trembling claws which wished to tear the skin of the one blessed to leave this accursed cage, to steal their bones and to make them his. He wanted to become them, to hold onto this adult’s, loving, gentle and kind hand himself and look behind to see the orphanage shrinking in the distance as he smiled, and smiled and smiled with those pretty lips and sweet eyes that gleamed with honeyed joy at being seen and cradled as a son.
But instead, he always was the one looking at the shrinking figures disappearing upon the trail leading to Krat. Away from the orphanage which stood, proud and so lonely on that deserted hill.
Then, as he grew older, his desire to rip apart those lucky enough to leave in their new parents’ loving embrace, he had begun to wish for something else. Something that hurt him as much as the thought of dyeing his hands red. He looked at those maids and butlers from the Monad Charity House, at the way they tucked the younger additions in their beds while singing a lullaby. He looked at the way they patted their cheeks and heads whenever they came back with some ripped flowers unearthed from the gardener’s beloved yards or when they were served a bit more food with a fond smile during dinner.
Sometimes he would also get away with a few smiles and a chuckle whenever he showed them his toothy smile and a somewhat whiny, drawled out small complaint or inquiry. Innocent, really, but it would sometimes grant him a small treat or a nod. However, it was never enough and he craved for something more, something that would engulf him in warmth, like he would carry a heart made of cotton and flames and soothe his aching teeth and prickling eyes.
It continued as such, and he would follow adults like the lost puppy they once retrieved from the shadow of a tree outside the Monad Estate, a bit underweight and its fur matted with dirt and mud. Romeo had loved this little mutt, he had cared for it. He had found himself in this animal, seen it just as he saw himself. The way it scurried on its small legs, claws rapping against the wooden floors and rendering crazy the ones charged to clean up the puppy’s mess each time it passed through, a toy in its mouth.
But then… But then.
He had detested the dog.
His resentment only grew each time he saw everyone bend and caress the luxurious fur of the beautiful puppy. The now grown-up and majestic dog seemed to glow under each slip of praise from everyone’s lips, even Sophia would kneel whenever the dog sat on its hinge legs, tongue lolling out and begging for pets. He had been so jealous each time he saw it get cradled into one’s embrace, lifted and petted with its head nestled in the crook of someone’s neck, licking and gnawing at any strands of hair available, provoking peals of laughter to burst from the people around.
For a long time, he would look at the display and sneer under his hair as he bowed his head to hide those ugly, bubbling emotions which he barely contained. The void inside his chest correspondingly increased and widened in an uncomfortable throb he carried everyday as well.
Romeo never managed to stop himself from resenting the dog for what it had. He continued to look at the back of lucky children and dreamily envisioned himself as one of them. He would continue to chase after the few maids and butlers who had a fond spot for the young, sweet boy he became and surrounded himself with other children. He would smile and help and laugh, play and chat with everyone. He told himself that having a father and a mother was not something he needed if he loved others as much as he would a family. It would compensate somehow. He would love everyone in the orphanage and it would be enough.
And it had been enough, though his wish never truly disappeared. It sat there, behind his eyes and in his throat. It always left a small bitter taste deep into his throat at night, when he looked pensively at the ceiling amongst the snores and shufflings of the other sleepers in the dormitory. But he would always roll over and simply tug his blanket a bit tighter around himself and will himself to sleep.
When he woke up, every morning under the sharp ringing bell alerting them of breakfast being ready in an hour or so, he would rush to the bathroom, slipping on the tiled floor and pushing the others scrabbling for the showers. Despite his young age, he was lithe and tall and could sometimes outrun the older children. Then, he would squabble and banter with a few others, hook some necks under his arms and laugh and love.
.
It was during a snowy day, when everyone was huddled around a big fireplace that a new resident came in. He was accompanied by a man whose shadow stretched, stretched and stretched so far it almost looked like it would swallow the whole room in. And at his side stood a boy with a crestfallen expression, red rimmed eyes and trembling lips, yet with furrowed brows and an angry clench of the jaw.
Then, as Sophia greeted them both, the man had placed a single palm on the child’s face before swiftly leaving, leaving only wet footprints on the floor and a lonesome boy at the grandiose manor’s doorstep.
It was the first time Romeo had seen a parent leave alone. Someone who, instead of taking children out, would leave them in.
The man’s back disappeared almost instantly as soon as he stepped out of the door, snow swallowing him in, a frigid feeling settling in the foyer where the black-haired boy still stood ramrod straight. Then, as Sophia put a gentle hand on his back, he was lethargically led to the third floor where the dormitories were. As the blue-haired woman softly talked (though the boy did not seem to acknowledge her), he saw the boy turn his head towards the group at the fireplace.
Romeo could see from where he was, seated on the low table, the desperate glint inside the boy’s eyes, the angry flash and the disgusted scowl which settled on his face after seeing so many children huddled together with only a maid, who sat in a corner of the room back straight and knitting something in the shadow of the fireplace. Romeo could see the ugly expression forming on the boy’s face and he relished in it. It was an expression he had never seen before but was oh so familiar with, one which he felt inside this gaping maw settled deep in his chest everyday.
He looked at the other boy and saw himself in a way, much like he saw himself in the puppy a long time ago. This boy was ripped apart at the seams, craving something and looking outside the window with a dreamy, sad expression, back bent and head bowed.
Romeo did not hear them, but he could almost feel and taste the boy’s tears (“Carlo,” he had heard Sophia call him at dinner time) as they all lay motionless in their beds, the soft, cold glint of Krat’s lights illuminating the room through the curtains of the dormitory.
He had tried to approach the other as he read on his bed the next day. He had seen him earlier this morning storm out of the dormitory after yelling at Sophia and earning quite a few stink eyes as he ran out. But later on, he had apologised with an expression mixed with hate, disgust, shame, regret and grief, all evident on his face. Then, Romeo had watched his back as they were forced to take classes in the afternoon, how the boy simply doodled on the page of a torn up notebook he had been handed out after he grit out that he had not taken anything with him to write to the Monad Estate.
The only time he had perked up was during a classroom break when he had seen outside a few courageous older students from the Stalker course try out a few fighting stances, already shivering in the light falling snow.
It was a fascinating and exhilarating sight. Few wanted to be a Stalker and when he would be older, Romeo had promised himself he would enroll in the course as soon as he could. He wanted to know how to fight, he wanted to be independent, he wanted others to rely on his strength and his abilities. He wanted people to see and need him. And so he himself needed to get stronger. The Stalker course seemed like the best bet and he had been eyeing the older children from the window of his classroom whenever he could, trying (and failing) to replicate their movements when he had little privacy in the bathroom stall when everyone slept.
Romeo had watched the boy look outside the window with wonder in his eyes for a small moment before they instinctively shifted towards the Krat buildings they could see from afar and his expression turned to twisted longing. His eyes misted while his small smile turned into a sneer and the pen in his hands almost tore the paper out, ink flowing everywhere.
As soon as the class ended, Carlo stormed out to the dormitory. Romeo had not been able to follow, having to help his classmate with notes he had barely understood himself, too focused on looking at his mirror self sitting in front of him. But as soon as he had been able to, he had jogged up to the dormitory where he saw Carlo read a thick book on his bed, a new sort of feverish mania settling in his eyes as they roved each line of the page he was reading.
Well, all he got at the end of the day was a glare and a huff dripping with disdain, but Romeo was not deterred. On the contrary, he redoubled his efforts. He wished for Carlo to be his friend. He looked so much like him. Him and his sour expression, his reserved personality, sharp and explosive and yet so, so sad and envious. He could see it each time his eyes drifted to Krat and then hatefully throw or break whatever was in his hands; his notebook was filled with half-ripped or torn pages, some of his books had the print of his fingers from how tight he was gripping the covers and his clothes wrinkled whenever he gripped at his chest and twisted the fabric in his trembling fingers.
And then…
Then Carlo’s resolve seemed to break under the weight of his grief.
Romeo did not know the latest hot gossip of Krat city, but newspapers still came daily or at least regularly to the Monad Charity House and while he never bothered reading them, he still looked sometimes at the big pictures shown on the front page. And anyway, the staff’s gossip was as bad as Krat’s. He had heard a bit about the tragedy that was the Geppetto’s family. Or at least the biggest lines: his mother died and obviously, his father… left him in the Monad Charity House’s “care”. He had mentally sneered at that.
But this seemed to open the gates for a whole new wave of emotions.
Not only from Carlo, who mellowed down, either from disappointment and acceptance, or simply because he understood he would not leave the estate anytime soon.
And Romeo, on his part, began to feel fear. A small terror tingled at the back of his mind every time Carlo became a bit more silent than usual and suddenly looked pensive, even when both of them had been laughing not a few seconds ago. And he knew what this expression meant, it was foreign to him, but it looked absolutely hideous on Carlo because it meant somewhere, deep inside him, the other boy wished for something else than to remain by Romeo’s side. He wished for something else than being Romeo’s best friend. He wished for something different, for his family, for something that Romeo was not part of, and it terrified the blond-haired boy.
And so he harshly, brutally doubled, tripled and exponentially increased his love for Carlo in every way he could. Both to try and squash down the fear in his stitched up chest which stirred once in a while, but also to show Carlo that Romeo was worth so much more than a single small wish. And Carlo seemed to reciprocate with the same amount of intensity. Romeo reveled in it, embraced it and relished in the warmth he so desired with anguished relief.
He wished for it to happen forever, he wished for more but at the same time, he was satiated with what he had. And so he wished for nothing else than what he had already.
It was enough.
They ran and laughed and smiled at each other. They whispered and conspired, pranked and laughed so freely it hurt. They bantered and fought and when they were finally old enough to get into the Stalker course, they went hand in hand to all their fighting lessons with pride in their steps. Each blow they exchanged was a sign of love and Romeo thrived, he bloomed and drank it all like a parched man who had been wandering in a desert for an eternity.
Under Lea’s reluctant and yet so fond mentorship after years of pestering, Romeo and Carlo became so entangled with each other, feasting on the other’s loneliness, anger and envy, transforming it into a love so fierce sometimes Romeo was rendered utterly dumb with adoration. Each time Lea, their mentor, their… their… whatever the patched up little trio they formed was, each time they reunited and played music together, it created such a beautiful lullaby it guided Romeo into a peaceful and fulfilling dream. A sort of quintessential form of love and care he felt inside him flourishing and gripped at his throat with their gentle, soft hands and squeezed until all he could do was hug Carlo, tackle him to the floor and laugh, nuzzle his neck and kiss his skin with everything he had.
It felt perfect, and it was enough.
.
But then, when everything fell apart and began to raze down everything he had tentatively and desperately built from scratch, from the bottom of that muddy, abandoned and disgusting little pond, all he could do was wish.
Wished for a second chance, as he stubbornly stayed by Carlo’s bed.
Wished for more time, as he lay, curled around and inside Carlo’s stiffening corpse.
Wished for more, more of that love, more of that warm and bubbly feeling, more of what he was forbidden to have and oh please, please, pleasepleaseplease…
He wished!
He yearned, he craved and longed for a ghostly touch and phantom kisses.
He sought a love he had been robbed of.
He desired a family, it was etched so deeply in his veins and his blood it constantly flowed in his tears of want and wished for a better fate, a gentler death.
He saw his little trio, his two most beloved people which he would have spent every inch, each particle of his incommensurable love carving out of his body and giving it to them on a silver platter made of his own bones.
To Lea, who had become withdrawn, her skin so pale, eyebags so deep they dug into her eye sockets, giving the impression of a living skull. She had always been a bit rough to them both, never hesitating to whack their head or fingers each time they gripped their weapons wrong. Carlo had once let go of his rapier and almost impaled Romeo during one of their first training with real weapons. Romeo had almost managed to behead himself as he rushed for a badass scythe that lay around and which he had eyed for years before finally getting his grabby hands on. Lea had been livid and had almost beaten them black and blue in her worries but then, she had dragged them away by the scruff and the neck from the training room before lecturing them endlessly, snarling and scowling and yelling.
And yet, she guided their movements and stances with infinite patience and a fierce trust in her students’ developing abilities; it felt scalding to look at her determined scowl. But now, Lea was a hollow husk of herself. She threw herself with abandon in her work and Romeo ran and ran and chased after her, trying to grab at her cape from behind and barely managing to hold onto her.
And to Carlo.
Oh Carlo…
He wished he loved him more, perhaps and yet impossibly so (he knew it and it hurt ), perhaps he would have been able with enough kisses to will the strands sewn between Carlo and him to remain strong. Perhaps it would have been enough to keep them from tearing apart and see his other half leaving him, his frail and weak back turned to him, his shoulders hunched down from the weight of the stones forming in his body…
He had wished he had been courageous enough to take a pick, a knife, a spoon, his nails if needed be, and carve the stones out of the other’s skin if it meant he lived.
Carlo had looked at him with regret and so much love, they had both cried but in the end, they said nothing. Everything had already been exchanged with words so long ago, they did not need to speak any more.
They only needed each other and Romeo had hugged his limp corpse while he cried and wished and wished and wished …
.
And then, as he was captured. He was beaten up until he vomited. He was cut down until he could do nothing else but cry as his voice was broken and his throat sore, bruised and scratched beyond repair. As his mangle corpse was dragged and hung, the mimicry of arms shoved inside the ligaments of his bloody stumps, he wished again.
He wished and wished and…
And when he opened his eyes, puffy, swollen and so irritated and wounded he could not see anything except for pain which burnt at his retina…
He looked up, his throat uselessly bobbing and saliva pooling in his mouth as he tried to swallow through his ripped throat, which burnt and felt as if it had been flayed from the inside out.
He looked up and saw a figure. A figure so familiar his eyes burnt even brighter and tears pooled down from the corners, rolling down his sweaty and bloody, dirty temples, hiding in his matted hair where he could feel a hand running down his head, though it almost brought him to overstimulation, his whole body radiating agony all over every inch of his being.
He lifted a hand, so heavy… so foreign… he looked at his darkened, bony and dark skeleton, this monstrosity that was now his arm, the weight pulling down painfully on his torn muscle.
It brought him more pain and suffering but he relished in it as he could feel something oh so gently bump against an extremity, the movement reverberating in his bones down to the very marrow throbbing inside him.
He looked and opened his mouth but his bloody lips seemed to have been sewn shut.
He did not need to speak. He had never needed to talk because they understood each other.
But he persevered, he ripped off the bloody strings which kept his mouth shut and using the mangled bits of skin which served as his mouth, Romeo brokenly whispered with such a loving tone that the tears in his eyes continued to flow in an endless stream of relief…
“You came back…”
.
.
.