Page 52 of Downfall

Alone.

I let out a whimper. It feels like my heart breaks with the noise of it. The sound of how truly broken I am. How little I’ve recovered from that day. How little I’ve moved on.

“Rose.”

The voice makes me freeze. He’s here with me? He has the audacity to sit here, to be here?

God, it really is a repeat.

I open my eyes, only one of them remains shut, too swollen to respond. I push my body up but one of my arms doesn’t respond either and I realise it’s in a sling, wrapped against my chest. Everything aches. Everything hurts. I feel like I’ve fallen off a mountain. I feel like I’ve been in the worst fight of my life.

It takes me a few seconds to get the courage to raise my head and then I look up into his face. Ignatio Capulet. My father. The man who’s meant to protect me but more often than not he’s the cause of my pain, the reason I’m in danger in the first place.

“What happened?” I ask. It’s a rouse but I can’t think of anything else to say. I know exactly what happened. I remember the crash. I remember the awful sound of it. The high pitched screech of the tyres. The metal crunching around us. And then Paris’s body collided with mine and everything went blank.

“You were in an accident.” He says. “Paris is dead.”

I don’t react to that. I just sit there staring at him like the words aren’t real. Like it’s some sick joke.

Only my father doesn’t joke. I doubt he even knows how to.

I swallow. My throat hurts. It feels like all my muscles are bruised as they constrict to allow the movement.

Paris had his hands around me.

He was throttling me.

That’s the last memory I have of him. The last memory of us. I guess it’s fitting isn’t it? I guess it pays homage to the type of marriage I had, the whole damned relationship between us.

“What do you remember?” He asks. Even in this moment he doesn’t sound concerned for me. This isn’t about me. This is about the family, the Capulets. About ensuring that this works out in our favour. It’s damage control.

I shrug then wince as my shoulder protests angrily about the movement.

“You were seen leaving the clubhouse. Apparently you were arguing?” He snaps.

I nod. “Yes.”

“About what?”

I look away. Like hell I’m going to tell him those details. He doesn’t have the right to know any of it. “Paris is dead.” I reply. The words barely sink in even as I speak them. “What difference does it make?”

“Oh it makes a difference Rose.” He spits. I can hear his anger. I can feel it, as if such a thing were possible. He gets up off the chair that he’s been sat this entire time and stalks towards me. “People are going to talk. There’s going to be an inquiry.”

I shut my eyes. A wave of exhaustion hits me. Am I going to be blamed for this? How in anyway was this my fault?

I can feel his weight as he leans over me onto the bed, bracketing me with his frame. “Think very carefully about the next words out of your mouth…” He says.

I frown meeting his gaze head on. Whatever this is, I’m not going to be bullied, at least that’s what I tell myself, because all my past behaviour suggest otherwise. Besides, he holds all the cards. He always has.

“Why were you on that road? Why was he taking you to…”

The door opens and his words stop. Immediately. He turns and his whole body language does a complete one eighty.

“Darius.” He says. His voice suddenly silky smooth as he steps away from me.

“Ignatio.” Darius replies before his eyes find me. “Rose.” He says stepping further into the room. My mother is in his shadow, glancing between us all. No doubt trying to read the room and figure out how to play this best to our advantage.

“Rose.” Darius says again walking up the other side of the bed and taking the hand that’s not strung up. I don’t exactly flinch at the contact but if anyone was paying attention they’d see my face react. Hear my breath halt for a second.

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