He’s built like a machine of war and there’s an aura around him that screams danger, but his presence triggers something deep inside me I’ve tried in vain to kill.
Craving.
Somewhere, buried beneath all that hostility and rage is the boy who once stole my heart.
He never gave it back.
I resent him for it, and I wish I could just make these stupid feelings go away. But as always, he’s quick to remind me that whatever existed between us died the day the lightning struck him.
“If I’d known this was for you, I would have taken the time to remove your labels and rearrange your things.” He stalks inside and sets the box on the dresser.
I swallow, drawing a blank as I try to conjure up a clever response. They usually come to me when I’m ruminating on conversations after the fact, long past the time they’re actually useful. Romeo and I might not get along anymore, but he doesn’t forget any of the things he can weaponize, like my need to have everything organized a certain way.
“Funny.” Abella enters the room with Antonella propped on her hip. “I thought all the pink would have given it away.”
Romeo glances down at the box on the dresser, scooping out a pair of my cherry-printed underwear and holding them up with one finger. “Figures all this doll-sized clothing would belong to bubblegum Barbie.”
“Romeo,” Abella chides him.
“What?” He stares at her, face blank.
“That’s not…you’re not supposed to do that kind of stuff.”
“I’m not supposed to make observations?” He arches a brow at her.
She opens her mouth, trying and failing to find a way to explain this to him. Everyone thinks Romeo lost most of his social etiquette after the lightning strike, because he lacks a filter or boundaries. But sometimes, I’m skeptical that he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, especially with that little smirk on his face.
He was always the quiet, introverted, artistic one among his family. Now I’d describe him more as antisocial—or, at least, that’s how he wants to be perceived. He’s either tossing around dark looks or completely disinterested in everyone around him. When he does speak, it’s usually to deliver a dry or sarcastic remark. But beneath that wall he’s erected to keep everyone out, I suspect the Romeo I know is still in there somewhere.
“Abella?” Angelo calls out from the living room. “Can you give me a hand?”
“I’ll be right back.” She shoots me an apologetic glance.
I nod, and the second she leaves the room, Romeo kicks the hornet’s nest.
“You know what your problem is, Gabi?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”
He offers me a lazy appraisal. “You care too much what other people think about you.”
“Is that why you let everyone believe you lost your filter when really, this is just who you are?”
“You should try saying what you really want for once.” He swings my underwear around his finger, taunting me. “Like right now. You could tell me to fuck off, but you won’t.”
I walk over to him and try to snatch my underwear back. He holds them up out of reach, which isn’t difficult at his height.
His eyes move over my outfit—a crop top and a pair of paint-splattered overalls I decorated myself.
“Getting ready for a shift at Build-A-Bear?” The corner of his mouth tilts into a smirk. “Did you get that top there too?”
“Very funny.” My face flushes as I stare at the underwear dangling from his finger. “Give them back.”
“Tell me to fuck off, and I’ll consider it.”
I open my mouth, but I can’t say the words, and he knows it.
“Such a little people pleaser, aren’t you?” He lifts the underwear higher. “If you want them back, it shouldn’t be too hard. All you have to do is grab them.”
