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Tybalt,
Why did you do that?
Why did you leave?
How could you—?
Romeo, you bastard.
Why did everyone leave me behind?
This memory is etched so deep inside me it feels like a wound that will never heal.
. . .
Benvolio was burning alive in the heat, dread crawling down his spine like ice. Something was wrong. He felt it in every nerve—every ragged, shallow breath.
He’d tried to warn Mercutio, voice cracking, hands trembling. Begging him to walk away.
“Mercutio, please—just leave it. Let’s go. This isn’t worth it.”
But Mercutio only scoffed, tossing him a careless grin. “You worry too much, Benny.”
God, he never listened. No one ever did. No matter how many times Benvolio pleaded.
When Tybalt stepped out, the street went silent. His dark eyes glinted with something cold and sharp. Asking for Romeo in that low voice that always made Benvolio’s heart twist, even now.
He knew—he knew —this was going to end in blood. He tried again.
“Stop it. All of you—stop. This is madness.”
But his words were swallowed by shouting, jeering, steel scraping from scabbards. The Capulets behind Tybalt, the Montagues behind Mercutio—like a tide gathering to swallow the world.
No one listened.
And some shameful, hidden part of Benvolio wanted to scream at Tybalt.
You knew I was here. You could have stopped this.
You could have called them off, or turned away, or said anything.
But you didn’t. Of course, you didn't your Tybalt Capulet.
No—Tybalt just stood there, watching everything crumble, and it made Benvolio’s stomach lurch with something uglier than sorrow. He probably is enjoying the violence.
Then Romeo arrived, and the last fragile chance at peace was trampled underfoot.
It happened so fast—Mercutio’s laugh, edged with hysteria. Tybalt’s blade flashing in the sun. The red that bloomed across Mercutio’s side like a wound the world itself had carved.
Benvolio fell to his knees.
Mercutio stumbled back, his eyes going wide. His hand pressed hard over the wound.
“Son of a bitch—” he gasped. Then he laughed, a jagged, wet sound. “I told you—Benvolio—I’d get the last word…”
There was too much blood oozing out…
His knees buckled. He clutched Benvolio’s shoulder with blood-slicked fingers, dragging him close.
“Don’t—don’t let Romeo blame himself,” Mercutio rasped. “Or maybe do—he deserves it—stupid bastard…”
He tried to grin, but his face crumpled. His voice dropped to a shiver of breath.
“God, it hurts.”
Benvolio clutched him tighter, tears streaking his face.
“Don’t say that. You’ll be fine. You always are—”
Mercutio’s eyes fluttered toward Romeo instead, searching.
“You…you better—make this mean something—”
Then he went limp. His head lolled against Benvolio’s chest.
Benvolio’s mouth was open in a silent scream. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.
When he looked up, Tybalt was already turning away—like he hadn’t just carved Benvolio’s world into pieces. Like it was nothing.
And something in Benvolio broke.
You did this.
You knew I loved you, and you did this anyway.
I hate you.
Romeo lunged, and Tybalt fell under his sword.
Benvolio crawled to Tybalt, his heart splintering. He didn’t know why—what he thought he could do. But he had to.
Tybalt’s breath rattled, shallow and raw. His eyes flicked open, dazed.
“For God’s sake…why are you here…?” His voice was hoarse, edged with scorn and something he wouldn’t name. “You should…go home, Montague…”
“Tybalt—” Benvolio’s voice cracked. “I—”
Tybalt’s lips curved—something like a smile, something more like regret.
“You’re…such a fool…”
Then he went still.
Just like that.
Benvolio’s hands were stained red. His heart was a hollow thing, echoing in his ribs.
He didn’t know how long he knelt there. Minutes. Hours. The sun crawling across the sky like it was mocking him.
He couldn’t care less about the nameless Capulets and Montagues, but then the Prince came. And Benvolio tried to defend his cousin, he can’t have someone else leaving him.
. . .
Tybalt, dear—
I can never forgive you for this.
I can never forgive myself for loving you.
And Mercutio—
You never cared, not really.
You never looked at me when it mattered.
And Romeo—
You selfish, reckless bastard.
You took them both.
And then you left, too.
You all left me.
I didn’t even cry.
I just stood there, with the blood drying on my hands, feeling nothing and everything.
Maybe I will drink myself to death.
Maybe that would be kinder than living in a world without any of you.
God help me, I loved you all.
And look where it left me.
Alone.