we can be heroes just for one day
TWO MONTHS EARLIER
This is where it starts — though Hero doesn't know it — at a party at Pedro's house. If house is the correct term for a place this size.
She has lost Claudio in the sea of people, swept off-course. Now, she doesn't know where she is or who most of these people are or why so many of these rooms have animal heads mounted on the walls (must be a rich person thing).
She wades through the crowd, wandering from room to room, opening doors like a game show. She has interrupted four couples, one cult ritual, and discovered seven (seven!) bathrooms, yet still no boyfriend.
The higher she climbs, the more she feels like she has entered another dimension. Maybe if she can find a window, she can gather her bearings.
This section of the house is quieter, the music a dull thud through the floorboards. The hairs on the back of her neck stand, getting the sense she is somewhere she should not be. The corridor leads to a single door and she sighs, no choice but to turn-around.
Thump!
She pauses. "Hello?"
Another thump from inside and Hero's hand curls around the door handle before she realises this is how a victim in a horror movie behaves.
She doesn't get a chance to run as the door swings open—
She crashes into something solid. "Oof!"
"Shit."
She stabilises herself against the wall or whatever and cranes her neck, blinking in the face of Pedro's brother, John.
He's scowling. "Who are you?"
"Um…" the cogs crank in her brain, wires sparking as she realises it is his chest she has fallen into and springs backwards. "Oh, sorry!"
Dark eyes narrow. "You're Claudio's girlfriend?"
He says Claudio like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, which she isn't sure how to take.
"Hero," she offers.
His eyebrows shoot up and he folds his arms. "What do you want, Hero?"
He rolls the syllables, feeling like fingers down her spine. She must be tipsier than she thought.
"The party is in the other direction."
"I'm lost."
He expels a breath. "Of course."
She waits for more but when the seconds ticks by and he still regards her with that same bored expression, she speaks.
"Can you — can you help me back?"
He lifts an eyebrow.
Her voice shrinks, "Please?"
"Fine." He advances and she jumps to avoid being trampled. "Come on."
He shuts his door and marches down the hall.
"Oh!" She skitters after him. "Th-Thank you."
He mutters something she doesn't catch. He is tall, lean with long legs, so she has to scurry to keep pace. She steals glances at his profile, raven locks shadowing his eyes, jaw locked. She cannot recall if she has ever seen him smile.
"You have — you have a nice house."
His scowl deepens. "It's not mine."
"Ohh — right." She flounders, bemused. "How come — how come you aren't at — at the party."
"Wasn't invited."
She giggles, trailing off when he arches an eyebrow. "I — you're joking — I mean — it's your house?"
"It's Pedro's party and my father's house."
Hero feels like she is running an equation without the numbers. "I — don't understand."
"That doesn't surprise me."
Recognising the derision in his tone, Hero twists in front of him, forcing him to stop.
"Well—!" She puts her hands on her hips and grasps for a retort. Beatrice would say something clever and cutting. But Hero does not possess her cousin's wit, so instead she adopts her haughtiest tone, "I — I'm sorry to — to tear you away from your — your brooding."
His mouth twitches. "Couldn't leave a damsel in distress."
"A true gentleman," she mutters.
His shoulders ease and she has the faintest sense of having achieved something.
He leans forward (he is so TALL!) "Trust me, I'm a right bastard."
Feeling like she is playing a game for which she doesn't know the rules, Hero raises both her eyebrows, "Doesn't sound like I should trust you."
His mouth curves, a twinkle in those midnight eyes, and her chest goes fuzzy.
"Hero!" A hand closes around hers.
There's her boyfriend.
She spins to face him, "Claudio! I was looking for you."
"With him?" His smile tightens, gaze flickering between her and John (and there's a glint in his eyes that she won't recognise as suspicion, but John will).
"I got lost and John helped me find my way. Thank you, John—" she turns to smile at the other teen and blinks.
The boy in front of her is unrecognisable from the one seconds ago — tension exudes from his body like a panther about to strike, a muscle ticks in his jaw, eyes hooded with a cold that has her shivering.
"John?"
He doesn't look at her, gaze locked on Claudio. "You should keep a better eye on your girlfriend. Wouldn't want her wandering off."
Claudio stiffens, thunderstruck, and Hero shrinks, a charge crackling between them, and her, the unwitting weathervane.
"I don't need your advice on taking care of what is mine."
Mine, her mouth parts around the word. What sounds like affection in softer tones, now clangs metallic.
With a lazy shrug, John slides his hands into his pockets.
Claudio scoffs, squeezing Hero's fingers a twinge too tight. "Come on, babe. Let's get back to the party."
He moves quicker than Hero is expecting, yanking her elbow in its socket as she stumbles to keep pace. She glances back at John. His face may have been marble, polished of any emotion, except for his eyes, two black coals burning through her — and like a comet, hurtling through the void, he is oblivious to the damage he wreaks or the collision course they are on.
If Hero were sober, she might reflect on this moment, store it away to be taken-out and turned over. But Hero is not sober (lightweight that she is) and her friends are fast to thrust more drinks into her hands, screaming about being forever young, and between the slush of punch and the pound of the bass, any sense of foreboding slips away.
Someone — Regan — calls for a game of Spin the Bottle, and Hero looks to Claudio even as Bianca tugs on her arm.
Her boyfriend grins at her, bright-eyed, back to his usual boyish cheer, as he squeezes her hand gently and quips "What's the harm?"
They sit in a circle, there are enough participants that Hero passes sixteen spins without being kissed. Meanwhile, Claudio kisses Helena, Rosaline, and Bianca, laughing along with their battered eyelashes. Hero squirms and pastes on a smile, nails biting her palm.
On the seventeenth spin, the bottle slows in front of her and Hero looks up into Pedro's amused face. Beside her, Claudio shifts. She glances at her boyfriend, and though his eyes have darkened his smile remains and he gives an encouraging nod.
With as much grace as she can, skirt tangling under her knees, Hero shuffles to meet Pedro in the middle. He grins, all teeth, and she ducks her head, heat spilling across her cheeks.
"Um—"
His mouth catches hers.
Hero goes rigid. Then, remembering the game, makes herself relax.
As far as Spin the Bottle goes, it is not an unpleasant sensation. With a reputation like his, it is no surprise Pedro knows how to kiss. She is ashamed to concede he is more skilled than Claudio. Though Pedro does not make her heart skitter or her lips tingle like her boyfriend does.
Around them, the onlookers hoot and whistle and Hero decides she owes it to Claudio to prove to them his girlfriend is more than deadwood, tilting her head to match Pedro's thrusts and giving as good as she gets.
Between anyone else it could be mistaken for passion, but Hero is as attracted to Pedro as she is a table, and she is confident the feeling is mutual. For them it is a game, a challenge between friends. She feels Pedro grin, her own smile irrepressible, and soon they are both laughing too much to kiss and their audience cheers.
"Hold on to this one, Claudio," Pedro chuckles, voice warm with approval. "Or I might take her for myself."
Uncertainty colours Hero's happiness. Hands clasp her waist, dragging her into Claudio's lap, his fingerprints indented on her hips, and he laughs, "As if I'd be stupid enough to let her go."
Their laughter washes over Hero, muffling the buzzing in her brain. She witnesses two more spins before Claudio is pulling her away, in need of another drink.
She ends up with her back against a wall, Claudio's thigh between her own, his mouth hot against her throat, hand roving beneath her shirt, the other on her waist, so tight she sees purple — and there are eyes on them as Claudio ruts against her, extracting sounds that make her flush — he holds her off the ground, dangling between him and the wall, like another stuffed trophies — all around them people stare, eyes glittering like camera lenses — he hikes her skirt higher, his fingers probing her bra, locating the catch —
"Claudio — stop — I don't — people are staring — please — "
He hums, hands flexing, and she thinks he's not going to stop as she struggles in his grasp — but he does (he does), lowering her to the floor. He tosses a glare at the watching crowd and bundles her in his jacket.
"I'll take you home," he promises, sweet and low as he kisses her cheek.
She nods, frazzled from the adrenaline. Unsure if it is lust, or fear, or maybe both she feels.
When she wakes the next morning to her phone chiming, her head is too fuzzy to recall detail and she smiles instead at her boyfriend's texts.
C [09:23] : Morning beautiful xxx
C [09:25] : Call me when you wake xxx
:-x-:
PRESENT
"Hero?"
She squeaks, almost bolting back into the cupboard, except — it is pointless now.
With a sigh, she faces him, "I don't suppose you'd believe I'm a figment of your imagination?"
He folds his arms over bare chest and heat crawls up her neck, her eyes jumping to his.
"Do you think I imagine you often?"
This throws her and she blinks. "Um — no, I don't think you think of me at all."
He huffs, gaze narrowing. "Why are you here?"
"I — my stuff," she holds up her bag as proof, "Someone chucked it in here. I had to get it back, but — I didn't want to be caught."
He rolls his eyes. "Children's pranks."
He turns his back to her, muscles flexing as he pulls his shirt on. Finished, he glances over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow at her. She realises he expected her to leave and flushes.
"You — you won't — tell — tell on me?"
The rumours are already so bad.
His features flicker, losing some of their edge. "No, I won't."
It speaks of what she has endured that this small kindness surprises her. "Umm… thanks"
She heads for the door.
"Your knees," he calls.
She freezes, spiders fill her throat, suspecting a trap.
"They're — you're bleeding."
She looks down, becoming aware of the jagged ache and bloody trails. "Oh."
"Sit," he commands.
She stares at him. With a sigh, he brushes past, disappearing into the cupboard.
Unsure what else to do, Hero plonks down on a bench. Someone has carved HERO IS A SKANK into the wood.
Of course. How has her life led to this?
John returns with a First Aid kit, in the process of picking the lock.
"How—" she gapes.
The lock springs open and John makes a triumphant sound. Hero shuts her mouth, deciding the resident bad boy has to be guilty of some misdoings.
He kneels in front of her, taking out the medical wipes, and she sucks in a breath.
He lifts his eyes to hers and it is like looking into the night sky — the darkness that threatens to consume and the calm of the universe spread before you.
His voice is gentle. "May I?"
Her throat dries and she manages a weak nod. He dabs at her knee. The sharp sting has her whimpering.
"Sorry," he mumbles.
"It's OK," she assures, suppressing a wince.
He continues with care, cleaning the blood from her skin, and she can't figure out if it is worse to watch those dark locks bob before her legs or to look away. If anyone catches them now…
"You don't have to — I mean, I can — I can do it myself — you — you can go—"
He looks up and her voice tapers off. "I'll go if you're uncomfortable."
She wets her lip. "It's just — if anyone finds us—"
She looks pointedly at the writing beside her. John follows her gaze, tensing.
"It's bullshit."
"Um — what?"
His eyes burn as they meet hers and the only reason she doesn't shrink is because she understands that fury is not meant for her.
"It's bullshit."
She hugs her stomach. "Everyone thinks — if they see you, they'll say—"
"That I wasn't the one on their knees." His face twists like he has bitten into a lemon. "I get it. You don't want your name muddied with mine."
Her brow scrunches. "You don't want your name muddied with mine."
He barks a laugh. "My reputation? You're worried about my reputation? Princess—" she wrinkles her nose, "—Hero, I appreciate the thought but my name has been dragged through the gutter more times than you've received gold stars. So trust me when I say your concern is better spent elsewhere. Maybe on orphaned puppies or whatever other charity case pulls at your heartstrings."
This might be the most she has heard him speak and it takes a moment to unpack.
"But — Pedro's your brother and Claudio's his best friend. I don't want things to be bad between you over me."
He flings his head back, laughter lighting his face. He looks good like that, smiling.
"Things have always been bad between my brother and I. You wouldn't be changing that."
"Oh," she murmurs, and then, because she has more curiosity than tact, "Why?"
His smile goes brittle, glancing to the side, and Hero kicks herself. "Pedro doesn't want his bastard half-brother messing up his perfect life. And I'm happier not blinded by that sun which everyone thinks shines out of his arse."
OK. Hero has enough sense not to ask any follow-up questions and his gaze flicks back to hers
"Should I do your other knee?"
Hero nods, distracted, recollecting all the times Claudio sneered and called John a bastard (more than she noticed). She was aware of some bad blood between them, but never gave it much consideration. If her boyfriend disliked John, he probably had a good reason.
But Claudio denounced her as a cheating slut on stage in front of the school and John is patching her up in a locker room. Maybe she needs to reassess her judge of character.
John finishes patching her knees and closes the kit. "Done."
She inspects his handiwork. "Will I live, Doctor?"
He stands, looking pleasantly surprised by her quip. "Maybe check-in with your fairy godmother, just to be sure."
She rolls her eyes, lips tugging into a smile. "Thank you, John. Really."
He heaves a breath, turning away from her to shrug on his leather jacket. "Don't thank me, Hero."
She frowns, rising from the bench. "Why not? You've been kinder to me than most of the school."
"Not a difficult feat."
He whips a penknife from his pocket and she startles back a step. He slashes the wooden bench until the writing is illegible.
Hero expels a breath, her heart like a hummingbird's, but it is not fear intoxicating her blood. "Do you — do you always carry a knife with you?"
He smirks, flipping the blade — her pulse does the same — before he slips it back into his jacket. Then, without an answer, he returns the kit to the supply cupboard.
Lockpicks, knives —he is exactly the sort of troublemaker her father wouldn't want her hanging around.
She follows him, hovering in the doorframe. "Why do you say it's — uh — it's bullshit? The — um—"
She doesn't finish. But he doesn't need her to.
"Because it is, isn't it."
He sounds so certain. She stays silent, having learnt other people will hear whatever they want regardless.
John toys with the tassels of a mops. "Any guy could do what you supposedly did and be called a legend. It's because you're female they call you a whore."
Hero shifts, folding her arms around herself. "So, it's the hypocrisy you object to?"
He crooks a grin. "Don't think I'd make a good feminist. But I know how it goes. My mum—"
A screech as a door opens, accompanied by someone whistling.
Hero flings herself inside the cupboard, at the same time John snares her arm, pulling her to him. He shuts the door, quickly but quietly, leaning his weight against it.
Thrown into darkness once more, Hero presses into John, using him as her anchor. The whistling grows nearer along with the fall of footsteps. Hero's heart vaults into her throat, remembering their belongings left outside on the bench. She prays whoever is there won't notice.
(The only thing worse than getting caught with John is getting caught with John in a closet.)
The seconds tick like the swing of a pendulum blade overhead. The footsteps boom, or maybe that's her heart. She holds her breath, burying her face in solid warmth.
The universe must decide it owes her one because the footsteps retreat, followed by the swing of a door.
She exhales.
A throat clears.
Looking up she meets ember eyes. Cast in shadow, his expression is impossible to read. It dawns on her it is his chest she is burrowed against and she jerks backwards, smacking her head into the mops and brooms.
"Ack! Sugar!"
A low chuckle sets Hero's nerves ablaze, his breath tickling her face. "Coast is clear."
It is his only warning before he twists the handle, opening the door so she almost topples out, his arm snaking her waist in time to spare her the humiliation.
Her breath catches. Light spills across parchment skin and inky locks, face flickering like the pages of a book, too fast for her to read. There is the barest hint of stubble on his chin and Hero's hands tingle with the urge to touch.
He sets her on her feet, hands slipping back to his side. "We should go."
Something protests in her as he heads over to the bench, but her brain tells her to move so she follows. Seeing her bag reminds her she still needs to change out of her gym clothes.
"Oh God. We're so late for class."
"You're only late if you show up."
She turns on him, aghast. "You're suggesting we skip? That's worse!"
He arches his brow. "OK, Miss Perfect Attendance. Do you really want to walk in midway through?"
She imagines the looks she will receive, rushing into class, half an hour late, in her dishevelled state. Imagines the smirks.
"OK, Rebel Without A Cause. What do you suggest?"
The grin blooms across his face and her knees wobble (she's injured, it's allowed).
"Get changed — in your own locker room — and I'll show you something cool."
:-x-:
"Isn't this dangerous?"
"Would I be doing it if it wasn't?" John retorts, halfway up the ladder.
Hero sighs, wondering how she found herself following the school's delinquent onto the roof of the gym. Deliberately ignoring the voices in her head that sound like her father and Beatrice, telling her to turn back.
Assuring herself she has been vaccinated against tetanus, she grabs onto the metal rungs and begins to climb.
"When you said you were going to show me something cool, I half-expected it to be a dead rat."
John snorts, helping her from the ladder, onto the roof. "I guess I deserve that."
She looks out over the tops of her school, enchanted by the view. "This… This is much nicer. Do you come up here often?"
John reclines on the concrete, kicking out his long legs. "Whenever I need to get away."
She hums, settling beside him. "It seems peaceful." The wind whips around her and she shivers. "Cold though."
He grunts and shrugs out of his jacket, dumping it in her lap.
She glances between him and it. "Umm…?"
He groans, slumping his head against the wall. "Don't make it a thing."
OK… Hero slides the jacket on, swimming in the leather folds. It is warm from his body, like it is him she is wrapped in. And, wow, she hopes she isn't as red as she feels. Her face isn't cold, at least.
"Tha—Thanks."
He shakes his head, ink locks spilling into his eyes. "Fuck, I need a cigarette."
"You smoke?"
"Only to piss off the old man."
She frowns. "Is — is he worth your life?"
He chuckles, dark and depreciating. "I'm not sure what my life is worth."
Her heart clenches, stomach roiling, and she leans into him, "You've been so kind to me, John."
He flinches and Hero pulls back, stung.
"I — I haven't, Hero. I really haven't."
She stares at him, tensed and looking close to hurling himself off the building, and she tries to figure out how she can reach him, the way he reached her.
"I stole a light-up Cinderella pen from Bianca when I was ten years old."
John's eyebrows shoot-up.
Flushing, she hurries on. "She got it from Disneyland and — she showed it off to everyone. One day — we were playing Princesses, except I had to be the horse — but I didn't want to be the horse — I was always the horse — I wanted to be a princess — but Bianca — Bianca said I had to be the horse because — because of my teeth."
"Shit."
"So I — I ran off in tears — I was so hurt — and — and mad — and then — then I saw her pen and — I — I wanted to punish her — so — so I took it — and then — we made-up and — and I forgot about the pen and I never gave it back."
John whistles. "Wow, I didn't realise I was sitting with a hardened criminal."
"Shut u-up!"
"No, seriously. Here I was thinking you all sweet and innocent when in fact you're a cold-blooded psychopath."
She knocks her shoulder into his. "Ugh, you're terrible!"
He raises his hands. "Hey, I didn't steal anyone's princess pen! Is that truly the worst thing you've ever done?"
She fidgets with an oversized sleeve. "There was a time when Beatrice and I were fighting, so I read the last chapter of her book and spoiled the ending."
He cackles and — it is incredible how a grin transforms his face, bright and unburdened. Her pulse flutters, gaze snagging on chapped lips.
"You're unbelievable."
"Hmm?"
She looks up. Constellations dance in his eyes.
"I can't believe you confessed to stealing a pen like it still haunts you seven years on."
"It does! I feel terrible." He snickers and she swats his chest. "The point — the point is — I'm not perfect. I've made mistakes — everyone does. We're all — loose threads and frayed ends — trying to — uh — trying to muddle along — trying to — to weave ourselves in with other people. It's messy — we're messy — and we screw up — we make mistakes. It's not — I don't think — I don't think a person is — is measured by their worst mistake — it's a mistake — it's what they do about it — how they make amends — that matters."
Her smile wobbles at the corners.
Shadows strain his face, eyes hooded. When he speaks, the words are slow, rasping. "When Claudio realises he's been — a fucking idiot — will you forgive him?"
She wets her lips, remembering her ex-boyfriend for the first time since she followed John up here. Her fingers trail over rough leather, recalling how Claudio used to swathe her in his own jacket, his name stitched in bold letters on the back, so everyone knew who she belonged to.
"You think Claudio's an idiot?"
He snorts. "Always. But especially for believing you would cheat."
She buries her face in the jacket collar, inhaling sweat and cologne. "You don't think I did it — that I'm the slut everyone says I am."
He makes a sound, caught between a groan and a snarl, and scrapes a hand through his hair, causing tuffs to stick-up like horns.
"Take it from a liar, Hero. You're not one."
Her mouth parts, oh. She stares, trying to summon any response, but her brain has stalled.
Take it from a liar. What does that mean?
The moment is interrupted by the bell, a distressed flock of pigeons take flight.
John stands. "Best be going."
She doesn't move, hugging her knees. "We could — we could stay here." She looks at him. "It's — it's a nice view."
His lips quirk but his eyes are dim. "Don't want to get caught. Not sure you'd survive detention. All those pens, too much temptation."
"Ha ha."
Reluctantly, she rises. John takes the ladder first, recommending she use him to break her fall if needed. He turns his back as she descends so he won't see up her skirt. He then helps her down the fire escape, onto solid ground.
Hero tucks her hair behind her ear. "That was — fun. I should skip class more often."
She is joking, of course. If she misses any more school the anxiety might kill her.
But John doesn't smile, returned to his melancholy self and Hero can't figure out what changed.
"Do you — want to get lunch?" Her voice wavers, trying not to sound too eager.
His eyebrows knit together. "What happened to avoiding gossip?"
"They're already gossiping. Better you than Sampson or Borachio."
It is meant as a compliment but his fingers curl at his side, mouth thin. "Hero, do yourself a favour and stay away from dirtbags like me."
She starts back. "But — you're not a dirtbag."
He sneers, advancing a step so he looms above her. "You don't know me."
"John?"
"Give me my jacket back."
Hero's chest caves in but she slides the jacket from her shoulders. He snatches it from her hands, scowling at the leather before yanking it on and storming in the other direction.
Hero gapes after him. "John? John!"
He doesn't turn back.
She hovers, processing what has occurred. She thought they were becoming friends. It should be no surprise she misjudged the situation (again).
Another crack in her fragile defences. Her body aches with the rejection, butterflies choking in a toxic smog. Her eyes itch, growing heavy, and she hates this. Hates it.
She will not cry. Not in school. Not again.
(Never give them the satisfaction.)
She swipes her eyes. She can do this. She can be brave. She won't give them the satisfaction. Hero sets her shoulders and marches on.
:-x-:
Her resolve lasts her to the cafeteria where reality hits like a freight train.
HERO IS A DIRTY SLUT is painted across the wall.
Faces turn to her like spotlights. She is surrounded and alone. Beatrice and Kate are not here to shield her. They would have met her after class. They won't know where to look.
She swallows, ice crystallising in her veins. If she retreats then they win. But there are no free tables and would anyone allow her to sit with them?
She glances around. Regan whispers something to Bianca, both scowling in her direction. Pedro holds court, refusing to acknowledge her as he clasps Claudio's shoulder. Her ex is stone-jawed, his gaze narrowed on Hero. If looks could kill.
Perhaps a strategic retreat is best—
An arm hooks around her shoulder, foul breath prickling the hairs on her neck.
"Hey Hero, looking for somewhere to sit," Borachio leers. His hand slides under her skirt, fingers digging into the bare of her arse. "You can sit in my lap."
Mortification scorches through her. Around her, people watch and smirk—
Regan's nose wrinkles.
Bianca tosses her hair.
Discomfort shifts across Pedro's features and he stands.
Claudio's eyes blaze, searing the skin from her bone.
—her heart pounds against her chest, desperate to break free, but her legs are mud, sinking through the floor, and she wills the ground to swallow her.
Borachio flexes his meaty paw, violet splashes across her vision—
—he SLAMS to the floor. John straddles his chest, snarling like a wild animal, fist swinging.
Borachio howls, blood erupting from his nose. "THE FUCK!"
He punches back, uncoordinated against John's lethal precision.
The cafeteria explodes, the clatter of chairs and the clammer of feet as a crowd forms around them, students pushing to get a better view while a chorus goes up, "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
In the center of it all, Hero stands transfixed as John brings his fist down and down again upon Borachio. Air clogs her throat, lungs burning. That face, which looked at her so gently less than an hour ago, now contorted with rage.
Pedro shoves to the front, attempting to haul his brother from Borachio. "ENOUGH, JOHN! HE'S HAD ENOUGH!"
Claudio skulks at the side, fists clenched and riled, eager to join in.
"Claud — HELP!" Pedro pants as John thrashes.
Snapping from his haze, Claudio seizes John's other arm and they heave him from his quarry. Another person — who might be called Conrade — restrains Borachio before he can launch himself at John, face bloodied and murderous.
"YOU BASTARD! IT WAS YOUR IDEA! IT WAS YOUR IDEA!"
"Not. This," John spits, his face only slightly bruised compared to his opponent.
Teachers converge on the scene, shouting for the crowd to disperse as the culprits are apprehended. Borachio bucks like a raging bull, cussing John's name. In contrast, John does not struggle, his previous anger appearing to have burnt.
Amidst the pandemonium, their eyes meet. She thinks she glimpses an ember of regret in the ash of his gaze before his eyes snuff, turning away.
"Hero!" Beatrice flings her arms around her. "Are you alright?"
"Looks like we missed the excitement." Kate observes. "What the hell happened?"
"I…" Hero stares after John as he is led away, along with Borachio, Pedro, and Claudio — the latter kicking a fuss about injustices. "I don't know."
