Simply put, he looks murderous every time he fixes my hair, like he hates it. Yet, every day he does it, and every morning, no one dares to say a word about it—other than Maxim and Mikhail, but Roman doesn’t need to know that.

Mickey grips me by the elbow and turns me around, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger as he gazes down at me. Warmth spreads to every inch of my body when our eyes meet.

This is what being loved feels like.

I sink my nails into the palms of my hands because one day, I’ll stop feeling this way. I’ll no longer know what adoration looks like. He’ll do someone else’s hair and call someone else beautiful. I want to bottle this moment up, lock it away, and keep it for myself because the feeling is intoxicating. But the sad truth is that, even if I’m meant to be loved, it will never be permanent.

“You’re so beautiful, Bella.”

He means it. Every letter and every syllable. Those four words are said from the darkest depths of his heart, not just the dopamine fired in his brain.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I’ll never say that I agree. Maybe I am beautiful—even though I've never seen myself that way—or maybe I'm not. Beauty isn’t just something you put on or become blessed with from genetics. It’s a feeling that doesn’t need a mirror or a photo for proof or validation. And Mickey makes me feel beautiful, even on days when I’m disgusted with myself.

The school’s warning bell rings through the street, and I can almost hear the collective sigh of every student in the area.

“I’ve got to go… I’ll see you tonight?” I ask, hopeful.

The answer is always yes, but one day it’ll be no. I’d rather be prepared and face the anguish now than look like an idiot, standing around waiting for him.

He smirks. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Once he plants another kiss on my forehead, he grabs his helmet. My cheeks burn, and so does the spot where his lips touched. I’m too dumbstruck to do anything but stare at him.

“Don’t be late.” He winks.

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod helplessly, backing away toward another one of my versions of hell.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 9

ISABELLA

3 Years Ago

Roman: 19 years old – Isabella: 17 years old.

The rest of the morning goes by in a blur. Having to spend lunch without Mickey was the biggest adjustment, and most of the kids here knew to steer clear of me when Roman was around.

But at least I have Janelle. She doesn’t talk much; we just sit together and read because “girls stick together” and all that.

She’s leaning back against a tree, golden brown hair fanned over her shoulders. Now, she is beautiful. In the understated, geeky sort of way. It’s the kind where with a good haircut and a dash of mascara, every girl and boy would be transfixed by.

We have a couple of classes together and always pair up for any group activities. She’s kind of boring, though I wouldn’t be surprised if she thought the same about me. The only things we have in common are classes and our love of books and art.

She did give me a birthday hug this morning, which was nice, I guess.

Then we went back to ignoring each other.

Like now.

Fine by me; my book is just getting to the good part. Finally. It took about three hundred pages.

“Is that book three?” Janelle nods to the book I’m holding, then takes a bite of her sandwich. We’re at Mickey’s and my old hang-out spot, another blind spot on the school grounds.

I nod. “The last one in the series.”

“Any good?”

“Honestly, I’m just glad it’s over.”

She snorts. “Say no more.”

“My favorite character was killed off, so—"

“I heard a rumor,” a rough voice says from behind me.

Janelle and I tense. Two silhouettes stretch around us, and then the shadow falls over me, blocking the sun. Slowly, I turn around and brace myself for whatever is about to happen. I already know who is behind us. Only two people at this school have the guts to talk to me after everything Roman did.

Mikhail and Maxim, the identical twins that started this year. The only difference between the two is the beauty spot on Maxim’s cheek.

“Do you know what the rumor is?” Mikhail asks, staring right at me.

We say nothing. Sometimes they get bored and move on to terrorizing someone else. Those who aren’t part of a pack always become prey, and to the hunters in our year group, Janelle and I are the wounded rabbits.

I jolt when Maxim snatches the book from my hands. “He asked you a question.”

Neither of them pays Janelle any mind, and I send her a mental message to run. She’s not about to play hero, and there’s no point for the both of us to be victims. Girls stick together, but a herd of gazelles will do nothing to stave off a lion. You run, and only the fastest will survive.

“What rumor?” I say.

If their attention stays on me, Janelle will be able to leave. She must realize this because she quietly stands and gets the hell away.

Satisfaction oozes from Mikhail, and his eyes light up with the same predatory glint I’ve seen on Roman’s face many times. The twins know I’m not stupid enough to try to fight them. I’ve heard them say enough times that their dad bought them each a gun for their fourteenth birthday. Everyone at school has seen them put another boy in a coma just because he accidentally spilled his water on Maxim.

Once, they threatened to stab me if I told the teacher they pushed me down the stairs. But even if I told someone, nothing would happen. This school doesn’t have the resources or the care to do anything.

“A little birdie told me you can’t say your r’s.” Mikhail laughs.

I grit my teeth. “I got over it years ago.”

There’s no confidence in my voice, and I try my best to keep it completely even. Men like the twins and Roman get off on seeing weakness and getting a reaction. Despite it, there’s no missing the quiver when I say the words.

“You hear that, Maxim? She got over it.” Mikhail chuckles, lacking any humor, as he hits his brother’s arm. His attention trains on me, and every single fiber of my being screams at my legs to run. “Must have been something fucked up with you if you couldn’t even say a letter.” He bends down so he’s right in my face. “One fucking letter. Your mom dropped you on the head, huh?”

I blink quickly. I can’t let him see any tears. I can’t. Where’s Roman? Why isn’t he here when I need him?

“What? You mute too?” Maxim sneers.

I can’t help the sound that escapes when I’m yanked onto my knees by a painful grip on my hair. Maxim shoves my face into the book in my hands.

“Read it,” he sings.

My scalp burns from his vicious hold, pulling strands out of my braid. I know the moment my bottom lip quivers, they feel like they’ve won. Their malicious looks turn smug.

“I said fucking read it, bitch.”

I try to do as they say, but I can’t make out the letters through my blurring vision.

“Blind, too?” Mikhail laughs. “You gonna cry to your mommy? She gon’ knock you on the head even more?”

“Don’t talk about her,” I cry.

I know my mistake the instant I say it. I showed them my weakness.

One of them whistles. The only thing I can say for certain is that the ink on the page is bleeding along with my heart. Another shard gone, a stab at the hole in my armor.

“Isa’s mom is a whore,” one of them sings. They’re trying to get a reaction from me.

“I bet the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“She’s not!” I yell, knowing it’ll be hopeless. There’s no logic to what they do. They want someone to pick on. They don’t care what the reason is. If they don’t take jabs at my mother, they’ll keep trying until they find another way to sink the knife.