When Alexander, Rose, and Rosa arrived at Evangeline High School that morning, they were quiet and miserable, keeping to themselves while they waited for Rosa's cheek to fully heal. Rosa hung her hair over half of her face so no one would see her bruise as they walked into the playground. As soon as Francesco spotted Rosa entering the school premises, he rushed to her side, joy clear on his face, until he saw hers.
"Rosa, what's wrong? What happened?" he asked, troubled, taking hold of her arms when he reached her. She looked at his hands, and tears fell from her eyes.
"I do not think Rosa is in the mood for studying today, Mr. Dawson," Rose told him immediately, not liking the idea that he thought it was okay to touch her.
"Yes," Alexander agreed. "I don't know why she would help you anyway," he added smugly, his chin in the air.
Francesco huffed. "Oh shut up!" he exclaimed heatedly, forgetting his place.
"Do not dare speak to him like that!" Rosa retorted protectively.
Francesco stared at her, surprised by the tone in her voice. "Okay ... I'm going to go then," he replied lifting his hands up as he backed off. He turned around and started for the school block disturbed, and guilt covered Rosa's face.
"That was harsh ... I'd better apologise," she said quickly and then instantaneously ran after him, without another thought to what her siblings would think.
"Rosa! Goodness, why bother? He doesn't deserve it," Alexander yelled out after her, not understanding why his sister was showing the scum any kindness.
"Alexander! I mean, Alex. You should not be like that," Rose said, taken aback. She couldn't comprehend why he was so cold towards the Dawsons; they had never done anything wrong to him.
*****
Rosa followed Francesco into the empty school block, and he spun around to face her as soon as the doors closed behind her. "What the hell was that about?" he asked upset.
"I am sorry, but you should not speak to my brother that way. He also has feelings you know?" she replied glumly.
"I know, but he was being so rude!" Francesco stated, wound up.
Stressed, Rosa buried her face in her hands. "I know," she whispered into her palms, trying with great difficulty not to fall apart.
"What's wrong?" Francesco asked, noticing the huge change in her mood since earlier that day. She looked more pale than usual, and that scared him. He instantly felt badly for being so upset. He raised her chin with his fingers and asked her once more, this time more gently. "Rosa, what's wrong? Has something happened?"
"My grandfather, he ... he... " Rosa started to say, but she trembled with fear at the memory of the darkness in Antonio's eyes and the strength of his slap.
Francesco pulled her into his arms and held her close, caressing her long hair. "He what?" Francesco asked. Worry and anger seeped beneath the surface. Whatever had happened, it hadn't been good.
"He ... hit me ... across the face," she cried into his shirt, drenching it with her tears.
Francesco's eyes went sharp with rage. "I'm gonna kill him," he exclaimed, suddenly furious. He whipped around, intent on hunting the king down, but Rosa pulled him back.
"No!" she shouted. "No. You have no chance!" In utter fear, Rosa grabbed him and turned him back around so he was facing her. She pulled him into her arms again.
Francesco enclosed himself protectively around her, gently caressing her back in circular movements. "Why?" he asked, gritting his teeth and biting his lip to stop himself from screaming with rage. If King Antonio wasn't your grandfather I'd kill him, no matter what the consequences! Francesco thought wrathfully.
"He heard us ... making love," Rosa whispered, pulling him away only enough so she could look at him.
Francesco, staring into her green eyes, was racked with remorse, pain, and guilt. "It's my fault," he replied painfully.
"No, no. Of course it isn't," Rosa breathed out hastily, brushing her hands over his face.
"He didn't even see us. I left before he—" Francesco went on, thinking back.
"I know," Rosa said, cutting him off.
"Did he—?"
"I don't want to talk about it. Please!" Rosa begged, shaking her head to dismiss the terrible recollection of earlier that morning. She didn't want to think about how much she hated the king. Rosa knew he was cruel, but he had never laid a hand on her, and she would never look at him the same again. She had lost any respect she'd had for him the second he'd touched her.
"Yeah, of course," Francesco replied with understanding and held her close to him once more.
"Never let go!" Rosa said softly, closing her eyes tiredly as she spoke. She held onto him tightly, and he kissed her forehead and comfortingly rubbed her back.
"I'll never let go!" Francesco said with emotion, and with all his heart, he meant it.
"I love you so much!" Rosa cried.
Tears appeared in Francesco's eyes. "I love you more than life itself," he said truthfully, placing her cold face in his hands. She grinned. The bell rang, and students started to fill the halls. Francesco brushed his hands gently down Rosa's arms and gave her hands a small squeeze before quickly letting go. He wished he could kiss her and comfort her more.
"I will see you after class," Rosa said, eyeing the students with concern.
"You can count on it," Francesco chuckled, hoping to cheer her up. In the blink of an eye, he softly kissed her cheek and then headed down the hall and entered one of the last classrooms.
Rosa smiled, brushing her fingers over her now healed cheek, her healing abilities had finally kicked in and the pain had vanished. She did not see Francesco's kiss but she had felt it. Francesco's touch had left a warm patch on her skin, making her feel loved and happy on a day she'd felt that would be impossible.
"Did you apologise to Mr. Dawson?" Rose asked, her tone curious, when she and their friends joined Rosa.
Rosa grinned at Rose as they started to walk to their first class. "Yes," she answered, content in the moment.
"What did you do to Mr. Dawson?" Madeline inquired as they all walked into the classroom by the boy's bathroom.
"Nothing worth mentioning again," Rosa said, pretending to have no interest in the boy, though secretly he was all she ever thought about.
"How is Jason?" Rose asked Caroline as they sat in their seats.
"He's good. Thank you," she replied cheerfully.
"Oh that's great," Rose said with a grin.
"You should have seen him yesterday. He couldn't stop laughing," Peter joined in with a chuckle.
"That's because you wouldn't stop giving him funny faces," Caroline added, giggling.
Peter smiled as he leaned forward and kissed her, and Rose grinned, praying one day she would have what they had—true love and a family of her own.
"Hello, boys," Patrice said, mocking the group as she strutted in front of them and slowly sat in a chair in front of Peter. She placed her large designer bag on her desk and then turned to face him. "I would be careful if I were you. You wouldn't want to knock up your ugly wife again. I mean you never know; she might die this time," Patrice continued sarcastically, her elbow hanging over the back of her chair.
Peter jumped to his feet, outraged, and started to defend his wife, but Caroline quickly took hold of his bulging, caramel bicep.
"Sit down, baby. She's not worth it. At least we will always have each other. She'll spend the rest of her life alone," Caroline told Peter, gently pulling him back down.
Rose, Rosa, and Madeline grinned, agreeing with her.
"And you'll end up dead!" Patrice retorted, outraged. With that, she whipped back around, flicking her white, dead straight hair behind her. Peter and Caroline exchanged concerned glances.
Rose's hatred for Patrice was something fierce, and for the most part, she didn't know why. Her presence was uncomfortable and made Rose's face turn red with anger. She didn't like Patrice at all, not even a little, and she didn't often find someone she disliked. Patrice was somehow a reminder of Derrick Dawson, and that made her hate her even more. Derrick was in her mind enough of the time, especially at school, where she always wondered where he was and what he was doing. His liquid blue eyes appeared then in her mind, and she melted, her cheek going limp in her palm, his full, pink lips tempting her. Rose grinned in a stupor for a moment, her insides going warm and fuzzy, her heart fluttering.
She was snapped from her reverie when she heard Patrice mumbling terrible things about her cousins. Rose shook her head, trying to pull herself together. Stop it! Stop thinking about him, she told herself. It will never happen! She let out a sigh at the depressing thought and then turned in her seat to face Caroline. "Do not listen to her. She is just being mean," Rose said, putting her hand over Caroline's. Caroline grinned.
"She's possessed," Peter added gently, grabbing hold of Caroline's other hand.
"She is?" Rose gasped, stunned.
Peter laughed. "No, not literally."
"Oh," Rose uttered, relieved but still grinning with a little unease.
Rosa stared out through the classroom door as everyone else chatted around her, waiting for the teacher to arrive. She wasn't paying any attention to a word her friends or Rose was saying. She was in her own little world, where Francesco and their love for each other wasn't forbidden, where there were no secrets, and where life was perfect.
*****
"I'm going to ask you one last time. Where. Is. Your brother?" the English teacher, Mr. Leonardi, asked furiously. The cross at the end of the thick, gold chain around his neck jumped off his bright white shirt, revealing his impatience. He glared at Francesco, who was seated at the back of the class with Marcello and Steven on either side of him, Derrick nowhere to be seen. The teacher stood over Francesco's desk, his bright lime eyes flashing with irritation under thick, brown eyebrows.
Francesco leaned forward in his chair. He poked his desk with his index finger and replied, clearly annoyed, "I already told you. I don't know. Freaking hell, man? Are you deaf? Can't you hear? Fu—"
"Francesco Dawson! If you even think about swearing in my class," Mr. Leonardi warned him, crossing his arms over his ironed clean, brown suit. The students behind Mr. Leonardi listened, some watching intently. Francesco, Marcello, and Steven looked at each other for a moment and then laughed. Mr. Leonardi's lime eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath before continuing, "Where is the last time you saw him?"
"Uh, you know, around," Francesco said casually. His friends snickered.
Mr Leonardi had had enough of Francesco's smart remarks and stupidity. He held out his palm towards the ceiling, and a short, brown whip appeared out of a brown light and landed in his hand. Mr. Leonardi lifted the whip sharply above his head and slammed it on Francesco's little desk, a centimetre away from his little finger.
Francesco jumped fretfully out of his skin.
"Where is he, Mr. Dawson? Don't make me use this on you."
Francesco sat on his seat properly, swiftly shifting his hand away from the whip. Marcello and Steven's faces went straight, while Francesco stared at the teacher in dismay. "At home. The last time I saw him, he was at home ... But someone told me they saw him in the playground. I think it was the playground." He swallowed harshly, feeling a little badly for possibly outing his big brother, even though he probably deserved it.
"Thank you. I'll be right back. Class, behave!" Mr. Leonardi warned before exiting the room with haste.
"What was that all about, man?" Marcello asked Francesco while Steven watched them.
"Shut up," Francesco retorted, troubled, sinking in his chair with his arms crossed.
*****
Mr. Leonardi rushed out into the playground and eyed the grounds, searching for Derrick. The oval seemed completely empty and quiet but for the whistling sound of the wind and the leaves flying in whirls with it. Mr. Leonardi's eyes stopped wandering when he spotted Derrick in a corner of the school block, not that far from him, sitting on top of a lunch table with a little clear tube up his nose. He had the back of his hand under it and seemed to be sniffing some kind of white powder through the tube that sat on his hand. Mr. Leonardi's eyes widened in horror. When he gasped, Derrick looked up at him and simultaneously dropped the tube. He spread his fingers apart, and the cocaine vanished. Derrick stood up, inhaling tersely through his nose, and rapidly wiped the drug off his face with his third finger. "What are you looking at?" he asked stupidly, as if Mr. Leonardi had seen nothing.
"Oh ... my ... gosh. Lord have mercy," Mr. Leonardi said, shocked and silently praying for Derrick.
"You're sick!" Derrick replied, disgusted, feeling like his knees might not be able to hold him straight. He could barely see the teacher, and the way he felt, he had no idea why he had come to school in the first place. Rose! the back of his mind told him.
Teresa had found him unconscious on the floor in their living room earlier that morning, and he'd scared the living daylights out of her. She had been all alone and had had no clue as to where Francesco had gone or how he had failed to see Derrick sprawled out across the floorboards, blood running down the side of his mouth. Teresa had shaken him awake, and Derrick had thrown up on the floor beside her, more than once, before she had taken him to the lake and helped him wash. She had dried and dressed and fed him, and Derrick had hardly been aware of any of it. He just kept calling her Rose. Rose had never left his mind, not even when he was intoxicated. Teresa had healed his health as much as she could without Derrick's permission. He didn't want to be healed because, the moment he was completely healed, his mind would be clear to think of whatever he didn't want to think of, and he hated that. Derrick had pushed her away and left the house with the leftover cocaine still in his pocket.
"I beg your pardon!" Mr. Leonardi spat out, exasperated.
Derrick chuckled, staring at the teacher with drowsy, dark eyes. He had not slept in days, and the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him. Derrick had refused to sleep because sleep had only brought him nightmares—nightmares of his parents' death, of the war he'd had to endure, and of Rose not wanting him, even hating him. "You heard me, jerk," he snapped with a blind smirk.
Mr. Leonardi puffed himself up in outrage. He grabbed Derrick by the ear in an attempt to drag him to the principal's office, but Derrick shut his eyes tightly, and they disappeared into a dark blue light, appearing seconds later in the English classroom.
The students were loud, gossiping, and arguing, but Francesco saw them the instant they came through the light. Mr. Leonardi looked around disorientated, and Derrick laughed. "I'm not going to the office, okay, Chuckles."
"How dare you!" Mr. Leonardi snapped, mortified.
"What the hell is going on?" Francesco asked, standing up with concern.
The class went quiet, everyone realising the teacher had returned with Derrick.
"Sit down!" Derrick and Mr. Leonardi both yelled at him.
Francesco huffed, irritated. "No!" he retorted, crossing his arms. He hated being told what to do by Derrick, let alone teachers, and now both of them at the same time was too much.
"Francesco!" Derrick warned him wildly, but Francesco ignored his brother.
"You're on it too, aren't you? Your family disgusts me!" Mr. Leonardi accused Francesco, losing his self-control.
Francesco glared at him, at a complete and utter loss.
"We get that a lot," Derrick confirmed with a lazy grin, struggling to keep his eyes open. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't get them to stop.
"On what? Derrick, what is he talking about?" Francesco asked crossly, still confused.
Mr. Leonardi thought it would be okay to answer the question for him. "Oh I'll tell you what," he snapped, "drugs. Drugs, drugs, drugs. How could you do this to god? How could you? He has done nothing but be good to you, both of you," the teacher went on, distressed.
And Derrick and Francesco's eyes narrowed. Derrick felt his entire body light up with rage, and he couldn't control himself. He grabbed Mr. Leonardi by the throat and lifted him off the ground. "Let me tell you a little something about god," he growled in the teacher's face. "God has done nothing for me—nothing!"
The students started to get scared.
"Why did he say I'm on drugs?" Francesco demanded walking up to them.
Derrick laughed. "Shut up, Francesco. Can't you see I'm busy?" he replied irritably, tightening his grip around Mr. Leonardi's neck.
The teacher chocked, struggling to breathe.
"No, tell me," Francesco insisted stubbornly.
"I don't know," Derrick hissed, annoyed.
Francesco sighed. "Yes you do. You're lying,"
"No I'm not!" Derrick snapped back, losing his patience.
"Yes you are," Francesco retorted, not believing a word that came out of his brother's mouth.
"Francesco! I'm warning you! If you don't shut up soon, I'm gonna kill ya!" Derrick snapped, tightening his grip on the teacher's neck.
"No you won't," Francesco told him roughly.
With that, Derrick dropped Mr. Leonardi, who fell to the ground, struggling to maintain his breath, and then punched Francesco in the face. Francesco hit the floor almost instantly. He threw his hand to his stinging jaw and stared up at Derrick, appalled, and the entire class gasped in shock. Derrick started to hyperventilate, his brain becoming a disordered, intangible web. He turned to leave, and then he heard Francesco speak behind him.
"You are," Francesco said. "You are on drugs, aren't you?"
Derrick wished he'd just let it go. He wanted to kill the teacher for opening his big mouth. His siblings didn't need to know everything that went on in his life, especially this. Derrick didn't want them picking up the same habits he had, the way they already had with smoking. Derrick turned back to look at his little brother, who was still on the floor. His head was spinning, and his stomach churned with anxiety. "No ... I'm ... not," Derrick lied, finding that the world around him was starting to look different.
"Yes, he is," Mr. Leonardi exclaimed, getting back on his feet and keeping his distance from Derrick. He held the corner of his brown desk with one hand for support and rubbed his wounded throat with the other.
Derrick then glared at the teacher harshly, his pupils so large and dark that he looked possessed, his right eye twitching with hatred and disgust. "Shut up, dickhead!" he roared. "I'm not, and if you say anything to the principal about this, I will kill ya. And trust me, I've killed men before. Don't think I won't do it again!" Derrick growled threateningly.
Francesco stood up trembling with anger. If Derrick lied to him one more time he might just scream. "Stop it, Derrick! Stop lying to me!" he snapped.
Derrick gawked at him wide-eyed, his face stone cold with fear and rage, and his entire body started to shake lividly.
"Zancho!" Derrick roared at Francesco, his body no longer his own. All Derrick could see was a tall, dark man with razor-sharp, black hair and bulging, blood-red eyes, his pitch-black coat flying dangerously around him. Derrick almost choked with panic and shock and rage. He wanted Zancho dead.
Francesco stared at Derrick, terrified. His brother had never looked at him the way he was looking at him then. His eyes were wild with fear and rage, and Francesco had never seen him so afraid. "What? Who's Zancho, Derrick?" Francesco asked his brother cautiously.
But Derrick was no longer aware of Francesco, and he looked completely insane. Derrick could only see Zancho, could only hear the demon responsible for all his pain. "I killed your father. I killed your mother. I killed them all, Derrick!" He heard Zancho's ugly evil voice say, laughing at him.
Francesco watched Derrick grab Mr. Leonardi's whip from the front desk and lunge at him before the teacher even got the chance to try and stop him. Derrick and Francesco fell back into the tables and chairs, and the students screamed, jumping out of their seats and moving to the back of the classroom, where Marcello and Steven struggled to push through the crowd to get to their friends.
"You bastard!" Derrick screamed, infuriated. He had never felt so much hatred in all his life.
"No! Don't!" Francesco shrieked.
But Derrick could not hear his brother. He could only hear Zancho's raspy, sardonic laughter. He slashed the whip viciously across Francesco's face, and Francesco howled in agony, the whip ripping through his skin. Mr. Leonardi let out a panicked yelp. His body could no longer handle the stress, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he hit the ground, passing out.
When Marcello and Steven reached Derrick and Francesco they grabbed onto Derrick with all their strength and hauled him back away from his brother.
Derrick started screaming like a crazy witch, his eyes wildly bloodshot and black. "Let me go! I have to finish him!" he howled and let out a wild scream. He would not let the demon escape, not this time. Zancho would pay for taking away his family, his childhood, his life. Derrick's heart pounded uncontrollably, his skin turning red with rage as he tried to scratch at Francesco's skin.
Francesco cried, entirely heartbroken, not caring at all in that moment who saw him. He stood up, shaking with emotional and physical pain and started to run out in to the hall.
"No! Let me go! Let me go! You come back here, you red-eyed dick!" Derrick roared, almost slipping out of Marcello and Steven's grip. He was so strong that they could barely hold him.
Francesco turned back around to stare at his brother in disbelief.
Just then, the principal, Mr. Amana, slipped quickly into the room around Francesco. He had heard the commotion from all the way down the hall. Teachers had started to leave their classrooms to find out what all the fuss was about, but Mr. Amana had told them he would deal with it.
"What is going on in here?" the principal asked in frustration, raising his voice.
Derrick's eyes were still wild with panic and rage as he tried to reach Francesco, completely oblivious to the principal's arrival.
Mr. Amana glared at him, taken aback. "Derrick?" the principal said, a little shocked by his behaviour. Usually Derrick had more control.
"Evil!" Derrick whispered sharply at Francesco.
Francesco and Mr. Amana both stared at him baffled.
"What's the matter with him?" the principal asked, watching him closely.
Derrick was starting to lose his strength, and soon, he looked like he was going to faint.
"We think he might have been drugged or something," Marcello stated, protecting Derrick's secret.
Francesco glared at him.
"Oh dear," Mr. Amana replied, looking around at the frightened students. When he spotted Mr. Leonardi passed out on the floor, he gasped. "Who did that?" he huffed, pointing at the unconscious teacher.
"They did," Steven quickly replied, stepping back; he was referring to his friends.
Derrick completely ignored him, gnashing his teeth at his brother. But Francesco just glared at Steven in disgust, while Marcello struggled to keep Derrick in one place.
"Is this true?" the principal asked Francesco.
"Yes," Francesco sniffed, wiping away the tears that still filled his eyes.
"Take him to the sickbay so the nurses can fix him, and then bring him to my office." Mr. Amana told Marcello, who listened almost instantly, helping Derrick out of the room. It was obvious that Derrick needed immediate attention. "Someone please go get a nurse to assist with Mr. Leonardi," the principal continued, picking a random student to do so. "And, you, come with me. I'll heal you myself when we get to my office," Mr. Amana with little concern told Francesco who followed him out of the room, leaving behind his startled classmates.
*****
In the principal's office Mr. Amana had tried to heal Francesco's wound but Francesco hadn't wanted to be touched, still shaking from the lashing his brother had given him. He felt like he had been sitting in the principal's office for what felt like forever when the door behind him opened. Derrick sat down quietly in the seat next to Francesco and waited for Mr. Amana to speak. Francesco didn't want to be anywhere near his brother at that moment, but he wasn't going to cause trouble after what had already gone down that day. He looked at Derrick out of the corner of his eye, and somehow he looked better; his pupils were back to normal, and his skin was darker. He had stopped shaking, and he didn't seem to want to kill him. Francesco took a deep breath and waited for Derrick to say some smart remark, but he didn't. His face was solid as a stone, and his eyes were dark with pain. For the life of him, Francesco would never understand his brother. How stupid had Derrick been for taking drugs? Why had he not told him? Why had he hidden it?
Sitting in his leather seat behind a polished desk, Mr. Amana cleared his throat, before saying, "So, what's the story? What did you do this time boys?"
Derrick didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't know how to explain what happened, so he kept quiet. Francesco didn't know what he was allowed to say, so he also said nothing.
"What did you do to Mr. Leonardi?" Mr. Amana asked them, becoming slightly annoyed and eyeing them in turn.
"Nothing," was all Derrick said.
The principal raised his eyebrows with suspicion and annoyance. He turned to Francesco and repeated the question. "What happened to, Mr. Leonardi?"
"We said something about god, and he fainted. You know how religious he is," Francesco said, staring down at the holes in his shoes, avoiding the principal's gaze and possibly his brother's as well.
"Is that all?" Mr. Amana asked them, clearly uncertain if they were telling the truth.
"Yes. Can we go now?" Francesco asked impatiently.
"Not yet. Do you know who drugged you, Derrick?" the principal asked, turning his attention to Derrick, who looked up at him in confusion.
"Uh ... no," Derrick replied gently, hoping Mr. Leonardi would keep his mouth shut. He was pretty sure the English teacher knew the truth and that he had warned him not to tell.
"Mmm. Well, don't worry about it. We'll find the culprit," the principal told him, tapping his fingers on his desk in thought. "You will miss your last class today for detention; now please get out of my office," he went on, pulling some folders that were placed on the side of his desk to the front and opening one of them.
Derrick glared at him for a moment and then stood up. He really didn't want detention. He just wanted to go home and die. Francesco stood up after him and rushed out of the office. When they were out of the room, Derrick ran up to him and pulled him back, but Francesco threw him off. "Don't touch me!" he exclaimed dramatically.
Derrick stepped back, a little hurt. After a second, though, he grabbed hold of Francesco's face. Francesco whinged, trying to pull him off. But Derrick held him in a headlock, and as soon as Francesco's movements lessened, he pressed his large hand to the wound on his brother's face. Francesco screamed as a white light rushed out of Derrick's palm and spread through the shredded flesh on his cheek. The skin immediately started to heal, forcing itself back together, until not even a scar was visible. When Derrick was done he let his brother go.
Francesco was red in the face with irritation. "Stop it! Why would you do that? Why? Are you afraid someone's going to tell you off for hurting your little brother?" Francesco barked like a child, fixing his crumpled shirt.
"No," Derrick replied huskily.
Francesco gawked at him. Why was he being so weird?
"Francesco I'm—" Derrick started to apologise, feeling a lump claim his throat, feeling cold and disgusted with himself.
But Francesco cut him off. "I can't believe you!" he snapped, all boiled up, remembering everything that had happened not long ago. "Oh, let me go. I have to finish him," Francesco said, mimicking Derrick's harsh words, and Derrick wished he'd stop. "You want me dead. I knew it. I've always known it. You hate me. You despise me. You would love nothing more than to bury me—me, your own brother. How could you ... Can't you ... Don't you see the pain in my eyes every time you call me names, every time you hit me? I mean it's like I have my own personal bully. I live with a bully. Witches think I don't know what it feels like. They're wrong. I get the worse kind of bullying, getting bullied and bashed by my own brother. And the thing is, I am so stupid that I just forgive you every time, over and over again. You don't have a heart, Derrick. You want to finish me, go ahead, because I don't think I can handle another bashing or another bad thing said to me. Gosh, even Teresa bullies me." Francesco was almost crying, and he couldn't look at Derrick anymore. Blind to the pain in his brother's eyes, he turned on his heel and ran off out of the building, just in time for recess.
Derrick stared off at the last place he had seen Francesco, completely lifeless. "I deserved that. I deserve all of it," he told himself, feeling like his heart had been cut open and he was bleeding to death. He vowed he would never intoxicate himself like that again; it had only made everything worse. He had really hurt his brother, and he hated himself for it. He had seen Zancho! Derrick's mind had taken over his body. He had lost all sense of everything. And he never wanted to feel like that again. "I'm sorry!" he whispered, straining. For the first time in many years, he closed his eyes, a lump claimed his throat, and a tear fell to the end of his lashes. He opened his eyes wide in fright and caught the tear in his hand before it fell to the ground. Derrick stared at the tear in his palm for a long time before wiping it on the back of his jeans. He felt like the worst disappointment. He hadn't cried in over a decade, and it made him feel weak and disgusting.
Derrick really wanted to die, to make the pain stop, to make it go away. Usually, he would turn to alcohol or drugs to numb his pain, but those things had gotten him in this situation in the first place. I deserve to suffer, to feel every bad thing, to feel every pain imaginable, he thought miserably, feeling sick in the stomach.
So that's what he did. He didn't drink, and he didn't take any illegal substances. He just let the pain overwhelm him. Derrick walked towards the exit of the school block, threw the packet of cocaine that had been sitting in his pocket into the trash bin, and then walked through the school doors.
*****
Rosa searched the playground with impatient eyes. She sat uncomfortably at a lunch table with Rose on her right and Madeline on her left. Peter and Caroline were talking about some family feud, but she wasn't listening. She was too busy looking for Francesco. She missed him and wanted to see him desperately.
She caught sight of his ripped, black shirt and red and black cargo pants in the far distance. He was leaning against a large tree at the end of the field, and she couldn't help but grin at seeing him, her spirits automatically lifted. She was searching her brain for an excuse to go see him when Rose interrupted her thoughts. "Are you okay, Rosa?" she asked, concerned, studying her entranced face.
"What are you thinking about?" Madeline asked with curiosity, nudging her arm.
"Hmm. Pardon ... Sorry. I've been distracted," Rosa confessed absentmindedly, still gazing out into the field at Francesco's sturdy form as he rested the back of his foot on the big, rough tree.
"Yeah, we can see that," Madeline said, starting to get concerned. She tried to locate the place where Rosa was staring, but couldn't pinpoint it. There were students everywhere, and nothing interesting was happening.
"Are you feeling okay? When Jason's not feeling well he goes all quiet too," Caroline said softly.
"No. I mean yes. I am fine ... It is just ... I promised Fra... Francesco Dawson I would help him with his homework today, and I am not keeping my word," Rosa lied, feeling badly for not being honest with them, especially her sister.
Rose looked at her, surprised. Rosa had told her none of this.
The group gaped at Rosa, shocked.
"You didn't, Rosa?" Caroline gasped, surprised.
"I know. I shouldn't have," Rosa agreed, secretly not agreeing. There was nothing wrong with helping someone with their homework, especially someone who was as loving and thoughtful as Francesco.
"The Dawsons are bad company, Rosa," Peter reminded her plainly, crossing his broad arms.
Rosa struggled to hold a straight face, because Peter's information on Francesco was false, the rumours were all utter and despicable lies. "I disagree, I don't think Francesco is bad company," Rosa replied openly.
"He's brainwashed you. Great!" Madeline said sarcastically after her, and Rosa huffed.
"No he has not," Rosa retorted, insulted.
"Yes. He has. Trust me. The Dawsons make you think they're good. They make you think they're ... you know, real charmers. And once they get in your pants, it's over. They dump you, and that's it. Whenever you try to talk to them, they treat you like you're crap. Trust me Rosa, please," Madeline told her quite frankly, believing every rumour she had ever heard.
"I do not believe you! He is not like that!" Rosa answered, becoming more angered by the minute.
The more Rose watched the argument, the more she started to worry. Why was Rosa being so protective of Francesco Dawson? She hardly knew him. Rose was also secretly worrying that what Madeline said was true. She prayed it wasn't because she really didn't want to picture Derrick being that way. She didn't want him to be that way.
"Thank god there are only two male Dawsons. They do it to everyone, Rosa, all the girls. And they just treat the guys like they're scum of Magika," Madeline continued, ignoring Rosa's protest.
But she wished she had kept her mouth shut because Rosa was staring at her like she was some kind of disgusting insect that needed to be squashed. "Shut. Up! Francesco is not like that, and that's all there is to it!" Rosa snapped, exasperated.
Madeline jumped back in her seat. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and hurt. Rose also flinched away from her sister in shock and horror. And they all stared at Rosa, stunned and baffled.
"Rosa!" Rose exclaimed, appalled. She couldn't believe her sister had just raised her voice like that—and at a friend who didn't deserve it. Rose had never seen Rosa like that before; she'd never heard her like that before. Princesses never said shut up, and they never swore or raised their voices; at least, they weren't supposed to.
"You do not know him. So how can you say that? How can you talk about someone like that if you do not even know them?" Rosa cried out before grabbing her red bag from the seat beside her and storming off, not bothering to hear Madeline's reply.
Caroline and Peter just stared at her, at a loss to understand what had just happened and why Rosa had reacted so harshly.
"Oh my gosh ... I am so sorry, Madeline, everyone. I do not know what has gotten into her," Rose apologised for her sister, completely embarrassed.
"It's okay," Madeline said, accepting Rose's apology without thought. She knew Rosa's anger couldn't have been towards her. She thought about it for a moment and then gasped. "Oh my. She must really like him," Madeline said, covering her mouth in shock.
Rose gawked at her, gobsmacked. She had not expected her friend to say that.
Rosa didn't like Francesco Dawson; if she did, she would have told her. But then Rose thought of her overwhelming feelings towards Derrick. She had never told Rosa. So if Rosa was experiencing the same feelings, why would Rosa tell her?
Rosa is more open to her emotions. She would have told me, Rose thought sadly.
"That's not a good thing," Peter stated with concern.
Caroline placed her hand on his, and he held it affectionately.
*****
Francesco was in deep thought when Rosa walked up behind the tree he was resting his back on. She noticed he was different by his lazy posture and the cold look on his face. He seemed drained of all happiness. He was miserable and in pain, and Rosa's heart hurt seeing him that way. She was about to confront him when she saw Francesco raise his hand to his mouth, a cigarette in between his fingers. Rosa was momentarily stunned. She felt betrayed. He'd said he would stop smoking. But then she recalled that his exact words had been that he would try to stop. Rosa walked around the tree to face him, to confront him, but he didn't even seem to realise she was standing there.
Francesco inhaled the cigarette, staring blindly passed her, his depressing thoughts blackening his vision. He blew the smoke slowly out of his lungs and then his mouth. Rosa softly took hold of his hand. When he became aware of her presence, Francesco flinched. He fixed his eyes on her green ones and then grinned, feeling a weight being lifted from his soul. "Hey ... sorry. How long have you been standing there?" Francesco asked, coming back to life.
"Not that long. What's the matter? Something is wrong. I can tell," Rosa said, her voice tinged with concern.
Francesco became conscious of the cigarette in his hand. He flicked it away as quickly as he could, staring at Rosa anxiously. "I'm sorry. I barely realised I had the thing! I usually smoke when I'm stressed. I'm sorry. I'll try not to do it again," Francesco told her, trying to make her understand.
But she didn't have to say anything for him to know she did. Rosa brushed the back of her fingers down his jaw and grinned with glassy eyes. "It's okay, Francesco. I know habits are hard to break. Now stop worrying. Tell me what's wrong," she said gently, running her hands down his arms and resting them in his large, dark hands.
"Just about everything," Francesco uttered, looking down at his old shoes, depressed.
"What happened?" Rosa asked fretfully, pushing his dark curls out of his face and away from his blue eyes.
"I need to cut my hair," Francesco stated, avoiding her question.
She looked up at him surprised. "You don't want to talk about it, do you? Is ... is it me?" she asked hesitantly.
"No, no of course not, babe," Francesco reassured her, holding her in his arms. "It's just ... Oh, there's nothing I can do about it. He's always going to be like this. He's ... he's never going to change. There's nothing ... there's nothing I ... I can do." The words broke in his mouth, and tears fell from his bloodshot eyes.
"Francesco." Rosa cried with him, holding him tighter, and Francesco dropped his head on her shoulder, weeping. "Shhh," she said, sniffling. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. Francesco, come on. Don't cry, please." Rosa lifted his head up in her hands before continuing. "I love you, so much, okay. You might not have him, but you have me."
"Oh, Rosa, you're all that matters. You're the reason I keep living!" Francesco told her strongly.
Rosa kissed him softly on the cheek, wrapping her arms around him.
Francesco lovingly kissed her neck and then gazed deeply into her eyes. "I love you so much too. And thank you!"
"What for?" Rosa asked, confused, her thin dark, golden eyebrows creasing as she rested her hands around the nape of his smooth neck.
"For loving me back," Francesco replied tenderly.
She frowned, thinking him ridiculous. Rosa pressed her lips over his, and he grinned, slipping his tongue into her mouth. A stick on the ground then snapped in the distance behind the tree they rested on, and Francesco and Rosa jumped anxiously in each other's arms as Rose walked suddenly around the tree.
"What are you two doing over here?" Rose asked them baffled, placing her hands over her hips with confusion.
"Er," Rosa mumbled, quickly stepping out of Francesco's arms.
Rose, stunned, became speechless when she realised they had been holding each other.
"Your sister was ... comforting me, Francesco explained hastily, noticing the suspicious look on Rose's face. "I was upset, but I'm better now."
"Oh, well, don't get too close," Rose replied and gave him a small, untrustworthy grin.
"Yes, ma'am," Francesco said respectfully, trying to get on Rose's good side.
Rosa giggled and Francesco smiled fondly down at her.
"Rosa, do not be fooled by this man," Rose warned her sister carefully.
"What do you mean?" Rosa answered with bewilderment.
"Yeah, what do you mean? Why would I fool her? I wouldn't fool her!" Francesco retorted, crossing his arms.
Rose ignored him. "You know what I mean, Rosa. Now come along." Rose started to leave but was stopped by Francesco's stern voice.
"Wait! She might know what you mean, but I don't."
Rose sighed before replying in a slightly raised voice, "It is not your concern."
"Like hell it isn't!" Francesco exclaimed in frustration.
Rose gasped. "Do not answer back to a princess! Please ... sir," she stated, distressed, holding her hands protectively around her skinny arms.
Francesco rolled his eyes.
"Let's go," Rosa told Rose and stepped away from him.
"Rosa!" Francesco puffed abruptly.
"Yes, Mr. Dawson?" Rosa answered kindly.
"Francesco," he reminded her.
"Francesco," Rosa repeated, trying not to smile.
"Don't go," he begged, upset.
Rosa didn't know what to say, so she said nothing.
"Oh to hell with this," Francesco exclaimed, marching over to her. Grabbing her around the waist, he placed his right hand on her face, lifted her lips to his, and quickly kissed her. "Goodbye, sexy," he whispered mischievously into her ear.
Rosa gasped, breathless. "Goodbye," was all she could say.
Rose's huffing and puffing pulled her out of her reverie. "Oh! What nerve! How dare you steal her first kiss!" Rose cried out. She slapped Francesco across the face, and Rosa huffed in shock and disbelief. "Rosa!" Rose called for her sister to leave before turning exasperatedly on her heel and marching quickly back to their friends.
"I am so sorry, Francesco! Are you okay?" Rosa asked him earnestly, forcing herself not to touch his face, not to heal the red mark over his cheek and jaw.
"I'm fine. You'd better go."
Rosa swiftly kissed him on the lips and then rushed to Rose's side, and Francesco smiled, pleased with himself.
*****
As Rose made her way back to Peter, Caroline, and Madeline with Rosa by her side, she got the sudden sense that someone was watching her. She looked all around her until she spotted Derrick standing in a corner on the far end of the school building, his back heavily resting on the red-bricked wall. He eyed her intently as she walked, but the way he looked at her now was different than he had before. His eyes were more intense, darker; she could see more pain and less hunger. Rose wanted to help him, to take away that overwhelming ache in his eyes. She wished for the first time in her life that Derrick would look at her the way he always did, even if it wasn't right, because she couldn't handle this overpowering need to be close to him, to comfort him. Rose didn't even know what the problem was, but she knew there was a problem. And she wished she could help him overcome it.
Rosa was stuck in her own thoughts; she feared that Rose was suspicious of her and Francesco's relationship, the seriousness of it. She prayed her sister would not figure it out, not yet. Rose, she knew, would be heartbroken that Rosa had hidden this from her. She felt guilty for keeping something so important from her sister. She had never before hidden anything from Rose; they had always told each other everything. Rosa wished she could go back and tell Rose everything from the beginning, but it was too late now; things had gone too far. As they approached their friends, Rosa looked at Rose, to see if she could detect any sign on her face that she knew or whether she was upset. But Rose was completely distracted; she seemed to barely notice Rosa was there. Rosa followed her stare with unease and found that she was gazing intently at Derrick Dawson from all the way across the playground. Rosa glared at him viciously, hating him for hurting Francesco's feelings. She looked back at Rose, and her emotions suddenly changed to fear. Rose was gazing at Derrick the way Francesco gazed at her. Rosa swallowed hard before turning away; she decided to ignore everything she had just seen. I'm seeing things! she thought to herself as they reached Madeline, Caroline, and Peter, still seated at the lunch table they had sat at earlier.