Page 39 of Vicious Intentions
There’s an underlying message in her tone, and I hear it loud and clear. If I don’t feel safe, I should call her. I was already dreading going back to school today, and her worry only makes the anxiety coil tighter in my chest.
The thing my fearless sister doesn’t seem to understand is that Ineedto do this. I need to face them. I need to prove that I’m still standing. That they didn’t break me.
It isn’t just about me. I need to make sure they won’t do this again to anyone else. I need to report them to the nuns, even if only anonymously. I’m not sure how effective that will be, but I have to try to bring Alec and Tim to justice somehow. Maybe if I raise the concern, the nuns will keep a closer eye on them.
It isn’t much, but at least it’s something. And if that doesn’t work, I can always go to Father Torres and tell him everything during confession. Under confessional law, he’s forbidden fromrevealing that it was me who was assaulted. He seems like a good, decent man. I don’t believe he would let those boys get away with what they did to me.
Those are the only two realistic options I have at my disposal. Maybe if I had a different family, I might have gone to the police, but as it stands, that is a nonstarter.
“Shall we have some breakfast then?” my mother asks, her gaze lingering on me, as if trying to gauge the real reason Stella wants me to stay home.
“Yep, I’m starving,” I say, forcing a smile before picking up my bag and walking out of the room.
Unfortunately, when I enter the kitchen, the twins fail to hide their surprise at seeing me ready for school. But that isn’t what makes my stomach twist into knots. It’s how their surprise is short-lived, quickly replaced by something that looks a lot like pity in their chestnut eyes.
I force myself not to look at them, only to realize there is someone else at the kitchen table who is usually absent—Marcello. He sits beside my father, his gaze fixed on me, his expression just as blank and unreadable as ever.
“I’m driving you to school today.”
He’s not offering. He’s telling me.
“Okay,” I mutter, taking a seat beside the twins.
I try to eat, but after one bite, my throat tightens, and I have to force myself to swallow.
“Are you sure you’re all right to go to class today,dolce angelo?” my mother asks, placing her hand over mine. “You do look a little pale this morning.”
“I’m sure,” I say with a smile. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.” She gives me a compassionate nod. I slip my hand from beneath hers and stand. “Marcello, can you take me now, please?”
My brother doesn’t say a word. He pushes back his chair and grabs his coat. I follow him outside and slide into the passenger seat of his car. He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, not even bothering to switch on the radio. Halfway there, the silence becomes unbearable, pressing in on me from all sides.
“You can’t watch me twenty-four seven, Marcello,” I say at last. His jaw clenches in response. “I can handle myself.”
“No, you can’t,” he says flatly, the words cutting deeper than he probably realizes.
“I mean,” I stammer, “I won’t put myself in that kind of situation again. I was careless. I promise I won’t be next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” he mutters. “We made sure of it.”
“We?”I parrot, a cold shiver sliding down my spine. “And what do you mean bywe?”
Marcello doesn’t say a word, his silence making something cold coil low in my stomach.
Only later, during morning Mass, do I understand what Marcello meant when Father Torres announces the death of two freshmen, Alec Parkinson and Tim Gavin. It seems they were killed in a freak car accident Saturday night. The words echo through the chapel, hollow and unreal, as the meaning sinks in.
I never gave Stella any names. And yet, somehow, she still found them. I don’t let myself imagine what Marcello and Stella did to them before they decided it was over.
When Mass ends, and the chapel begins to empty, I stay behind. The pews creak as students file out, their voices low and reverent at first, then gradually rising as they make their way outside toward the main building. I wait until the chapel is completely empty before I stand and walk toward the side altar, where the statue of St. Mary watches over rows of white candles set in small red glass holders.
I pick up one of the long, wooden wicks and lean forward, lighting its tip from a nearby flame. The fire catches easily, steady and small. I bring it to the first candle and touch its wick. It flares to life, the flame trembling before it steadies. Then I light a second.
Two candles for two lost souls.
They are neither for Alec nor Tim. Their souls don’t deserve saving. They are exactly where they belong.
These candles are for Marcello and Stella. For the people who love me so fiercely that they would light hellfire on anyone who dared to cause me pain.
I bow my head, my fingers tightening around the wick as I whisper a prayer and ask God to forgive them. I then proceed to beg the Almighty to keep my brother and sister safe from the kind of evil that turns people into monsters. To protect them from becoming the very thing they despise.
