Page 5 of The Cinderella Prince

“No. Tell me what you meant,” I demanded, half-aware that I was torturing a guy when he was already down. But it was his fault for making it personal.

Roman moved the peas around his face, flinching once, glanced at me, and promptly looked away. “It’s not about you, Tris. You couldn’t have changed anything if you’d gone there, so don’t act like it’s all your fault.”

“That’s not…” But as I stammered, I knew I had nowhere to take that sentence. Nowhere completely true, at least.

Roman looked at me with that burning passion that never fully left him. “Don’t play a failed hero, man. You didn’t punch me. And you’re not the one destroying the soul of this place. Just…don’t act like you could have saved shit.”

“Right,” I whispered. If I apologized, I might just trigger him more. “Who punched you, though?”

Roman cracked a small smile. “I have no fucking idea,” he said. This amused him. He wasn’t really a troublemaker, even if certain people defined him that way, but even I had to admit that he didn’t exactly run away from trouble. “It was a peaceful protest. The next thing I knew, commotion erupted. Two guys started wrestling. I looked around and spotted a few guys with balaclavas marching in our direction.And…” He shrugged, his words fading away. He removed the peas and revealed the dark red bruise over his sharp cheekbone. “They got me once. The lip’s from falling down.”

“Fuck,” I said in a voice tight with fury.

“Calm down, bad boy,” Rome teased, but it didn’t take the edge off. “I got worse beatings from my mom.”

I didn’t laugh.

My friend dropped the peas on the coffee table and hopped onto his feet. “You take things too seriously, Tris. It’s not like I can’t defend myself.”

“You need to go to bed,” I said, holding back a sigh. I’d been looking forward to the party at Neon Nights. Mama Viv was going to kill me for missing this one.

“Tris, I can handle myself,” Roman said.

I was already moving toward the kitchen. “Liar,” I said with a touch of playfulness. “Nobody can handle you, Rome. But I have the most experience.”

My friend crossed his arms, biceps swelling with tension even as he seemed unsteady on his feet. “You’re dressed for going out.”

“I’m dressed like a guy who forgot to do his laundry,” I said. My best attempt to sound light was still a little strained. I put water to boil and turned toward the bathroom.

“Who’s the liar now?” Roman asked softly.

I ignored him as I walked to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and rummaged for what I needed. He wasn’t badly hurt, but his pride was bruised. Nobody liked losing battles. I collected the items I needed and carried them through the living room, underRoman’s firm gaze, into his bedroom. I didn’t need to fetch him. He followed when I didn’t show up again.

When Roman sat down on the edge of his bed, I poured iodine solution onto a gauze pad and dabbed his lip, then dabbed the bruise on his face just in case there were tiny cuts I couldn’t see. I thrust ibuprofen into his hand and brought him water from the kitchen. Sullenly, Roman observed me as I prepared him a cup of chamomile tea and brought it into his bedroom.

“Tonight’s the party, right?” Rome asked.

I sucked my teeth. “Is it?”

My friend snorted. “You’re really getting on my nerves now, Tris. Go. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“What if you get bored?” I asked.

“Then I’ll stroke one out and watch memes until I pass out,” Roman said.

It was my turn to snort. “The usual?”

“Go, Tris. And have fun for both of us,” he said.

“Or we could play Scrabble,” I proposed.

“For the love of fuck, Tristan. Can’t you see I’m busy?” He grinned as I rolled my eyes and retreated. Even if he was lonely and gutted over losing the fight for the center today, he wasn’t going to let me in. So I reminded him that he could call me if he needed me, to which he said he could always just ask Oakley or Madison to hang out with him instead.

I returned the medical stuff to their place, washed my hands from the scent of iodine, and debated shortly whether to just stay in the living room. Rome would undoubtedly find me and make a thing out of it. Besides, I was only going across the street.

Cedric

The eighties extravaganza roared within the dilapidated walls of the bar. Today, over brunch, it had hardly delivered on the promise of its name, but tonight, the mood matched exactly what I would have expected from a place called Neon Nights.

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