Letters to Romeo.

Chapter 76 - The Good Woman

Once the words escaped from Julie's lips, her face turned red, staring back at Roman, who stood outside her window. Her mind and her will was weak when it came to him, craving for his company, and at his question, she had blurted out what she couldn't tell him earlier.

Roman's eyes looked nothing less to a midnight sky with no stars in them, but there was a gleam in his eyes, a flicker of darkness that lingered behind them. And the way he looked at her right now, it should have scared her, but it didn't.

He asked her, "You sure about it?"

Roman wanted to hear more than what Julie had uttered. He needed the affirmation so that she wouldn't shy away tomorrow when she was all better. That it wasn't the fever that was talking to him.

To give her the needed push, he said, "I don't go spending time with anyone when they are sick. This time if I come inside, it would be in a non-friend term. Are you okay with that?"

Julie tried to take in every word he said to her. She softly said, "I am asking you to stay the night with me. Asking for your company… doesn't that give the answer to what you are looking for?"

"I don't want to misunderstand what I have heard," Roman took a step forward, testing Julie as he said, "It helps in knowing where each of us stand."

"You ask for a lot of clarification," murmured Julie under her breath. Raising her hand, she coughed while hiding her face. historical

"Quick, Troublemaker, before either of us get caught or before your fever increases. It is no time to play Romeo and Juliet at the window," there was a sliver of impatience in Roman's voice. He turned his head to his right to see if someone was going to appear from there.

His words brought a tender smile on Julie's lips, "We do have similar names to them, don't we?" she asked, meeting his eyes before a small worry came to form on her face, and she said, "What if it meets the same fate? They had a tragic end."

"How will you know if it is going to crash or fly if you won't even try?" remarked Roman. Raising his eyebrow at her, he tilted his head to the side that only emphasized his male attractiveness. He then said, "Step back."

Julie did as he told her, and Roman placed both his hands on the window sill and climbed inside the room. He closed the window and pulled the curtain close. When he turned to look at her, his hand let go of the curtain.

While Roman made his way towards the door to check if it was properly locked, Julie went to lay on the bed. She moved towards the wall, making space on the other side of the bed. She saw him remove his shoes and then go to the study table, where the lamp burned softly. He turned to look at her and asked,

"Do you need it?" When she shook her head, he turned it off and walked towards the bed.

Julie's hand peeked out of the blanket and patted on the space next to her on the bed.

She was really testing his patience and endurance, thought Roman in his mind as he stared at her. She looked at him as if she was waiting, and he sighed before climbing into the bed to lay down next to her. His one hand supported his head as he laid on one side of his body. Even though there was no light, Julie could still see Roman's features as a little amount of light from outside passed through the curtains.

"Close your eyes, Troublemaker," suggested Roman, pulling out the little strips of gum from his pocket. Unwrapping one of them, he put it in his mouth.

Some of the things Julie had come to associate with Roman was the colour black, the tattoos, motorcycle, and the gum that he liked to chew. Not to forget the cigarettes.

Julie closed her eyes for a moment before opening them to ask, "What about the party for winning the match? Will you be attending it later?" She didn't know how long the party was going to be.

"No," responded Roman.

"Aren't people going to wonder where their team captain disappeared to?"

Roman chewed the gum, taking his time to answer her. He said, "It is a useless party that I don't care much about. Not to mention, you are burning up here with a fever. Didn't I tell that I pick you."

Julie's eyes lowered from his face, watching his broad shoulders. Warmth returned to her cheeks, and it wasn't because of her fever.

He then added, "You looked like an abandoned kitten when I was about to leave. It is common in humans to feel lonely when they are sick and you have no one around you. But no, I didn't come back because of pity. I don't do pity."

To get a closer look at Roman, Julie scooted closer to him with her blanket. She whispered, "Because you like me."

Now that Julie had got closer to him by herself, Roman raised his right hand to tuck the piece of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her skin longer, behind her ear, and he heard a soft sigh escape from Julie's lips.

Julie looked delectable with her dewy eyes because of her fever, her blood warm and inviting him to sink his fangs into her supple skin. He remembered the taste of her blood, and it was nothing less to an elixir. But he wasn't going to take a bite from her, not the kind his vampire side wanted.

Earlier, when he had left the dorm with the Dormitorium warden, he had visited the lunchroom, drinking four cans of blood before coming here.

Julie's eyes had momentarily closed at Roman's touch, feeling his fingers brushing against her skin, and it curled her toes which were now covered with the blanket. It was like a trail of fiery sparks being ignited that continued to burn even after he had pulled his hand back to his side, and she opened her eyes.

She asked him, "Do you ever feel lonely when you fall sick?"

"I wish I could," Roman's words made her wonder what he meant by it. He continued to say, "Sometimes you get used to some things and it is hard to get detached from it."

Julie stared at Roman, wondering if he was so used to being alone that he didn't feel the need to have someone's company. She asked, "How long has it been since you lost your family?"

When he spoke, his voice was tranquil and even, "Years. I stopped counting," Julie realized how nice it felt to hear him.

"How old were you then?" she asked, curious to know more about him.

"Probably fifteen or sixteen I think," he chose his answer carefully.

"And you don't have any relatives?" questioned Julie, and Roman placed his finger on her lips, silencing her just like that.

"So many questions when you are supposed to be resting," Roman's words turned into a whisper, and Julie's heart somersaulted. She felt his finger graze across the length of her bottom lip, and she sucked in the breath.

Julie spoke with his thumb on her lips, "That is because—"

"One more word from those lips and I will kiss you regardless if you are sick or not," Roman's eyes narrowed at her, and Julie's mouth that was open quickly closed. But a few seconds later, when she opened her mouth, he put his arm around her waist and, with ease, pulled her towards him. "You were saying something?"

When Julie tried to wiggle her way out of his hold on the bed, Roman didn't let her go too far before he pulled her back to him. This time with her back pressing in front of him. When she was about to say something, she started to cough, and Roman gently rubbed her back as he held her.

As her throat settled down, Julie laid there like a statue in Roman's arms. Blood rushed up to her neck, and she whispered, "I am not used to this."

"Delighted to hear you are not used to it. Not that it would have been an issue if you were in the past," Roman responded to her words. Julie felt his arm around her waist, closely holding her while he brought his head forward to place his chin in the crook of her neck. "Stay like this," he whispered to her.

Julie was shy, and she didn't dare to move again. Roman was nowhere subtle when it came to pull her body even closer. She had never done anything remotely close to this until now, but then she had never made such outrageous requests to anyone either.

Though she did want him to stay back with her, she hadn't exactly thought of how they would be spending time with each other. Clearing her throat, Julie said, "I am sorry if you catch my cold."

"You can nurse me back to my good health if that happens. Something to look forward to, isn't it?" said Roman, and Julie felt his finger brush her stomach over her clothes, and it left a little tickle in her body. "Try to sleep now. I will be right here."

"I think that is something hard to do," confessed Julie, not used to this position. After a minute, she asked, "Will you talk to me?" She turned in his arm such that she was now facing him, their faces close to each other.

"How troublesome," murmured Roman, his face passive and his eyes falling on her eyes. "What do you want to hear?"

"About you," breathed Julie, her brown eyes admiring his sharp features.

Her eyes trailed his jaw that looked carved, his eyebrows looking dark, and his parted. She saw him lick his lips. Julie couldn't believe that a person as handsome and smart as Roman had left a celebration party for her sake. If her heart hadn't been stolen the day of the bonfire, she was sure her heart was missing now.

Still, she didn't say anything about it. Not that she had to, because Roman deciphered her actions and words without her having to explain anything.

"What do you want to know about me?" Roman's hand that rested on her waist moved to her back, running circles that soothed her. "There's this girl whom I have a hard time getting out of my head. A little troublemaker who wears glasses and has brown eyes and brown hair."

Julie frowned, "That is about me. You don't like speaking much about yourself, do you?"

Something flickered in his eyes, but Julie failed to catch it.

When Roman didn't respond to her right away, Julie said, "Earlier you skipped my question about your relatives."

"I did," agreed Roman, his eyes slightly narrowed, and he said, "For a person who is sick, you seem too energetic now and it makes me wonder if it was just a ploy to keep me here."

Julie turned bashful and said, "I-It wasn't me who told you to hold me."

"No? I thought that was what you meant when you patted the bed," a small grin appeared on Roman's face. "I never imagined you to be so bold."

Julie sensed the way Roman was subtly shifting the subject, and she asked, "You must have relatives like mine. It's okay if you don't want to talk about them." Noticing his playful evasion of her questions, she didn't want to force him.

Silence fell in the room, and Roman then remarked, "There are people, but calling them family would be a stretch. The only people whom I considered to be family were killed. They were good people. Even though there were some crooked things in the beginning, it turned out better later." He paused, not knowing how much to reveal as he had already revealed some things to her through the letter in the past. "I was taken into the family."

"Like adopted?" asked Julie, her fever hazy mind not connecting to the story he had told her.

"Something like that," one corner of Roman's lips pulled up, "My birth mother, she was a lovely woman. Kind, but maybe prideful. She passed away when I was small."

Julie felt Roman move his hand away from her back, and he caught hold of hers that was resting in front of her chest. He pressed the digit of her fingers and said, "My half brother was annoying, he liked to hover and make sure I was alright. And one night, I found my family's bodies. My brother was still alive when I got to him, but I couldn't save him. I was wounded back and then I saw him die in front of me."

Julie's voice was low. "I am sorry about that. That must have been horrible…" she stared at his shirt, noticing the rings that had moved to the side. "Does it… ever come to haunt you?"

One corner of his lips pulled up, and he said, "What doesn't haunt us, Julie?" And though he questioned her, it felt like his words held more meaning, and she didn't have a key to it yet. "Does your mother's death haunt you?"

Julie nodded her head, "Not always, but on rare nights. It has gotten better over the weeks since I started studying here. Books and other things in Veteris has kept my mind busy."

"That's good to hear," responded Roman, and he then said, "I checked the number from which you received the message, it is a burner phone."

"Thank you for checking it. I am just worried that my father will one day come for me, and the worst part is I don't know why," whispered Julie, staring at Roman's chest. "When we met in the courtroom, we didn't speak to each other. But he looked at me in a way as if he would come for me next. But then I realize I should worry about the alien that might abduct me."

Roman squeezed her hand and said, "I won't let them hurt you. You won't meet the same fate as your mother."

"Thank you," she looked up at him, feeling assured and safe with him. She then asked him, "Do you have a scar too?" He gave her a short nod. Noticing her curiosity, he asked her.

"You want to see?" he ran his tongue over his canine teeth.

"Can I?" a hint of eagerness in her voice and gaze.

Roman let go of her hand, and he pushed himself up to sit. Stepping out of bed, he walked towards the study table.

Curious, Julie sat up on the bed, and she saw him turn on the study lamp. Roman placed one hand behind his back before pulling out his T-shirt. The golden glow of the lamp fell on him, and she saw his inked tattoo that was usually hidden behind his black T-shirt.

By then, Julie had put her foot down on the floor, making her way to where Roman stood. She noticed at one side of his tattoo near his chest. There was a scar that she had failed to notice the night she had tended to him in Melanie's house.

"The person tried to stab you," whispered Julie, the frown on her face deepened. Was there some sort of grudge that the killer had decided to kill everyone? "May I?" her eyes shifted from his chest to look at his eyes.

"Go ahead," said Roman, noticing Julie take a step forward. She raised her hand towards his front, tracing the scar on his chest. She wondered how painful it might have been for him. Her finger unconsciously trailed the vines like a tattoo inked on him, which moved lower, and she felt the taut muscles.

How did one get this body by drinking coke? Unless... the coke was made out of really some special things and that is why it was expensive, thought Julie to herself.

Mindlessly, her hand had lingered far and she softly gulped. Dropping her hand, she took a step backwards.

"There, you know more about me now compared to yesterday," stated Roman, and Julie nodded her head.

"I do…" Julie trailed, her eyes looking away from him. He picked up his shirt and wore it back. They got back on the bed, where this time Julie turned quieter, and Roman didn't initiate a conversation so that she could fall asleep.

Somewhere in sleep, Julie turned to face Roman. Her eyes were closed, and her lips parted. He watched her, his hand moving towards her to push the side fringes of her hair that had come to hover in front of her face.

"Looks like you finally fell asleep," whispered Roman, his words not reaching her ears and even if it did, she was deep in her sleep. She looked peaceful and innocent. He carefully placed his hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. "You had me worried earlier when I heard you were sick," he said, his lips settling into a thin line.

While he stared at her with red eyes, Roman remembered when he had fallen sick when he was small and still human. He was in the very same room, sleeping on this side of the bed, coughing. Back then, the door was usually kept closed, leaving him alone in this part of the mansion when he was small.

"Hack! Hack!" the little boy coughed, his body curled in the bed as he laid there feeling shivers run down his frail body. His head felt heavy and dizzy, his eyes slightly unfocused as he stared at the walls of the room. The boy's pale lips parted as he wheezed.

The sound of the little boy coughing was heard by the maids and the other servants, who walked near the corridor, but none of them made an effort to go inside the room. It wasn't just the town's people, who frowned upon what Mr. Moltenore had done by having a scandalous affair, but even the servants looked at the boy as if he was an outcast who didn't deserve to live here.

Malcolm Moltenore had gone out of town along with his son Tristian, while his wife, Lady Petronille, had stepped out of the mansion. When she returned later, the butler bowed his head, greeting her,

"Welcome back, Lady Petronille. How was your visit to the Baker's mansion?"

"It was good. We should be able to set up a shop here with their assistance," said Lady Petronille, pulling out her gloves from her hands. She handed them to the butler. He took her coat to hang it on the stand. "How are things in the mansion? Did you hear any news from Malcolm?"

"We haven't received any news from the Lord yet, milady," the butler answered her.

While Lady Petronille walked inside the mansion, she heard the sound of coughing, and her feet stopped. She turned her head to the right.

"Is the boy still coughing?" a small frown appeared on the woman's face.

"Yes, milady," replied the butler, "I sent his meals to the room, as you ordered me to do this morning."

Lady Petronille then asked, "Did he eat it?"

"He didn't, milady."

Before leaving in the morning, Lady Petronille and the little boy named Roman had breakfast together in the dining room. She had seen him cough lightly and had told the butler to take the boy to the room to have him rest while instructing him to send the meals to the boy's room.

And though the servants had come to believe that Lady Petronille was only making sure to keep the boy away from the rest of the people in the mansion, the woman's intention had been different.

Hearing the sound of the boy coughing again in his room, the woman made her way towards the end of the corridor. She turned the doorknob and stepped inside while the butler followed behind her, standing outside the room.

Lady Petronille noticed the small boy lying on the bed, his head hidden in the thin blanket. Walking towards the bed, she sat down. Raising her hand, it hovered above the boy's head before she finally pulled the blanket and placed her hand on the boy's head.

"He's burning," murmured the woman, her lips setting themselves in a thin line. Turning her head to look at the butler over her shoulder, she ordered, "Go get the physician."

"Now, milady?" asked the butler, a little startled seeing the lady was going to the length of bringing the physician here for the boy who was at fault for disturbing her family's peace.

"Yes, right now. And have Gretta bring a bowl of water with a fresh cloth," ordered Lady Petronille. The butler bowed his head, looking a little apprehensive, but he left the front of the room.

"Mama," came the feeble voice of the boy, who appeared to be talking in his sleep.

Lady Petronille stared at the boy, the boy whom she could barely tolerate because he was the reminder of her husband's affair, a living proof that she had not been enough to her husband as his wife. She wasn't happy with her husband's action, and it had taken a long time to digest it. But that didn't mean she was cruel.

When the maid entered the room with a bowl of water, Lady Petronille said, "Give it to me. Go and prepare porridge and bring it here," and she dismissed the maid from the room.

Once the maid had left, Lady Petronille dipped the cloth in the cold water, squeezing it, and she placed the cloth on the boy's forehead. After a few minutes, the physician visited the mansion to take a look at the boy.

"It is just a passing fever," said the physician, standing up and pulling his stethoscope from his ears. "I would ask you to give him warm food to drink and eat. And avoid opening the windows because of the chilly weather."

Lady Petronille nodded her head.

"Here are the medicines. Have him take it after a meal and he should be well in three to four days," the physician handed the medicines to the woman.

"Thank you," Lady Petronille offered the man a smile. The butler led the physician outside the room while she stayed back.

When the porridge was prepared, she woke the small boy up and got him to sit before helping him eat it. As darkness fell over the land, Lady Petronille sat in the room, next to the boy, watching him while he slept.

She checked the boy's temperature one more time. As it seemed to have reduced, she was ready to get up, and at the same time, her touch woke the small boy up. Both the woman and the boy stared at each other for a long time.

Lady Petronille said, "Winter is here and the temperature is only going to drop further. You don't have to use the thin blanket and instead use this one. It is thicker and will keep you warmer." Gingerly she got up, as she hadn't planned to stay in the room long.

"Why?"

The boy stared at her, doubt and question in his eyes.

Lady Petronille pursed her lips, and she then said, "It is rude to leave a person unattended, especially one who is young and doesn't have a mother, and father who is out of town. I like it or not, things are not going to change and I only have to accept it."

"You hate me."

For a small boy, he sure had his mind, thought Lady Petronille to herself. On the rare occasions they had conversed, it felt like she was speaking to an adult. And she wondered if the boy had been forced to grow up quickly because of the way people looked and spoke to him.

"I doubt I did," confessed Lady Petronille, "If there's anyone to blame here, it would be your father, my husband. Anyways, I will have someone send dinner here. Make sure to eat it."

The little boy gave her a nod, watching her step out of the room, leaving him be.

Returning to the present, Roman stared at the ceiling of the room. His face was passive, and his eyes fixed. The room held many memories.

What started with loneliness had turned to care, where he had been given a family to only have it snatched from him. And then turned to pain and anger, and how many years had passed after that? He asked himself. But now, he was experiencing something else.

Roman turned his head, his eyes falling on Julie, who continued to sleep in peace. In sleep, she had moved closer to him. Leaning towards her, he pressed his lips on her forehead.

He brought his hand to place it on the back of her head, gently brushing it.