Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? ✓

sixteen

late - middle spring 2018 / sixteen

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND," Romeo muttered, fiddling with his fingers and shaking his head as he stared at the table.

"We don't understand?" Atlas gaped, blinking his widened eyes. "We're the ones that don't understand? Rome, you're not even listening to us."

Frankie was studying him, leaning forward onto the table with his arms folded and his face clouded by a frown, his dark eyes heavy and narrow; exhausted by concern. "Romeo," he said like there was a probing question hidden inside the veins of it. "Come on."

"What?" He asked with a snap of defence, an echo of petulance. "Rodney and I are doing great."

Atlas and Frankie exchanged a look that made his stomach hot with the awareness of separation, of disconnection too great to bear, and he looked away from them hastily, staring at the table like he was waiting for it to say something.

Their confrontation, intervention, whatever it was, was happening in Romeo's kitchen, the three of them sitting around the table. Romeo kept his legs pressed together and his feet tucked underneath his chair to avoid any accidental contact with either of them; Atlas sitting opposite him and Frankie in the middle. He wished that the table was bigger so that he could withdraw further from them, but the closeness, just like their concern, was something that he had to endure.

It was only mid-afternoon, but it felt much later. He felt like he'd be sitting at the table, suspended in that conversation, for his whole life.

"We can't get over it," Atlas sighed, massaging his forehead.

"It's not for you to get over," he retorted curtly, eyeing them both. "It's my relationship, not yours. I'm sick of doing this routine every time Rodney and I have an argument. All couples argue. It's normal to argue with your boyfriend."

"It's not normal to be scared of your boyfriend," Atlas shot, leaning closer towards him with his palms flat on the table. His voice was a shade too loud and his face was contorted by a kind of disgust. It was an expression that he had given Rodney countless times, but never Romeo.

He recoiled, his face twisted in bitter insult, and then forced himself to lean forward again. "I'm not scared of Rodney," he hissed, terrified that his mom might overhear something from the living room and interrupt. He supposed that such an interruption would've been preferable to them and he, with a deep pang of fury, hated them for it. "I've never been scared of Rodney."

"You fucking liar," Atlas scoffed, shaking his head and looking away.

His chest tightened and his teeth pressed into each other with such force that his jaw was beginning to ache. "Who the fuck are you talking to?"

"Guys," Frankie interrupted, vaguely horrified; dark eyes wide and plump lips parted as he glanced between them.

"I'm not scared of Rodney," he snapped, withdrawing into himself and glaring at Atlas from across the table.

"If you're not scared of him then why couldn't you answer the phone when you were in the car with him?" Atlas demanded, ignoring the plea in Frankie's wide eyes and locked jaw.

He recalled, for as long as his heart could stand, the silence in the car the night before. He could still feel it festering inside his lungs. "Because we were in the middle of a goddamn conversation," he glowered, biting his tongue to prevent himself from spitting out the kind of remark that later guilt would make him regret.

"Then why were you so urgent in your messages?" He pressed, brown eyes narrowed. "Like you were afraid of getting into trouble?"

"Afraid of getting into trouble?" He echoed with a sneering laugh. "I was urgent in my messages because you were driving me fucking insane. I told you a million fucking times that I don't need any of you to parent me. I'm not a fucking kid. Forgive me for not dropping everything as soon as you felt like talking."