Page 73 of Downfall

I snarl, lashing out and send everything on the side scattering to the floor.

I lean down picking up the bigger pieces of glass and yelp as it slices through my fingers. I watch as the blood swells along the tip and trickles down. I want the pain. I want the hurt. I need to remind myself of what it feels like. What being around Roman feels like.

There’s a knock at my door.

I get back up, making sure Bella isn’t going to hurt herself and walk over to open it.

The other side is my mother. She’s eyeing the space with a mixture of dislike and suspicion.

“You’re hard to track down.” She says.

I grunt turning around and leave her to show herself in. She watches me as I clear the last of the mess and finally bandage my finger.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” She asks.

“Do you want one?” I reply.

“Yes. Tea please.” She sounds so chirpy it makes me want to scowl more.

I grab the kettle sticking it on, and search the cupboards for the mugs. I’ve not yet remembered where everything is but it’s starting to sink in.

“Why are you here?” She asks.

“Why do you think?” I reply.

She glances around. “This is hardly the sort of place a Capulet should reside in.”

“No? You prefer Paris’s house do you?” I say narrowing my eyes.

“Is that why you left? Because it was his space?”

“What do you think?” I retort.

“Oh honey.” She walks around and wraps me in a big hug that is both comforting and trapping. “It’s going to take time. I know how much you cared for him but you will get through this.”

“I didn’t.” I snap.

“Didn’t what?”

“Care for him.”

“Rose…” She pulls away to look at me.

“No, I’m done pretending.” I state pushing myself free. “I’m done keeping up the charade. The man was a brute. I endured five years of horror at his hands and yet everyone’s acting like he was the love of my life.”

She pauses, letting out a low breath as she assesses me. “Is that what this is about?” She says quietly. “Because Roman Montague has returned?”

I wince. I don’t mean to. I certainly don’t want to. I hate that she knows my secrets, the parts of me I hide even from myself most days.

“Honey, he’s not the love of your life either.” She says so gently.

“I know that.” I reply. That man is nothing to me. Should be nothing to me. After what he did, after the way he treated me, I’m not capable of forgiving and forgetting. I’m not capable of anything but a deep festering hatred.

She moves around grabs the kettle and to my surprise she finishes making the teas, putting one in front of me and awkwardly settles onto a bar stool.

“So you moved here for some space?” She says.

“Yes.”

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