Two for Joy - Louise Collins Page 0,13
that surrounded it.
He snorted when he remembered the squirrel.
It had already been dead when they found it, but it was Romeo who took it apart with a pen knife.
He was nine years old.
Romeo stuffed its organs into tiny containers, then wrapped it up in toilet paper like a mummy. All Timmy Barnes did was put a Tupperware box on the headmaster’s desk under Romeo’s instructions.
Timmy got the blame.
Timmy, who lived in a trailer park, who had missing teeth, dirty clothes, and an IQ lower than the dead squirrel. The teachers blamed him despite knowing Romeo had been at the school early that morning. Despite knowing Romeo had a high IQ, and an interest—bordering on obsession—with organs, of where they were, what bits to cut to remove them. He had a steady hand in chemistry, didn’t shy from any challenge in biology, and loved learning about the practices of the Egyptians in history.
With all the evidence right there, the teachers still pointed the finger at Timmy, and despite Timmy’s protests, and him telling them the truth, that it had been Romeo, he still got expelled.
The teachers didn’t believe it was Romeo because of who he was, where he was from, his parents, his IQ. There was no way he’d cut into a dead squirrel and take it apart. No way Romeo, the young promising student with the soft eyes and the messy hair, who liked painting, had done something so repulsive.
Romeo raked his fingers down his face. Many times he thought of making himself ugly on the outside, as well as the inside. All he had to do was pick up a razor, a pen, or use his nails, but he didn’t.
His handsome face had been an advantage when hiding who and what he really was. No one could see the monster—not his parents, not his colleagues, not even his old boss. Not any of the people that picked him up in their cars, and certainly not the ones who took him home.
Having an attractive face immediately opened doors, elite opportunities, and he’d walked through every one until his parents died. He didn’t need to pretend the outside beauty was matched on the inside. When his mother died, he could finally give into his desire, and be himself, but only five times, that’s what he told himself. That was his allowance, his target, his goal.
Only five.
“Hey Romeo, you free for another beer?”
He dragged his gaze from the mirror and walked to the bars of his cell. He couldn’t poke his head out, but he could see a hand waving from the cell next to his. Will’s hand.
“Free,” Romeo smirked.
“Did you get to see her?”
Romeo sighed, pressing his face to the bars. “Yes, I saw her.”
“Go on then…”
“She was wearing a white shirt, three top buttons undone, and the bra beneath was pink, hot pink.”
“Yeah, that’s good, and her hair.”
“She wore it down, but her bangs are too short to tuck behind her ear, it falls into her face all the time. She had fake lashes on, red nails, red lipstick, too. She kept licking them.”
Will groaned. “Sounds sexy, tell me more.”
“When she winked, her mascara stuck her eyelids together.”
“Yeah—wait, what?”
“And she carried the distinct smell of horse manure.”
“You’re an asshole, Romeo, you can’t even smell her through the barrier.”
Romeo snorted, shaking his head.
“I’ve only seen her once, but I remember she was hot, like secretary hot.”
“When did you see her?”
“Months ago, she came down here.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“You were in the yard. That rookie, Ben, walked her down here. She’s smoking hot, sexy voice, one flutter of those eyelashes and I’d spill all my darkest secrets. I got hard when she spoke to me through the bars.”
Romeo rolled his eyes. “Are you that led by your cock?”
“Yes.”
“Why did Ben bring her down here?”
“He’s a twenty-five-year-old rookie.” Will said, in an isn’t-it-obvious tone. “I doubt he needed much convincing from Holly, she’s smoking, a clear eleven out of ten, kid was practically drooling. If she had asked to open the cell he probably would’ve just to please her.”
“He’s got no chance with her, just like Paul’s got no chance with her. She gives them enough to get what she wants, clever girl.”
“Why can’t she write an article on me instead of you?”
“Because you’re not attractive enough.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m not trying to anger you, it’s just a fact.”
“You’re a real heartless asshole.”
“Yes, I am. I’m not gonna cry about it, not anymore, and I’m saying it like it is.”
“We can’t all look like you.”
“Hence