A fractured fairytale

12

༻Rose's POV༺

I couldn't stop thinking about my conversation I'd had with Matteo yesterday. The flicker of violence in his eyes, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, the way his jaw locked when he stopped talking and disappeared into his own head. I'd never seen someone so angry over something so trivial and, while it had terrified me when he had stormed into the room like a raging fire threatening to destroy everything in its path, I also felt a strange longing feeling tug at my chest.

What must it feel like to be his sister? To know that, no matter what, someone was looking out for you? I'd only ever had my mother and while I knew she wanted to, she wasn't capable of protecting me from all the dangers that surrounded us. She was small and frail and suffered with anaemia which was only worsened by the fact we didn't always have the money for food, let alone the right foods. It left her feeling weak a lot of the time and also meant she bruised easily.

That had been especially clear after the weekend. Just thinking back caused tears to prick my eyes. The image of my mother on the floor, black bruises all up her leg and a deep purple ring around her eye, had been burned into my brain. She couldn't stand from the pain and could only watch with tear-filled eyes as I received my own beating. Unlike her, I only had one, large, fist sized bruise on my stomach, but the force of the blow had been enough to make me sick and knocked the breath out of my lungs.  

Now every time I twisted or bent over, I felt the sharp twinge of pain.

A small part of me wondered how Matteo would react if he knew. Of course, I was of no importance to him, just a means to an end to help him pass his assignments. But if I was someone he cared about, a friend of his, I wondered what he would do if he saw the black and blue that stained my skin.

A part of me believed I had jinxed myself, when, a few days later, I walked to school with butterflies in my stomach and a knife wound slashed across my cheek. No matter how hard I'd tried, I couldn't cover this one with makeup, nor could I fully cover the bruising on my neck. My stomach rolled with each step I took towards the school. I'd considered calling in sick but I knew I couldn't do that to Matteo, not after how sweet he'd been this week.

Tuesday morning had been a surprise to say the least. He'd been a lot calmer when he walked in, an easy smile on his face when he met my gaze. "Good morning," I'd said, returning his smile.

He took his seat and dropped a brown paper bag onto the table in front of me. "What's this?"

His grin widened and he gestured to the bag. "Open it," he instructed.

I eyed him curiously for a moment, not entirely sure what to expect. And then I tore into the bag. Inside was a paper cup of coffee and a chocolate croissant wrapped in some brown paper. I rose an eyebrow him his direction, silently asking for an explanation and he shrugged. "An apology, for being grouchy yesterday," he muttered before quirking a lip. "That, and I can hear your stomach rumbling every morning," his eyes sparkled as he laughed at the flush that warmed my cheeks, "you shouldn't skip breakfast for me, so I thought I'd bring you something to eat while you tutor me."

I didn't deign to tell him that I skipped breakfast because we never had any food in the house and instead, laughed at his kind gesture. "I appreciate it," I told him with a shake of my head, "but you didn't need to apologise, and you really didn't need to waste your money on me."

He narrowed his eyes a little while holding my stare. "I don't consider it a waste."

My smile widened a little and I ate the breakfast he'd brought me while he recited Italian. I hated to admit that there was something incredibly attractive about hearing him speak Italian, especially with his slight accent. It suited him well and seemed to accentuate his handsomeness. That, combined with his sweet actions, was deadly for any woman.