Crossfire

1 || scar & mufasa

note: i'd like to dedicate essentially all of this story to @hellskitchen because she spent many voice recordings helping me out with planning and my usual indecisive behavior (and made the cover, too). she's my motivator & i hope this ultimately comes out as well as both of us hope. i hope you all enjoy.

IT WAS like moving in slow motion.

A tug of war between the self preservation mucking up Monroe's head, screaming for her to run, to avoid the limbs using her as a target, and the arrogant confidence that lingered just outside her vision, making its appearance only to show her the harsh reality of knuckles grazing the soft skin of her cheeks and the resulting stinging skin, trying desperately to convince her of the importance of sticking around.

A tug of war between moving forward and moving away, or staying, lingering in all the pain and the grinding of teeth.

But the decision always ended up being the same, the rope between the two decisions thinning until it snapped and Monroe ran high speed toward the reckless option.

Then it was fast-paced, a flurry of swinging fists, elbows tucked in close, forearms ready to spring up and work their defensive magic.

Monroe's current predicament was entirely her own fault. After spotting a boy with hair spikier than the nails in Monroe's father's garage follow a much smaller boy into an alley, the younger one unaware and with the usual air of naivete that seems ever-present in those at such an age, she had sprung into action.

It was not her first fight. It wasn't even the first one she'd gotten involved in despite having no personal involvement.

It, however, was the first one that she received a punch to the cheek so hard she swore she heard her own brain rattle around.

Usually, she was much better at dodging, she had even missed his first two careless punches, but what he lacked in speed, he compensated with in force.

Forearms poised, her head moving as if able to shake off the hit she took, Monroe made her move despite the throbbing in her face. The boy, obviously not expecting such a retaliation, and from a girl, no less, stumbled back on the balls of his feet. Tripping over himself when one of his legs crossed the other, the boy lost his footing and received a mouthful of Monroe's own fist, the sting of the skin on her knuckles breaking familiar enough that she barely felt it happen.

"Shit!" was the first word she heard the boy mutter, the back of his hand swiping across his mouth and smearing the red across it. "I'm done, I'm done," the boy spluttered out a moment after, raising his hands as if to surrender when Monroe took a single step toward him.

She watched him round the corner and exit the alley, a string of curses leaving his mouth each time he jostled the palm cupping his mouth too hard, causing yet another round of pain for himself.

Normally, she may have felt bad for leaving him in such a state, especially since he had been so taken aback, but her ears were ringing and her head was throbbing as if alerting her of its discomfort.

Monroe sighed, reaching out a hand to help the boy up. He had tucked himself next to a trashcan, eyes wide and cheeks stained with fresh tears. He reluctantly took her hand, pausing as he caught sight of the blood coating her knuckles, before taking a deep breath and muttering out a, "thank you."

Her only response was a simple nod, lending the boy her phone so he could call his parents. After they arrived to pick him up, Monroe was left with a pounding headache and the same numb feeling she often experienced after a fight.

Granted, it hadn't been much of a fight, more like a couple carelessly thrown punches, but it was enough to leave that almost-ache in Monroe's stomach.