Hopelessly Stung

I originally wrote this for a roleplay group that was about modern alternate universes of Shakespeare. I played Romeo.
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"Just stop your crying, it'll be alright."

[ -'Sign of the Times', Harry Styles ]

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1. Hopelessly Stung

Papers and textbooks littered the floor of Romeo Montague's unlit bedroom along with various other objects—pencils, pens, highlighters, etc. The boy lay face-up on his bed, head hanging off the foot of it and arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep despite the late hour.


He was thinking. It was killing him being away from his Juliet and seeing her with Paris just made it sting worse. He wanted to do something about it, but what? Perhaps he could just tell his parents. She was worth that.

 

He’d sugarcoat it. He’d tell a half-truth. Yeah, he thought that was a promising idea.

 

The dark-haired boy rolled backwards off the bed, landing somewhat gracefully on his butt. He gathered up all the papers and writing utensils in a rush and threw them into his backpack. Zipping it quickly, he slung a strap over his shoulder and left the room, making sure to flip off the light switch on his way out.
 

He hopped onto the railing of the stairs and slid down it, landing perfectly on his feet and heading towards the kitchen where he found his dad.
 

“Hey dad.” Romeo said, taking a seat on the counter. His legs swung back and forth as he looked at the older Montague, who was currently filling out some type of paperwork the younger male could care less about.


His father looked up and quirked an eyebrow at his son inquisitively, urging him to speak.
Romeo took in a deep breath and looked his old man in the eye. “Dad, I’m in love…. with a, uh, a girl, but she-she’s friends with the Capulets...” Was that going to cut it? He sure hoped so.


Nobody moved for a few moments—Romeo holding his breath.


Then out of nowhere, a stinging feeling was on the teenager’s face and he was on the ground, pushing himself to a sitting position. His eyes were wide as he stared at his father, who was just screaming at him. The only words Romeo caught were ‘Don’t even /mention/ that name in this house!’ and a grumbling of curses and hateful words.

 

Without saying anything else, Romeo stood and brushed himself off, grabbing his backpack once more and running out of the house.
 

He pulled his jacket’s hood up over his head and pulled out his phone, looking at it only to see there was no new messages. Pressing the lock button, he pocketed it again and readjusted his grip on the backpack before taking off to the garage. He opened it manually and searched until he found his old bike.


He didn’t dare take the car that could most likely be tracked. Considering he could still hear his father’s shouting, he decided it’d be best for both his secrecy and safety if he didn’t.


He pedaled quickly, trekking through the woods until he reached the house of the Capulets. He leapt off the bike and propped it against the wall where it would be concealed by some bushes. He climbed—with some difficulty—up to Juliet’s window and peeked inside carefully as he dangled from the windowsill to make sure nobody was in there. If she was, who cared? Just nobody from her family.


It seemed empty and he used a single hand to push the window open, knowing it would be unlocked specifically just for him. He crawled through the window, tumbling to the floor clumsily. 


He went over to stand by her bed and removed his backpack, setting it down in front of him. He opened it and dug through the papers until he found the few notecards he had held together with a rubberband and written weeks ago.

 

This is what they said, a few words to a card:

 

Juliet
I just wanted to tell you some things.
I want you to remember them.
So I wrote them for you to have.
Even when I am not around.
First thing first:
I LOVE YOU.
So much.
You’re amazing.
You’re beautiful.
You’re so smart.
This started out as a list of the reasons why I do love you.
But I decided it would take too long.
I’ll just tell you sometime.
I have some things planned for us.
I still wish we could run away.
But if it’s pain I need to endure to have you…
I will.
We’re young, but who is to say we don’t know what love is?
Our families hate eachother.
So what?
I love you.
Nothing else matters.
You’re the only one.
Forever, I promise.
If I could write you a song, I would.
I’d make you a whole album.
Let me buy you things.
Let’s sneak out and do things we shouldn’t.
Let’s cause a little trouble.
Let’s do everything we want to do.
…without being caught.”


There was a blank card before the last one, which was just signed with a simple, sloppy, but obviously written by Romeo: ‘R’.
He slid the cards under her pillow and then left to make his way back home alone, face still stinging and heart still hurting.

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