Roman Godfrey was a lot of things. He was rich. He was a douchebag. He was by all means a mystery, to himself, to others. He was destructive. He was an alcoholic. He was a drug addict. But most of all, he was lonely.
Roman Godfrey was the richest teenager in all of Hemlock, but he also felt like the loneliest. Of course, that was something he never thought about; never admitted to himself. Never had a reason to actually admit. It was a loneliness so normal, Roman didn't realize it was something else than life being a sodding bitch as usual.
But that all changed though, when Peter Rumancek arrived.
Fucking gypsy.
The loneliness inside Roman was suffocating, like an itch he couldn't scrape.
Roman watched the hairy man, and wondered how Peter didn't seem a bit annoyed at the fact that his hair was always falling in his eyes. The blond himself, had difficulties not brushing the hair strays away from his face.
He'd seen him change. To his other form. To his true form. Roman had not seen it due to accidents. It hadn't been because he happened to drop by. He had been granted permission. And oh god, it had been beautiful, in the most morbid of senses. It had been stunning, and to be allowed to watch, to witness something as intimate, made Roman warm. Roman Godfrey never felt warm.
The way Lynda had looked at him. Despite being skeptic, despite uncertain of Roman's reasons, she had looked at him in a manner only a mother could watch a man, no, a child. With a love only a mother could have for another human being. She looked at him in a way his own mother never could look at him.
Roman puffed on his cigarette, watching Peter talk to his sister in the far distance and it set him off. No one was supposed to bother her, pick on her, least of all make her smile wider than he did.
Peter Rumancek was his only friend, and seeing him with Letha, his precious cousin, made him want to stab him. Or himself. Most defiantly himself. He trusted her, and now she stole him, his only friend. The only light in the midst of all the death, the destruction. All of sudden cocaine was his only fellow being once more. Roman felt ugly and his friend, his coke agreed. Thankfully it provided a comfort as he committed ugly crimes only Peter could comfort him from. He was sick and ugly and Letha had stolen his lifeline. A whore and a fucking faggot.
He did right though, he let him be happy. But their life wasn't supposed to be happy. Hemlock wouldn't allow it's citizens the joy of being happy. No one was supposed to be happy. Fucking Christina. He wanted to bring her back to life, only to rip her from this life once more.
Letha was dead, leaving him a nightmare Roman couldn't escape no matter how much coke he snorted, no matter how much liquor, expensive and cheap all the same, he flushed his breath with. Shelley was gone, his fucking psycho mother was dead, everyone was gone.
Lastly, Peter Rumancek was gone. Fucking gypsies. At least, his mother learned him one useful thing throughout his life. Never trust a gypsy. The werewolf, his werewolf was gone, because gypsies always ran. No matter how much he tried to stop the itch, no matter how deep he dug the blade in his skin, the itch could not be scraped.
Because Peter Rumancek had left him and Roman had never felt more alone in his entire life.