Chapter 5
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ANASTASIA
- Nine years ago
My first week at Ravenswood has proved to be utterly boring.
Welcome dinners, mandatory social events, tours, even our first classes were a load bullshit.
Instead, I chose to spend my valuable time in the library, reading about advanced bio and things that will actually contribute to the future I’m beginning to pave my way for.
The library is without a doubt the most redeeming feature of the school. Even my room with all its exceptionally tasteful decor is no comparison to the ceiling to floor windows, covered with thick red curtains that cast a warm ambience around the room. Books fill every inch of the walls and in the center are shelves crammed with even more.
Calista would love this place, just for the peace and quiet. I suppose my youngest sister would too, spending her afternoons losing herself in the throes of whatever romantic novel she’s reading.
I tap my foot against the floor, humming to the tune of West Coast by Lana Del Rey whilst attempting to read the section on oxidative phosphorylation for the third time. A thud manages to break through the music blasting into my ear drums.
My head whips up, quickly scanning the vast room I thought I was alone in. A singular book appears fallen on the floor, until another thud hits the shelves and more follow suit.
Pushing my chair back slowly, I pull my earphones out and follow the noises that grow louder with each step I take. Years of sneaking around my parents allow my footsteps to fall silent as I near the bookshelves. I carefully peer around the corner, finding three boys with their back towards me.
Surrounding them are books, all creased and carelessly strewn across the floor. I clench my jaw as one of the oblivious idiots steps on a book, damaging it with his muddy footprint. They move aside revealing a fourth boy, all beaten and bloody with his hair hanging low over his face .
The bulkiest one picks him up and shoves him against the shelves. I try not to make a sound as I watch him punch the boy in the stomach, over and over again.
My fists screw up at my sides though I don’t know why.
How many times have I watched someone be beaten, tortured or even killed? Often by my own family members and I don’t even bat an eyelid.
Yet for this pathetically scrawny teenage boy, I’m fighting the good Samaritan urge to put a bullet between his bullies’ eyes.
One of the short beefy boys cheers his friend on. “Hit him again Stu!”
Seriously, Stu? I take in the receding hairline and squashed face of the bully punching the boy. He flashes an ugly smirk as he whips out what looks to be a pathetic excuse of a toothbrush carved into a shiv.
Stu swings him around and suddenly the boy is looking at me. An inaudible gasp escapes my lips as my gaze collides with warm caramel plagued with defeat and torture that existed long before this moment.
I lose all sense of reality for a moment, trapped in a strange embrace, crafted from a single look. I don’t want to ever look away, and yet those pained eyes brace shut as he prepares himself for the inevitable .
“Stop!” The word catapults from my lips, taking us all by surprise.
All three of them turn to face me. Stu dumps the boy on the floor like he’s nothing, puffing his chest out like a proud peacock. For a second, I almost falter.
I mean a hundred-pound girl vs three guys at least double her size?
Not exactly a fair fight…but then again, screw them.
Intellect is the clear champion over strength, and I doubt they have enough brain cells between them to match my IQ.
I clear my throat, masking my face with a docile smile like I’m a lost doe in need of saving. No boy can resist a damsel in distress.
Cocking his head, Stu lets his eyes wander up and down my body, fixating on the stretch of bare skin between the hem of my skirt and my socks. “I think you're a lost sweetheart. Why don’t you go and bury your nose in a book. If you keep quiet, maybe I’ll give you something nice to suck on later.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes as he grabs ahold of his dick, making his asinine friends laugh.
“Oh, well I just heard a noise and you see I got a little scared…you know being in this big place all alone.” I walk closer, making sure to let my skirt rise with each step. “But then I saw you. You’re so big and strong, I knew I’d be safe with a guy like you here to protect me.”
I squeeze his bicep for effect and he swallows hard, probably trying to keep his erection at bay. My smile is sickly sweet, straining at the muscles. His hand grips my waist, fingers spreading wide so they graze my ass. “Well sweetheart, you found the right ma—ahh bitch!”
“That’s right, sweetheart.” My hand shoves the shiv deeper into his leg, twisting it around until he screams again. “Oh relax you baby, I barely touched a muscle.”
He’ll be fine. It’s just a flesh wound but God, it feels good to hear him scream.
“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, I’m Anastasia Romano,” His friends scamper like cockroaches much to Stu’s horror. Smirking, I grip his chin, making sure I can see the fear that flashes in his eyes. “Wow, I suppose my reputation really does precede me.”
“I’m sorry, okay!”
“What was that Stu? You might wanna say it to someone who it matters to,” Stu twists around, which proves difficult with a shiv in his leg.
“I’m sorry.” I dig it in harder. “And I swear we won’t do it again! ”
“Ah, that's a good boy, Stu. I didn’t even have to ask.” Yanking the shiv out, Stu lets out a cry as he falls onto the ground, blood dripping onto the carpet. At least it’s red.
“Fuck, you’re crazy.” He spits out, crawling towards the bookshelf
I let out a laugh, having heard that too many times to count. “And you’re a dead man if I ever see you again Stu.” It’s a promise more than a threat and I wave him goodbye as he hobbles out of the library.
Sighing, I turn towards the fallen books, grabbing the edition of Pride and Prejudice that Stu stood on and slotting it back on its shelf.
“Thanks.” I turn towards the voice, so quiet and meek I could barely make it out.
The boy is watching me. I suppose I thought I scared him off too and yet he’s still here…staring.
Turning away, I grab some more fallen books and put them back on their shelves. “I didn’t do it for you.”
He laughs weakly. “Of course not. It was for the books.” His accent is enticing. Thick Italian, reminding me of summers spent in Sicily.
I watch him haul himself up, wincing as he clutches his stomach. Surprisingly he’s quite tall and I’m guessing there’s some muscle hidden beneath the bulky faded sweater he’s wearing.
“Perché non hai reagito?” Why didn't you fight back? His eyes grow so wide at my smooth Italian that I could almost laugh. Instead, I busy myself with putting the books back. “My family have Italian origins, so I would vacation there frequently. In fact, I was born there.”
“But not raised?” I shake my head. That was a story for another day and definitively not for a stranger I have known for all of five minutes.
The boy steps closer into the light, shifting his body towards as he reaches out to help. I meet his gaze as I hand him some books, seeing everything so much clearly now.
His eyes are not just caramel, but golden flecked with irises so dark I fear you could fall inside of him and never find your way to the light again. His skin is sun kissed and smooth with features so sharp his boyish face hasn’t settled into them yet.
But once they do…
“You asked me why I didn’t fight back?” I tear my eyes away from him and onto shelves again.
“I know there were three of them but you could have at least tried.” He leans across me to push a book into the shelf and I catch a whiff of his scent — woodsy and spiced — reminding me of Catania in the fall .
He laughs softly, finally letting some light reach his eyes. “And what would be the point in that? I fight them, I get a worse beating. They do it again tomorrow and the next day, only harder and with more of them.” He shakes his head, as if trying to figure out why he’s telling me this.
I know that feeling and I know exactly what he’s going to do next. I grip his arm before he can run away, almost pleading with my eyes for him to stay.
But why? I could go back to my work and ignore all of this. It’ll be nothing but a faded memory in a week.
And yet, I don’t want it to be.
He stares down at my hand, before meeting my gaze with something resembling a smile. “I’m here on a scholarship. I’m not rich like the others or come from a good family of high standing, so I’m an easy pick. People like me can handle this. We expect this, so thank you for your help but please don’t do it again. It’s not worth it.”
“It’s worth it if you’re not getting beaten to a pulp everyday. If you don’t defend yourself then those jackasses get off, thinking they’re superior to you when they’re nothing more than common trash.”
“The words of the privileged.” Ouch. Normally I would fight back, but he’s right. I’m lucky with the blood running through my veins but that doesn’t mean I’ll let him be bullied and hurt .
“True, but you’re wrong about one thing. You are worth it.” His gaze softens, striking some weird fluttering low in my stomach. I drop my hand from his shoulder. “Anyone who appreciates books as much as me is worth it. I doubt there are a lot of us in this school, we must stick together and if my reputation allows me to help you, why wouldn’t I? You see, the trick to winning in this world isn't being born rich but using the resources available to you. Exploiting them for your gain.”
“So, you want me to exploit you?” I know he’s just teasing but I feel my cheeks warm from his laughter. “Let me help you with something. Exploit me back.”
“Well to do that, I need to know your strengths.” I think back to my textbook on oxidative phosphorylation. “You don’t happen to be any good at biology?”
Those golden flecks dance as he smiles, conjuring something warm inside of my chest. “I got an A on my last exam.”
“A second year?” He looks older than me.
Nodding, he smiles and it’s enough to make me offer him my hand. “Anastasia Romano.”
His large hand wraps around mine. “Leone Rossi.”