The Cult of Romeo

XVIII. Then Fall, Caesar

Act 3, Scene 1

I was drunk.

I wouldn't normally admit to being inebriated but today, there was no other word for the sway in my step and buzz in my veins. 

The theatre was bustling with life and students rushed past clad in their costumes and mumbling Shakespeare's words manically to themselves. The sound of people flowing into the theatre was quiet under the incessant vocal warm-ups that the cast insisted on doing right until the very last second they had to be on stage. 

It reminded me of Elijah's last day and the thought had me gulping down more and more of my flask. 

"Are you okay?" Jude Hamilton came up beside me. I hadn't seen him in a while and I tried not to lean against his tall figure for support within my pathetic state. The last time I'd seen him was the day we'd found out about the memorial when he asked me to be one of the three witches. 

"You look like shit," he frowned and his voice was high. 

I looked from his shoes to his hair and scrunched up my nose. Yeah, he didn't look too good either. But, I held my tongue. 

"Where's Khaleel?" He wondered. 

"Who cares?" I slurred slightly, and the sound shocked me. 

"Uhm, you two are friends? You should care?" Jude replied. 

"Well, funny enough, I don't," I shrugged exaggeratedly and pinched the exposed skin of my thighs beneath my dress as a punishment for telling lies. 

Absentmindedly, I followed Jude as he led us to a dressing room. It was full of people who rushed around the small room, changing into costumes, applying makeup and reading scripts. The smell of several perfumes mixed in the air until it all blended together, making me feel sick. 

I jumped onto the counter beside Freya Chen, who looked breathtaking. Her long legs crossed one over the other temptingly but I turned my eyes away. I was so drunk. 

Over the clothing rack, I thought I caught a glimpse of Khaleel's perfect dark curls but deflated when it wasn't him. As much as I hated to admit it, I missed him. I didn't deserve to miss him, not after what I'd said in full confidence. My voice was so sure that I almost believed it, too. 

I hated myself. God, I hated myself so much. It was a disdain that made a fire fester in my stomach every time I looked in the mirror, which was a difficult thing to bear while in a dressing room where mirrors lined the walls like pages of my diary on display for all to critique.

The crowd was large, weaving their way through each other, throwing articles of clothing in the air, singing in harmony and laughing in unison. Yet, I couldn't concentrate on that. 

I felt trapped in a plastic bubble where the world seemed to slow all around me. The sounds buzzed upon reaching my ears and my skin tingled in the worst way possible. Like an itch that felt impossible to scratch at the moment. 

"C-charlie," a soft voice stuttered from beside me. I turned slowly as not to throw up. Truth be told, I hadn't eaten in a while. "Sorry to bother you." 

It was Aafiya Rahim, and just the sight of her golden eyes pierced through my heart. They looked so much like Khaleel's, like her brother's. 

I didn't want her to talk to me but my actions were too slow from the strong amount of alcohol that ran through my veins right now to make an excuse as to why I had to leave. 

"Uhm...Mr D'Angelo wants you to say the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet before you play the piano. He- uh, he told me that we have to share mics. My mic is number four so... just get number four," she stuttered. 

Shit. I hadn't practised my piece for today. Besides, my hands held terrible tremours. When I stopped drinking, they got worse. Begrudgingly, I put it down to withdrawal except the more I drank today, the more my vision blurred and the more my whole body, not just hands, shook. 

I only nodded dumbly to Aafiya's words as she wrung her fingers. She wouldn't meet my eyes and strangely that's all I wanted her to do. All I wanted was to see was a slither of familiarity within this dressing room that pushed smaller and smaller with every passing second. 

"Uhh, okay," she finally answered. Her hands parted, she patted down the top of her hijab and then turned to leave. 

"Wait," I called. Her figure froze. "Have you seen Khaleel? Is he okay?" 

"He's fine," she answered but I heard the creeping clip in her tone. "Just...he uh, he needs space." 

And, my heart broke. Of course, he'd told his sister about what I'd done. Of course, the whole world knew how much of a horrible person I was. 

"What happened with you and your boy toy?" Freya asked from beside me on the counter as Aafiyah left. Her round glasses, which she would soon have to replace for contacts, made her brown eyes look large and innocent. They peered at me through her curly fringe and I almost gave in. 

"He's not my boy toy," I scoffed. "Khaleel and I were just friends...not anymore, though." 

Freya sighed. "Nothing is un-fixable." 

"This is," I quipped, not allowing room for argument. "I won't allow this to be fixed because he deserves better. And, I'm okay with that. Or, at least I will be." 

My throat itched and even as the group of actors that surrounded us in the room laughed like a sweet melody, it felt as though my ears weren't tuned into the right channel because it all translated to static. The hair on my arms stood up and I was quickly becoming too sober for today. 

I supposed I did have a problem. I had a problem with drink, and with this school, and with myself. I hated that my father didn't care for me. I hated that my mother didn't fight for me. I hated that my brother was dead. 

My best friend since Henri had passed had always been Jack Daniels. I had never matched the intimacy of a drink until I met Khaleel. Until he brushed his skin against mine. I'd never noticed how much more alive that would make me feel until now, as I was running on that artificial happiness that broke everything inside of me. 

He wasn't there to save me, but he made me feel worthy enough to be saved. 

I'd never felt that before, but like everything else, I'd ruined it. Love was a fickle thing and I had witnessed how easy it was to fall in and out. There was a thin line between life and death. My brother was dead, and in some ways, I was too. I trodded that horrible in-between of the both, too alive in flesh and blood to have a gravestone, but too dead in mind and soul to be loved. 

I hated myself. I hated myself so much that sometimes my skin would burn and my scalp itched. I wondered if this was how Henri felt before he ended it. I wondered what I could've done for him or if anyone could've done anything for me. 

I couldn't take it anymore. I stumbled from my seat on the counter and into the open air of the corridor that, in my haze, seemed to stretch and condense. It flipped around and brightened so that my eyes had to squint against it. My fingertips skimmed the edge of the walls and I felt every almighty step under my shoe like an earthquake. 

Everything in me hurt and I was afraid that it'd never stop. My skin prickled with anxiety over the thought that I'd never escape this. 

That maybe I wasn't worthy of escaping this time. 

Everything dies in the end and I was too stuck in the past to see beyond that now. Too stuck in my own ways to change. Too stuck in my own head to acknowledge the danger ahead.