forum In Fair Verona // Modern Romeo and Juliet // Private RP - CLOSED

Started February 05, 2019 by @blue_topaz

tune

She doesn’t mean that. She’s just scared. He probably threatened her. “I’ll fix this, Juliet.” I stood up from the bed, determined to help my fiancé. “I promise. Hold tight.”

“No.” My raspy voice held a surprising amount of force when I spoke again. “There was no sinister plot behind this, Paris. And—And either way, it’s not your problem to fix. I am going to get revenge. Not you.”

“You’re my fiancé. If someone hurts you, they hurt me.” I responded flatly, leaning over the bed to press a gentle kiss to Juliet’s forehead. “I’ve met the Montagues get away with so much because of my worry for Mercutio and his little friends, but if this is the thanks I get then J can’t allow this to continue any longer.” I spoke each word with dread, my voice heavy with both grief and anger. “I’ll return as soon as I can, Juliet.”

I caught his wrist with one hand, unintentionally exposing the fresh row of cuts. “For the love of god, Paris.” I spoke as flatly as possible, but inside, I was a mess of panic and fear. What if he targeted Romeo?? “You cannot walk into this blind. You don’t even know who attacked for sure. Gather information and formulate a plan.”

Buy then some time.

“Juliet… How could you?” I couldn’t keep the betrayed tone out of my shaking voice as I spotted a line of fresh cuts far too neat to be caused by the Montagues. I sucked into another breath, trying to find the words to express the distress that radiated off of me. “Am— Am I that awful to you. Must you hate me so? After everything—“ My voice cut off as I stared at her arm, unable to rip my gaze away.

I ripped my hand away as if burned, eyes flying open. Panic tore through my carefully crafted expression as I clutched the arm to my chest——Stupid, stupid Juliet.

“It’s not you,” I blurted, shaking my head rapidly. Desperation seeped into my tone. “Don’t—Don’t tell anyone. It’s not you, I—I promise.”

“Okay…” I breathed slowly. “Okay… But I need you to tell me why. And I need whatever you’re using.” I murmured frantically. “You’re not allowed to do that. Ever, okay? We can figure something out.”

I clenched my teeth to keep frenzied breaths from escaping, but I was practically hyperventilating anyways, too caught up in the panic of being found out by Paris to calm down. “I—I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Juliet, I’m here to protect you. No one else is going to find out. Not even your father.” I assured her, forcing myself to at least appear calm.

I forced my aching, trembling body into a sitting position, smearing blood on the sheets while I shifted, and looked him right in the eye. “I—I said, I don’t want to—to talk about it.”

“That’s not an option anymore.” I replied firmly, staring back at her with fierce determination. “If you want this to stay a secret then I need to know what’s going on.”

“You don’t get to blackmail me with something like this, Paris,” I told him quietly, voice trembling. “And you don’t get to force me into opening up. I’ll do that in my own time. If you tell people, I—I’ll only hurt myself more. I have nails, I can suffocate myself, and I can starve myself. I don’t need a knife to do harm.”

“The only thing stopping us from getting married any day now is me.” I correctly her sharply, my voice hardly above a whisper. “You know why? Because I know you don’t love me. I wanted to give you time and space so we could adjust. But if it takes marrying you so I can constantly by my side then by God’s name I will marry you today.” I hissed back, feeling my heart shatter in my chest.

The fragile thread of trust between us shattered. Betrayal overtook my expression, I forced all emotion from my eyes until they were nothing but blank, soulless voids. I was freezing all over, drenched in a bucket of ice water, trembling in… fear. Of him.

“I really thought I would be able to trust you..” I hated how broken I sounded. “My mistake, right? If you really want to know that badly, fine. I—“ The partial lie slid from my mouth quickly and easily, my last line of defence. “I hate myself. I’m weak, cowardly, and broken. I let those Montagues beat me to the ground yesterday, so I punished myself today. Are you happy?”

“Why do you hate me? What did I do to you that made you hate me so much?” I backed away, feeling my heart wrench in my chest. “Do you want me to call everything off? Is that it? Would you hate me less if I told Angelo I can’t marry you?” I tore myself away for her moving quickly towards the door.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Paris?"

Why did I sound so… defeated? "I don't hate you. And I don't understand why you think I do. I don't believe in love, and I don't believe in happiness, either, but I believe that if we could just cooperate, things would be alright. You know what the consequences of calling off this marriage would be—–" As much as I want you to. "—–So don't do it. If you would just…. be patient with the seventeen-year-old girl instead of threatening to marry her the instant she won't tell you about something she's never told anyone, ever?"

Liar.

“I…” My hand froze on the doorknob, my face heating up red with embarrassment. I shook my head and cleared my throat. “I… I apologize.” I mumbled stiffly. I want us to be happy. I want you to love me. I gazed at Juliet for a moment and time unfroze. “I have to leave.” I murmured curtly.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and fixed my eyes to my lap. Relief overtook me, but I let none of it show. "If you must…."

“I would never leave your side if the world did not swept me away every time we meet.” I sighed, opening the door. “Take care, Juliet.” And with that I closed the door behind me, silently leaving the Capulet home.

And the moment he left, I crumbled.

He had me completely under his thumb, in his control. He could make me do anything he wanted by threatening to bring the marriage closer, despite the fact that we barely knew each other. Despite the fact that I was seventeen. And he could do so much worse than that—I shuddered at the thought. He could take me, force himself on me while I was weakest.. It was all too much.

Mercutio’s POV

Monday mornings are and will always be the worst. But I find they’re especially awful when your Capulet allied cousin confronts you behind your school and attempts to stab you mercilessly to death before you’ve even had your morning coffee and tequila. It was Paris. My older cousin who I had always sort of looked up to, screaming bloody murdering about stealing the spirit away from his wife. He was mad— waving a knife around with bloodshot eyes that to,d me alcohol was likely a factor.

But now isn’t the time. for recollection. He thought I was dead. And… And I might be close to that. My body burned with pain, every slashed limb aflame with agony as I used the brick wall to heave myself to my feet. Blocking open my eyes was of no use now. My glasses had shattered somewhere on the ground during the fight. No one was here yet. I could pull this off.

It took what felt like years to stagger to my locker, pulling out gauze and duck tape and stumbling into the bathroom a few feet away to patch up my wounds. The ground swayed dangerously underneath my feet with each step. Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die. Mercutio fucking Escalus— don’t die.

I bit back screams as I wrapped parts of my arms and legs in gauze, sealing the wounds with duck tape. The worst was the gash on my stomach. Blood gushed out of it like a fountain, and I was almost certain that my own intestines were going to spill out of it. I threw up once or twice more blood than anything else spilling from my lips. I left the bathroom looking like a crime scene and changed into my gym clothes. I snagged a bottle of vodka I kept stored in the empty locker next to mine in case of an emergency. And right now, it was one. I couldn’t go home or get to a hospital— my parents would kill me. So I drank until it hurt less. More and more and more and more.

I numbly registered that the only reason I was so calm was that I was in shock. Shock, hell, it’s a real good drug if you ask me.

Marina's POV

Drunk Mercutio was never a particularly… fun thing to handle. Granted, he had confessed feelings for me while under the heavy influence of alcohol, but dealing with the absolute mess of emotions and lack of filter all while trying to fend off a panic attack—drunk men weren't exactly… my forte—was not something I enjoyed.

But the sight of him, dragging his feet as he trudged down the hallway while clearly on some sort of mood-altering substance was too much to bear. Sympathy and worry rushed at me from both sides, overwhelming me—–and the worst part was that I couldn't walk up to him. Not while we were in school.

Then I saw the blood. A crimson blotch staining the front of his gym shirt—the pained way he was walking—the hollow expression in his eyes—

My eyes widened in shock. Dread seeped through my bloodstream, infecting every thought, every action.

No. That's not possible.

"Mercutio?"

I slowed to a stop, grateful for the reprieve. “Marina?” I mumbled faintly, my labored breathing taking up most of the energy I had. I squinted, trying to identify which of the moving blurs around me was her.

Students were already filtering into their respective classrooms—there was barely anyone left in the hallway. But in all honestly, I didn't care anymore. Mercutio, my Mercutio, was hurt, and I was going to do whatever I could possibly do to patch him up.

Before he could react, I was grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him into the girl's bathroom, hands shaking. "What the hell happened?"

I stumbled after Marina, biting back a whine of pain. “Nothin’s wrong. Just slept on the wrong side of th bed.” I offered her a shaky grin. “We gotta get to class soon., I think I have a math test today.”

"No. I sucked in a sharp breath and hoisted him up onto the sink counter, rolling up his shirt with shaky fingers before he could protest.

My eyes landed on a gaping hole, on the crimson dribbling down his stomach and sides. "Oh my god—Oh my god—" Panic shot through my mind, erasing every coherent thought. "No–no—Mercutio, no—no, no, no, no, no, no." Mercutio was going to die—My boyfriend was going to die.

"I'm getting you to a hospital."

“Nah, I’m good. I can hardly feel it.” I wheezed softly, stretching out a violently shaky hand to hold hers. “I can hardly see you. My glasses… think Paris has them… it’s starting to get foggy already. Pretty crazy how fast alcohol works…”

"Paris?" My voice was loaded with rage and utter terror as I fumbled for my phone. "Juliet's asshole of a fiancé? What did he do to you?? Mercutio—talk to me. I–I have to know what to say to the person on the other side of this phone."

“Can we cuddle first?” I protested weakly, squeezing her hand with all the strength I had left. “It’s just a scratch…”

Tears were blurring my vision by now, distorting colours and shapes around me until the one thing I could focus on was the horrible wound, like a gruesome, gaping mouth. "Don't—"Don't say that," I choked out, and my phone slipped from my fingers. "How did this happen??"