13. Virgilio
Chapter Thirteen
VIRGILIO
S he will love it.
I bite my lower lip, holding in my smile that’s threatening to burst through as I walk down to school.
Today is a special day, and it’s thanks to Zoe.
I cannot wait to see the look on her face when I give her the SD card and she sees what I have done with the pictures. She will love them. I’m sure of that.
I used the template for some of the pictures I saw in the fashion magazine to work on the saturation, but she already did the main work of ensuring the lighting and the angles were perfect.
While staying up all night to edit them, I couldn’t believe I was the one in the photos. It was surreal and thrilling.
She is onto something, and Valerie Moore will see it, too.
I stop at the school gate and puff as I brace for a good day.
Life feels good.
It’s almost lunch break, and Zoe is not here.
I looked for her everywhere within the school’s perimeter, but she was nowhere to be found.
Even though she is a cheerful person, she only speaks to me. Nobody knows anything about her, and no one is interested enough to ask. She always seems to find anything to talk about other than herself.
I scowl as I scratch my head, glaring at the literature teacher as she blabs on about figures of speech and whatnot in some Shakespearean play.
Zoe and I studied the play together. I wasn’t interested in it, but she was. She likes art in every form. And now, I’m in one of her favorite classes, and she is not here.
I bounce my feet, my eyes flipping from the board to her empty seat.
Where could she be?
Is she sick?
I adjust in my seat, itching to leave the classroom and ensure she is fine.
“Virgilio,” Ms. Decker calls my name, and I take it as my cue to get the hell out of the class.
I’m not answering shit.
Shakespeare be damned.
I throw my backpack on and slip past the gate.
It’s not my first time leaving during school hours, but I’m always smart about it. Not that anyone would care.
If they take it to my father, he wouldn’t give a fuck about that sort of thing.
I pick up my pace and eventually start sprinting at the mere thought she is unwell.
I know life’s dangers. I know how fleeting it is. And I know some men can make that happen with a snap of their fingers.
My father is that kind of man.
He had warned me about getting too attached to people, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have someone watching me. He would know I had been hanging out with Zoe by now, and he might have sent someone to hurt her just to teach me a lesson.
I dash past the point I had left her yesterday, running down the lane I have seen her walk alone so many times now.
I’m stupid. I should have been more careful.
My heart thrums in my chest, and my blood rushes to my brain.
I can’t say how long I have been sprinting, but I don’t care until I see the dusty royal blue bungalow that is Zoe’s house. I have never been here, but she told me what it looked like.
I catch my breath now, resting my hands on my knees as I cough, needing oxygen and maybe some water. I keep coughing, breathing, and panicking.
I lift my eyes to see Zoe sitting on the porch steps. She is wearing what should be cream nightwear, with her burgundy cardigan tied around her waist. She seems lost and sad.
But at least she is one piece.
She feels my presence, and when she sees me, her entire disposition snaps.
“Virgilio,” she beams, her sadness gone.
“Zoe?”
How many times has she had to switch like this to conceal her real feelings? I have never stopped to think that her eyes always tell a different story than her lips.
I start to make my way to her, and she gets edgy. As if remembering something, she unties the cardigan around her waist.
I see why.
“Who did this?” My eyes drop to the scratch marks on her upper arm and the red handprint on one side of her face. “Zoe, who did this to you?” God help my father, that this was not him because I will fucking…
“I’m fine,” she chuckles, “I just had a fall and I…”
“Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, you have done that enough already by keeping this a secret from me,” I grip her upper arm. “How long has this been happening?”
Please tell me it’s only now.
“Virgilio, it’s nothing, I promise,” she tries to shrug away from my grip, and it enrages me the more that she would lie for the bastard responsible for this.
“What bastard did this to you, Zoe?” My finger digs into her skin.
“You are hurting me,” she whimpers, and I instantly let go, then punch the air for the lack of the face of the douchebag who did this to her.
I try to breathe. “Have you told your father?”
She shifts nervously and then unties the cardigan. “I told you it’s nothing.”
I scoff, realization dawning on me, “It was him, wasn’t it?”
Of course, it’s him. My father is no different. I can take a few punches, but her? She can’t. I have to do something about it.
“Have you told the cops?” I crouch beside her, “Zoe, we can fight this, you don’t have to put up with this,” I reach out to take her twitching hand and cramp gently. “Please.”
“We can’t,” she shakes her head, masking her sadness well.
A siren goes off, and she tenses up. A police car pulls into the basement, and the instant her eyes catch it, she snatches her hand and starts to wear the cardigan hurriedly.
“You have to leave, Virgilio.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Please, don’t make it worse for me tonight.”
Shit.
I want to stay with her and find a way to give her back some of the light she has given me in my darkest days, but I understand the pattern here. If I stay, she will be the one to get beaten.
A man steps out in a police uniform, hands on his waist as he looks in our direction.
Double shit. Now I know why she can’t call the police.
Her father is a cop.