Roman: 15 years old – Isabella: 13 years old.
I’m bad at math, but lately, I’ve been really fucking good at it.
43 weeks.
301 days.
7224 hours.
That’s how long she’s been gone.
I’m great at counting now. Bella would be proud.
She used to tell me that she likes to count the marks on her ceiling when she feels like her mind is a little too much for her. I didn’t see the appeal in counting anything, because putting a value on something implies a limitation.
Now I get it. I’ve started counting my steps as I walk, not always intentionally. Still, I count the bricks in the pavement and add another point for every one my shoe touches. Sometimes I count the number of stairs as I go up or down. I lose focus half the time and miscount, but no one is keeping track. No one will know of the mistake but me.
Here are a few examples of my new fondness for counting:
Six. That’s how many times Aaron—my new foster father—has scowled at me this morning.
Two. That’s the number of times he’s hit me since I woke up.
Eighteen. That’s how many hours I’ve gone without food—not Aaron’s fault—Because nothing tastes right.
And my favorite: one. That’s how long until I see Bella again. One hour.
I knew the hell I went through would be worth it the second I saw her again. When she left, I sat in the back of a cop car, bloody and bruised, my voice hoarse from screaming my lungs out, then seeing the vicious look on Steve’s face when he picked me up. By that point, I was too numb to the reality of the situation to figure out where I was or why I was there.
Because the voices were quiet, and she wasn’t there.
I stared at the darkness for three days. And in those three days, I understood what Bella meant when she said that sometimes the quiet in the brain is too loud. Usually, I had my own thoughts to keep me going, but they left with her. Then Steve got busted for child abuse, and now, here I am with Aaron. He’s a total cunt. But Julie is nice enough—when she’s around.
Aaron likes to accidentally forget to feed me when Julie is away at work. Some kind of hairstylist or makeup artist or something. But it isn’t like when I was eight years old and didn’t know my way around the kitchen.
So, I just help myself to the kitchen—on the rare occasion there’s food.
Whether by blind faith or complete idiocy, I’m still here, putting up with the back of Aaron’s hand whenever Julie isn’t around. Yes, I tried running away a few times to find Bella, but I always came back. And yes, Aaron tried kicking me to the curb for it, but the government checks kept rolling in.
Plus, leaving for good wasn’t an option. How else would she know how to find me?
But she’s back.
She’s back. She’s back. She’s back.
God, she’s finally back.
I saw Bella last week. Just the back of her head, but I knew without a doubt that it was her. I’d recognize those terrible braids anywhere. She clutched her mom’s Mickey Mouse toy in her hand as she climbed up some steps. Walking behind her was little Jeremy and a guy my age. And man, if it didn’t get my heart pumping. I’m assuming he’s her foster brother, but it doesn’t matter who he is to her; I don’t trust him.
Her new place is just down the street from me, but I haven’t been able to go up to her. Not yet. I need to be ready.
Instead, I followed her as she walked to Steve’s place and asked where I was. I watched her lip tremble as she shuffled back to her house, defeated. It hurt to see, but it’ll all be worth it.
It’s the first day back to school after summer break, and I am betting everything I own that Bella will go to the same school. It’s the closest school to our houses, and if she isn’t there, I’ll need to find a way to transfer.
I toy with the broken bracelet in my pocket, my bag heavier than usual. I watch her from a distance, holding Jeremy’s hand as she walks toward his elementary school. I’m glad he ended up with Bella so she has someone other than me. Though, I’d prefer it if it was just me.
No, I’m not jealous, I swear.
The little guy’s backpack is practically the size of him, coming down to the backs of his knees as he wobbles along, lugging the thing around. Admittedly, it looks empty, while hers is filled to the brim. No one would mistake them as siblings, not with Jeremy’s umber complexion and Bella’s golden skin.
But out of everything, what has warmth unfurling in the space I haven’t felt beat in almost a year, is the wonky, Wednesday Addams braid she’s sporting. It’s aggravating to look at how uneven it is, with a couple of wrong twists.
But to me, it’s perfect.
Everything she does is perfect.
I didn’t know it was possible, but somehow, she looks even cuter. I could stare at her all day with her baggy jeans held up by a string and the—what I’m guessing is DIY’d—tie-dyed shirt with some boy band on it.
She’s taller than I remember, and I don’t know if I like that. I think she might actually be taller than the boys in her class. She better not be taller than me. I don’t think my ego can take that kind of damage.
I want to pull my hair out with how slow the walk is, and I know it has nothing to do with Jeremy’s little legs. Seeing how hard she’s clutching his hand, my guess is that Bella is anxious.
Does she miss me? Is she hoping she’ll see me at school? What will she do when she sees me? Smile? Cry happy tears? Freak out about my black eye?
When she gets to the front of Jeremy’s school, she turns him around, takes stuff out of her backpack, puts it in his, and then waves him off like a doting mother as he all but skips to class without a backward glance. I guess his nerves are gone because he had the first-day jitters last week when his school started.
Once he’s out of sight, her shoulders sag and she curls in on herself, grasping the straps of her bag like she’s trying to stay afloat and the bag is her only lifeline.
My blood sounds louder in my ears. What the fuck happened to her when she was gone? I haven’t seen her act like that since we were kids.
Bella was never the type to draw attention to herself, but at some point, she stopped acting like she had to ensure she didn’t breathe too loudly. Her head would be held up, not too high that she’s looking down her nose, but not too low that she’s looking up from her lashes.
I pick up my pace, closing the distance between us and easing some of the tension caused by the thing now thumping in my chest. She’s too caught up in her own world, threading between the throng of people, focused on getting where she needs to go.
As soon as she passes through the school gate, my patience disappears. Too much time has passed, and I’m not waiting another second.
I creep up behind her and whisper over her shoulder. “There you are, Princess.”
Bella whirls around and stumbles back. My blood roars louder when her eyes round with fear, and she throws her arms up like she’s trying to block a punch—just like I taught her.
Every cell in my body goes hot and cold at the same time. She doesn’t need to say it. Somebody hurt her. Somebody laid a fucking hand on her. I don’t care who he is; he’s a dead man.
Bella will flinch or yelp and put a hand over her heart, but she never pales like her life flashed behind her eyes. The Bella I know doesn’t cower, and she sure as hell doesn’t look like she’s bracing for an assault.
But then everything stops—every bruise on my body, every incessant noise in my head, every buzz in my vein, and every murderous beat of my heart. Because the fear is gone, and the only thing in her eyes is what I’ve been yearning to see for almost a year.
Relief.
Joy.
Longing.
“Mickey,” she gasps.
She lunges for me before another word can make it out, and it’s my turn to stumble back. Her arms wrap around my neck, and she crushes me to her so there isn’t an inch of space between us. I don’t waste a second before curling my body around hers, grabbing and holding her like if I blink, I’ll be back to counting without an end in sight.
She’s not allowed to disappear again. I won’t let it happen.
The feeling of her pressed against me, holding me as if I actually mean something to her… it’s nothing like all the times before.
When she hugged me on my birthday, it was a congratulatory hug. Something that came from the heart but was handed out like a simple gift and not something to be treasured. Something that’s meant to fade within passing minutes.
This? This is the world colliding and the stars aligning. More than a thousand words are strung together in a thousand different ways. She missed me. She wishes we were never separated. She didn’t stop thinking about me for a second. She’s back, and she’s never letting go.
Like this, the world won’t be able to touch her. No one will be able to hurt her, and she never has to worry about a thing ever again.
The top of her head grazes my lips as I pull her tighter and sigh.
Good. I’m still taller than her.
Keep it that way.
She doesn’t move away, and there’s no way that I’m about to. “I missed you, Mickey.”
I close my eyes and lean my cheek against her. That name is for us. Roman is who I am to everyone else: The boy whose parents didn’t want him the second he was born, and neither did his grandparents. Roman is the one who interrupts in class and can’t sit still. The one who’s pure mischief and going nowhere in life.
Even after all these years of Bella being able to pronounce her r’s, only she says my real name with something other than disgust.
Mickey and Roman are one and the same, but Mickey is just for her. It’s the name that has my heart ratcheting because it means I’m her home. She feels safe with me and never wants to lose me, just like her Mickey Mouse. I could die happy knowing she calls me that.
At one point, she became too embarrassed to call me Mickey because someone told her it was cringy. I beat him up and tried convincing Bella not to listen to him, but because I was young and stupid, I didn’t realize what the name really meant to her. I’ll never take it for granted.
“I missed you too,” I mumble into her hair.
“I—” She tries pulling away, but I don’t let her go. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I swear I didn’t know. I swear. They told me to pack my things—I thought they were kicking me out, and a truck came. I wanted to tell you. I tried so hard—”
“It’s okay.”
Her tears soak my shirt as she trembles against me. “I didn’t want to go. But they didn’t give me a choice. They made me—”
“I know. It’s okay, Bella.”
“I tried to fight them, but they wouldn’t let me leave. I wanted to see you before I left. I promise, Mickey, I had no idea. I didn’t want to leave you.”
A sob escapes her as she catches her breath. I pull her away from me and cup her cheeks, forcing her to look up at me. “I understand. I know you would never leave me.” I thumb away her tears. “None of that matters anymore; you know why?”
Her bottom lip quivers, and I almost lose it. “Because you’re back, and neither of us is going anywhere without the other. You hear me?”
Hesitantly, she nods.
“You will never be alone again. I swear on my life. Wherever you go, I’ll be right there. We’ll always find each other. I’m not going anywhere. It’s a promise. We’re forever, Princess, and nothing will ever come between us. Do you understand?”
She sniffles. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“We’re forever.”
“Swear it.”
“I promise I’ll never leave you again.”
I grin. “Why?”
She narrows her eyes, but wipes her tears away as she raises her chin. But all I can see is the string bracelets fastened to her wrist. Not one. Two. “Because you’re a crazy asshole, but I love you for it.”
I think I stop breathing. I think my brain has stopped working altogether. I’ve never heard the word before. Not directed at me, anyway. Is that what it sounds like? Is this the word that describes the feeling in my chest every time I think about her? She said she loves me. The words repeat over and over and over.
She loves me. She loves me. She loves me.
Bella loves me.
“A little overbearing. Impulsive. Kinda frightening,” she continues.
“Do I scare you?”
“Never.” She frowns. “Not anymore, at least.”
I look away dramatically, deep in thought, as I force my fingers to peel away from her skin. “I think we should change that.”
I need to see her smile. I need to get my old Bella back—the one who isn’t so frightened of shadows.
She scoffs. “I wouldn’t say golden retrievers are scary.”
That might single-handedly be the most offensive thing anyone has ever said to me, but there’s a mischievous grin on her lips I don’t want to disappear. That is my Bella. The one who snaps and then licks the wound later… Sometimes. Only if I don’t piss her off again.
“Hellhound is more accurate,” I say as I nudge her toward one of the benches.
As embarrassing as it was, she read Percy Jackson to me a few years ago as a way to practice her speech—and because the only way I can sit still long enough to read a book is if she’s reading it to me. Greek mythology became my whole ass personality after that. There was some kind of Greek reference in my drawings for so long, I am officially a master at drawing armor.
“Eh.” She shrugs and bites the inside of her lip. “You’re harmless. You’re more like a handbag dog; all bark and no bite.”
She’s all shit, and she knows it. But Jesus Christ, I’m hooked on every word that comes out of her mouth because she’s finally back. I’ve waited so long, and it was all worth it.
Bella, ever the timid princess she is, lowers herself onto her seat far too gracefully. I plop down onto the bench in a heap, which is far more fitting. Especially when a can of spray paint is in my bag—it’s my newly acquired hobby.
I shove my hand in my pocket to stop myself from reaching out for her, and my fingers brush against the cotton strings of the bracelet. I run my tongue over my teeth as I pull it out and show it to her. “I, uh.” I clear my throat. “I accidentally broke it.” She blinks at the red and black tangles in my palm. I’ll admit, it’s a little worse for wear from living in my pocket. “And you’ve kept it on you?”
“Of course. It matches my complexion.”
Her brows knit together, but it’s filled with understanding. “I can make you another.”
“No. Can you fix it?”
She shakes her head, and I hate it. I’m not surprised. It’s ripped past the point of return. All the edges are fraying, and the knots have come undone. Only a miracle could salvage it.
Her delicate fingers fiddle with one of the string bracelets around her wrist—the red-and-black one that’s an exact replica of the one I broke—and she unfastens it.
Time seems to slow as she grabs my hand and fastens it around my wrist. She was wearing me.
She was wearing me.
She was wearing me.
She was wearing me.
“Don’t break it this time,” she says with a playful bite.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, reaching for my bag. I’ve been busy all week, and I can’t wait for the look on her face. “I got you something.”
She stills. “Wait. What do you mean you got me something? How did you know I was going to be here?”
I smirk. “I know everything.”
Bella slaps my arm, but it doesn’t hurt. She’s the only one who could get away with it. “You prick! You knew I was back, and you didn’t even say hi?”
She’s so adorable when she’s angry.
I wink at her. “Had to make you work for it.”
Bella gives me a look that tells me she thinks I’m insane. Yeah, probably, but she’s the only person who makes me feel this way. I’ll put all the blame on her for this one.
“As I was saying,” I drawl, and take out the crumpled bag. I don’t wrap presents—that shit just ain’t for me.
Bella once said, “It’s what’s on the inside that counts,” so I’m going to hold her to it.
“I got you something.” I hold the bag out to her, and just before she’s about to grab it, I snatch it just out of reach. “Manners, Princess.”
Those big brown eyes of hers turn into slits. “Please.”
“Please, who?”
She sighs, but there’s no mistaking the excited tilt of her lips. “Please, Mickey.”
God, it’s so good to hear her say my name. “That’s better.”
She holds out her hand expectantly, waiting for the bag, but when a breath passes, her expression turns hesitant, then worried, then scared, all in a matter of two seconds. The heat in my blood returns because that’s not something my Bella does. Not if I can help it.
“I’ve decided to drip feed.”
The creasing of her brows is seriously cramping my vibe.
“I want to see each of your reactions.” I wink, attempting to lighten the mood.
She bites her lip and looks up at me from her lowered lashes like she’s too scared to say what she wants. Which is completely fucked up by my standards. I like Bella whichever way she comes, but I like the real Bella the most.
And Jesus, do I want to kiss her.
“First up,” I say as I stick my hand down into the ripped paper bag and pull out a book. Rejected by the Alpha. She stares at the book, then me, then back at the book with so much bewilderment that I might as well have pulled out a gun.
Jerking forward, she goes to snatch it, but I hold it out of her reach. Bella looks around with frantic eyes before scrambling for me to grab the book.
“Down, Mouse,” I tease, putting two fingers on her forehead and gently pushing her back.
This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, but I ain’t mad about it. She keeps glancing around like someone might see.
“Remember the day before you left, when we went to the bookstore?” With each passing second, her skin glows redder and redder. I cock my head. Why is she so flustered about the fact I got it for her? She picked it off the shelf, read the back, then checked how much she had in her wallet. Then promptly put it back. “I’ve held on to it since then.”
“You…” She’s completely beet red as she blinks a couple more times at my outstretched hand. Bella clears her throat and sits up straighter. “You can’t afford it.”
“Money can’t buy everything.”
Translation: I stole it.
My lips stretch into a grin. “But I’ll give this to you on one condition?”
“What?”
Her breath hitches, and she leans forward slightly, looking around again like someone might catch us doing something illegal.
“You read it to me.”
She blanches, completely mortified, before turning redder than she was before. Whipping her head around, she spots the only person in earshot—one person with headphones—and then she covers the side of her mouth like the guy might hear, and she squeals, “That’s an R18 book.”
Oh. Oh, this is too good. I tsk and lean back against the bench. “Unrestricted access to written porn will ruin you, kid.”
Naughty, naughty girl.
To a bystander, it probably looks like we’re dealing drugs with how quickly she snatches the book from me and shoves it into her bag.
“Thank you,” she says under her breath. An adorable wrinkle forms along the bridge of her nose.
I chuckle and take it as my cue to move on to the next gift—something that won’t get her so wound up: a heart-shaped locket. There are a bunch of random ass swirls on the outside, and I know she’ll swoon over how “pretty” and “delicate” it is. Which is why the necklace is perfect for her.
“How did you afford—Who does this belong to, Mickey?”
“You.”
“Roman,” she warns.
I wince internally. She’d never wear something special that belonged to someone else, and I only have so much adult money—but my latest extra-curricular activities have changed that. I don’t make much, but the very first thing I bought was that necklace. I mean, it also meant that I had to skip a few meals, but it was worth it for her.
I’m not the best with my hands—not in the way that I want in this situation. I have my drawings, and Bella has her bracelets and anything else she puts her mind to, but it’s not enough.
Bella is sentimental, and I want to give her something that will withstand beating a window or running away from the cops—if she ever needed to. If we’re ever separated, a part of me will always be with her, around her neck and near her heart.
Though nothing will ever separate us. If she hasn’t realized it by now, she’s in for a surprise.
“I saved money.” Not a lie, but I’m not ready to tell Bella the whole truth just yet.
“Roman—’
“I promise you, no one has ever worn it but you. Now shut up and turn around.”
She doesn’t listen. Of course, she doesn’t listen. She narrows her eyes, completely disbelieving. “When did you get this?”
“Like, six months ago.” 163 days ago, to be precise.
Her shoulders sag a fraction. “But you didn’t even know if I was coming back.”
“I knew. Now, turn around. Put it on.”
She gingerly takes the necklace from me, and I admit, I almost keep it out of her reach. I should be the one to put it on her. Bella fiddles with the clasp, and my stomach drops. I wanted it to be perfect, and this is less than that. She deserves so much more than the shit I put inside the locket.
All my worries and concerns that she would frown at how terrible it is, vanishes when her lips curve into a smile, and a soft little giggle leaves her.
She runs her finger over the right side of the locket, where there’s a picture of Mickey Mouse that I cut out from a magazine. On the left, in small handwriting, it says “Roman (aka the real Mickey).” This way, it isn’t just me who’s kept close to her heart, it’s her mother, too.
Bella’s obsession with Mickey Mouse started because of her mamá, but she never managed to find any photos of her, just like there aren’t any (non-government taken) photos of me.
“Mickey,” she breathes as she looks up at me, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “This is beautiful.”
“I know.”
Her warm smile doesn’t disappear when she rolls her eyes or when she hands me the necklace to secure around her neck.
Before she can turn around, I have the next gift out of the bag. A—you guessed it—Mickey Mouse keychain. Honestly, there’s this weird trend with Mickey Mouse going on, but I couldn’t give a shit as long as it puts a smile on her face. I have no memories outside of Bella that I want to keep alive. Still, I will do everything I can to make sure her happiness is immortalized, even if that means having an excessive amount of Mickey Mouse stickers all over both of our things so she’s taken back to Disneyland with her mamá.
Bella claims she’s sick of the thing, but it doesn’t stop her from pausing whenever she sees that damn mouse like she is now.
Our kids will probably be just as obsessed with the rodent.
“My birthday was, like, months ago.” The absolute attitude dripping from her voice right now is uncalled for. She’s still a part-time brat, I see.
I cock a brow. “Your point?”
“You didn’t know if I was coming—’
“I did.”
“I can’t accept all of this.”
“Who said you had the option not to?” The urge to groan and shake my head in disbelief is real. She does this every time: pretending that her moral compass is in the way of taking something I’ve gotten specifically for her, even though I can practically smell how much she wants to get her hands on it.
“I do.”
“Signore aiutami con questa.” Lord, help me with this one. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the way that will have you all squirmy. Take the goddamn keychain.”
She glares at me as she takes the keychain and clips it on her bag, grumbling, “I haven’t liked Mickey Mouse in a long time.”
“I’m sure you don’t, but I don’t make the rules.”
Tradition is tradition. Every year that has passed and that will come, she’ll be getting a Mickey Mouse item. No ifs, ands, or buts.
“Last one,” I say. And thankfully, it has nothing to do with the big-eared rodent.
A little wrinkle forms between her brows as they dip, taking the orange stuffed animal from me. “Foxes aren’t my favorite animal anymore.”
Of course, they aren’t. It changes every year. Last year it was a fox. The year before, magpies. The year before that, wolves. “What is it this time?”
“Bears.”
“That’s gonna have to change. I’m here, and you aren’t going to be a solitary creature.”
