Fighting the Fall ✔

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Dustin King

"Do you care to tell me what that was all about, or are you planning to leave it to my imagination?" I leaned against the doorframe, watching Joshua, who stared blankly at the television, his eyes hardly ever blinking. The only part of him that moved was his thumb on the remote as he scrolled through the channels. He found nothing that interested him. "Josh."

"Huh?" Finally, he turned to look at me.

Something was wrong. I considered giving him a break, but all thoughts of mercy vanished when I remembered how perfectly sober he seemed on the ride home, how he caused me to leave my brother and sister at a time like that for no good reason. Or no reason at all.

I took a seat beside him and pried open his hand to take the remote. I had his full attention now.

"I lied, all right?"

I widened my eyes, feigning surprise. "No way. Are you serious? I never would have guessed." I scowled. I was about to say more, but thought better of it. He didn't know about the situation I'd walked away from to pick him up, and I didn't plan on telling him. Not yet.

When Rachel found out, when she learned that the ring wasn't the only place I collected my bruises, she was furious. She couldn't understand how I could be such a fighter underground, yet lay down and take so much from my father. I never answered her when she asked about Bishop and McKenna, if they were also involved. My lack of a response answered her question all on its own. That was the first time she left me.

She returned two weeks later, apologizing repeatedly and promising to always be there when I needed her. I'd opened up to her a bit more after that, little by little, slowly unraveling myself for her. I should have noticed when she began to pull away emotionally, but I didn't. Or maybe I did. I desperately wanted to believe that her promises were true, so I convinced myself that they were and let nothing tell me otherwise. Nothing except the second and final time she left.

It was after I confessed my need for power, that it was like a drug that I always needed more of and the dealer was the ring. It was something that kept me sane, something that kept me from losing it like my father had when Mom died.

It was Rachel's next words that continued to haunt me at night, that followed me into my dreams.

"You're just like him," she'd said. No blow, no defeat had ever hurt like those four words. Especially coming from the person I'd trusted the most.

Was I like him, constantly needing to beat others down for a fleeting high?

"Yeah," Josh said, ignoring my sarcasm, "I wasn't drunk, and I didn't need a ride. I just wanted you to come to the party. Dude, you know I'm not one for mushy romance and all that crap, but I'm tired of seeing you hurt over Rachel. It's time to let her go."

"Because you're tired of it?" I snapped.

"No, no, for your sake. You know how you stuck up for me last night?"

I sighed, once again wondering how he got into that mess with Tristan. "Yeah, and?"

"Well, I may not be skilled like that... I may not be a boxer -- and I'll kill you if you tell any of the girls I've told -- but I don't like seeing my friend bleed like this, all right? I don't tolerate it. I may not be able to put up my fists and fight this battle for you, but I can tell you to let it go. Just let her go, man."

It was easy for him to say. He went through girls like underwear, like my father went through his vodka. I couldn't expect him to understand.

"So what happened last night? With Tristan." I thought a subject change was in order.