Page 92 of Vicious Games

“Then I don’t want any more clothes.” Stella sighs.

“Then what do you want?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Fine, fine, fine. God, I’m so sick of that word. You’ve been saying it nonstop for the last twenty-four hours.”

“And yet, you don’t believe me.”

“Nope,” Stella pops the ‘p.’ “Because Iknowyou, Anna. You’re blaming yourself for what happened, and I just want you to forget about those assholes and move on.”

“I’m not thinking about them,” Anna insists, and for what it’s worth, I believe her. Lying doesn’t seem to be in her nature.

Stella studies her for a long beat, then finally relaxes her shoulders.

“Good. Because assholes like that don’t deserve another second of your time.”

Anna presses her lips into a thin line and busies herself, looking at clothes she clearly has no intention of buying.

Not one to let a silence linger, Stella places a hand on her sister’s shoulder and gently turns her toward her.

“It wasn’t your fault if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Anna frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. Nothing you could’ve said or done justifies their behavior. This is onthem.Not you.”

“Then how come I feel like I should’ve known better then to let myself be cornered like that?”

Stella’s expression darkens at her sister’s words.

“Because that’s what society drills into us from the start. That women are either one of two things—victims or villains. We don’t get to be anything else. We don’t get to be heroes.”

“How do you mean?” I ask, curious where this is going.

“I mean that life is rigged for us from the jump. Take a man, for example. He can be the hero of his own story. But us?” She gestures between Anna, me, and herself. “We’re only allowed those two roles. And people treat us based on what theythinkwe are. Those assholes saw Anna as a victim. That’s why they went after her.”

“I don’t think that’s fair,” I say, trying to defend the youngest Romano. “Even if Anna had been a villain to them, as you put it, those boys would have still done what they did because it was in their nature.”

“Maybe,” Stella agrees. “But if they had, society would’ve said shedeservedit. See? That’s the difference. When you’re a villain in their eyes, they think whatever happens to you is justified. So either way, you lose.”

“Then what about Frankie? She rescued me. Shouldn’t that make her the hero?” Anna asks, still not sold on her sister’s way of thinking.

“Ask her,” Stella says, turning to face me, her gaze serious. “Frankie, do you see yourself as a hero? When you think about your life… is that the word that comes to mind?” My heart sinks. I shake my head. “Let me guess,” Stella says gently. “You see yourself as the victim in your own story?”

“Stella, stop.” Anna tries to intervene. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m not, Anna,” Stella says, voice low but firm. “I’m just saying it like it is. In this godforsaken world, women are only allowed to play those two roles. You’re either a victim or a villain,” she repeats the words like their gospel to her. “And if that’s the case, then the choice should be an easy one for us to make. Be the villain, Anna. Always be the fucking villain.” Her eyes blaze as she continues. “Don’t let anyone make you feel like those boys made you feel yesterday—vulnerable, weak, scared. Fuck that. Own your life. Be the main character but do it with your head held high and your fists clenched. Screw their labels. Screw the roles and fucking boxes they try to force us into. Be the fucking villain, Anna. Always.”

We both just stare at her, silently absorbing her words. Because, as harsh as they sound, there’s some undeniable truth in them.

All my life, I’ve felt like the victim in my own story. Abandoned by my parents before I could form a memory of them. No real family to speak of. Bullied at school and too scared to fight back. Even when Ididstand up for myself—like with Lucky—I was recast from victim to villain. Nobody praised me for defending myself. I was just the troublemaker now. The problem.

Stella exhales hard as if trying to shake off the heavy tension she created and salvage what’s left of the afternoon.

“Okay. So, retail therapy was a bust,” she admits, eyeing the racks. “I know my sister’s not in the mood to shop, but what about you? Why aren’t you picking anything out?”

I shrug. “None of these clothes fit me, so why bother?”

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