My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(126)

“The minute I arrived in Milan, I realized where things were headed. Sabrina didn’t spare me a single minute. She constantly went out, partying and staying with her rotating boyfriends. I was alone in her apartment. Just me and the textbooks Senior dropped me off with. Once a week, she would return with a bag or two of groceries, but those hardly covered two days of meals.”

Shortbread’s jaw tensed as if bracing for a physical hit.

“I managed, okay?” A hollow chuckle escaped me. “I always found tins of food lying around. Sometimes, I’d only eat a few spoons of tomato paste a day. Dry pasta—I didn’t know how to make it. Tuna cans were a real treat. Whenever she brought some over, I had a blast. Eventually, even those deliveries stopped. One of her boyfriends took over.”

Dallas stiffened beside me, the wet nap clenched in her fist. Darkness blanketed the park. Somehow, we’d missed the sunset.

“The first day I met him, he took me out. I was so happy. It marked my first time leaving the apartment since I arrived almost a month before. I thought Sabrina finally found someone who wasn’t a total piece of shit. Gabe told me he’d take me to eat, and he did, only it wasn’t at a restaurant. We arrived at a fighting arena in the outskirts of Modena.”

Shortbread’s eyes saucered at the word arena.

And still, she said nothing.

“He led me to a cage, locked me inside, and told me if I wanted to eat, I needed to win. I didn’t. Not for the first four rounds. In fact, I didn’t even fight the first two matches, I was so stunned. They opened the cage and nudged me to the center of the arena with a cattle prod, where an orphan a few years older beat the shit out of me.”

The wet napkin slipped out of her hand, sailing toward the pedals.

“I later learned to fight harder against the heavier orphans. They were hardened, more vicious, filled out from countless victories, each of which was rewarded with a meal. A small meal, but food was food. I hadn’t eaten in days.

“After the fifth fight, I snapped. I kicked, punched, clawed. Anything to win. And I did. They had to pull me off the kid. He was probably a year older, seven, but I’d beaten him so bad, they had to carry him away.

“They gave me my meal. What Gabe never told me was how good it’d be. I hadn’t had a cooked meal in a month. So, when they offered me half a plate of risotto, I would’ve fallen to the ground if I weren’t already on the dirt in my cage.

“Gabe took me home and told me he broke even on his bets that day. That with a little practice, he saw great things in my future. He even stopped at a market to get me junk food. That got me through a few days, and I was happy to please him if it meant I could eat that risotto again.

“We went to the arena every weekend. When I won, the hosts offered me a home-cooked meal. Gabe would drive me home, dish out fighting tips the whole way, and buy me groceries. But I never wanted to leave the arena.

“I wanted to fight. I wanted to eat. Eggplant parmigiana. Linguini alle vongole. Ricotta gnudi. They gave me barely enough to survive the days between my fights.

“I was so jealous of the orphans, who got to stay and fight every day. The others—kids like me and poor kids with families—only came weekends.”

I swallowed hard, finally daring to meet her eyes. They were dry, accompanied by a tight jaw. She refused to see me as the charity case I was, and for that, I was grateful.

“Eventually, I learned to carry a container with me. A little tin I’d dump my reward into to stave me over while I waited for the next fight.” I flipped it in my hand. The gum inside rattled against the metal.

“It was only six months. Four of which I spent with Gabe. He was Sabrina’s longest relationship. Still is, probably. He kept her supplied, so she kept him. But eventually, it ended, and I never saw Gabe again. The day he left, he told me good luck. That he wouldn’t visit. I got so angry, I tossed this”—I lifted the case, pointing to the tiny dent in it—“at his head. Then I bawled like a fucking baby. With him gone, I was back to relying on Sabrina for food.”

I didn’t tell her that some days I had nothing to eat. That my weight deteriorated until I looked like a four-year-old. That my bones stuck out of my skin so badly, it hurt to lie in bed and sleep.

I didn’t tell her two of my teeth fell off. That my hair became brittle and thin, hanging like a gloomy cloud atop of my head.

“My aunt had little food in her apartment, but she had plenty of gum. Her jaw used to lock from all the cocaine she snorted, so she stocked a good amount. It helped dull the hunger. I would chew it throughout the day.”

I’d only made the unfortunate mistake of swallowing gum to fill my stomach once.

It resulted in a pain so bad, I crawled my way from spot to spot for two whole days. It reminded me I couldn’t go to the hospital should I need to. That I had to take care of my body and never put myself in a situation like that again.

“That’s why you’re obsessed with gum.” Shortbread fingered the case still in my grip, almost reverently. “It’s your safety blanket. It helped you through your worst nightmare.”

“It helps me stay calm,” I admitted.

“And the noise? Why do you hate noise so much?”

“It reminds me of the arena. Of the audience. They had their favorites—me, mostly. I fought the hardest. Won them the most money. Eventually, they cheered every time my cage shot open. Each time I landed a punch, broke another kid’s ribs, whatever—they roared out their satisfaction. It felt like the noise would drill into my skull.”