Romeo and Juliet

56-I-

The Text Message

I wipe the sweat from my brow and gaze at the pitch-black sky when Romeo suddenly appears beside me. He looks uneasy, yet there's no hint of guilt on his face, which only intensifies my anger. I have never shed a tear for any man but my father, and yet, here we are. If only I could shove him off his precipice of indifference, life would feel so much simpler. But deep down, I know I wouldn't be able to live with the change of person. At times, which is most of them, he acts like he's testing me, nudging my mind toward the dark corners of my consciousness that harbor thoughts of unspeakable things.

"Let's go," he says, pocketing his phone and striding toward his motorcycle.

I shoot him a fierce glare but remain rooted in place.

He hops onto the bike, extending a helmet toward me. I snatch it from his hand, grabbing his leather jacket as well. I refuse to suffer any longer because of him.

From this vantage point, the night unfolds in all its glory, and I know it could be even more beautiful. But I am not sticking around to discover that beauty with him; my mood has soured beyond repair.

Still, I find myself wrapping my arms around his waist once more, burying my face in his back. His scent envelops me—sweet and intoxicating—and a smile creeps across my lips as I close my eyes, savoring the moment.

How effortless it could be if he weren't so complicated and would just accept me. Or if he had genuinely stuck to his words, "No, I don't like you, so I will stay away because I don't need a crazy girl in love with me." But alas, Romeo is Romeo, and there is no plot twist in Shakespeare's plays that promises we'll be together.

Before long, we're back on the road, the air growing crisper around us. My skin begins to numb, but I push the chill aside, trying to enjoy these fleeting moments with this infuriating man before I finally create the distance I desperately need. I promise myself that this time it's for my own sanity.

With my eyes shut, I feel the motorcycle's speed increase, pushing against my senses. Romeo knows just how fast I can handle it, yet he deliberately chooses to exceed that limit. Is he trying to provoke me, to drive me mad?

Suddenly, I fling my eyes open, the world spinning around us at dizzying speeds. In a moment of panic, I pinch him hard and scream at the top of my lungs, "What's wrong with you? Stop!"

The engine roars in response, mirroring the rapid thumping of my heart.

"Stop it, Romeo. You're scaring me!"

I feel him tense beneath my arms, causing me to cling to him tighter.

"Don't let go," he says, and in an instant, he takes a sharp U-turn. A scream escapes me as we weave between cars, the wind biting at my skin.

It's hard to focus amid this whirlwind of chaos, yet I catch him shaking his head and hear him curse under his breath.

"I'm sorry, Lena. I didn't mean to involve you in this." His words race past me, nearly lost to the wind, as my heart pounds deafeningly in my ears.

Behind us, I hear a piercing screech of tires. The scent of burning rubber fills the air—are we being chased? Panic grips me as Romeo careens into another turn, and I scream yet again, terrified to loosen my grip.

"Romeo, stop!" I shout, my voice edged with desperation as we approach a traffic light, glowing ominously orange. But he breezes through it, dodging moving cars, my stomach doing somersaults as dread washes over me. My heart threatens to leap from my throat, and nausea flickers on the edge of my consciousness, but I push it down. My body feels disjointed, and it's as if my soul separates from my shell.

I hear honking in the distance—there's no mistaking it. Whatever is chasing us is right behind, and as a fresh wave of panic surges, Romeo veers into a tunnel, then under a bridge and out onto a quieter street. Fewer cars line this road, offering us a glimmer of escape as we spiral into a maze of narrow alleys.

He slows down abruptly, and an instinctual urge to flee washes over me. Why are we running? Is he serious right now?

"Who are those people?" The question barely escapes my lips, threaded with fear.

He quickly types a message and replies, "I'm not going to let them hurt you." His expression is tense, and I can see that he means it.