20 - that who punches, loves (part 2)

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A/N: finally, finally. I'm getting real lazy, also football (or soccer to some of you) - it's the World Cup after all. Tomorrow I go off to a linguistics camp and I'm away for 4 days.  (this is the song I listened to while writing)

Happy reading x)




Chapter 20 – that who punches, loves (part 2)

Devon

I'm the one who punches first.

Hard.

I can hear something crack, but it doesn't break. His spirit doesn't break.

He asked for it. Asked to be involved like this. To fight.

And it's exactly what I'm giving to him.

He spits blood on the floor. I feel the urge to look away, but don't. I need to know how much blood and whether there will be more to spit.

Does he like the taste?

Cameron grins, teeth as if spray-painted sloppily with red. He runs his tongue over the top row of teeth.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" he says and rolls his right shoulder.

Tomorrow he'll wake up groaning because every muscle hurts. So the real fight isn't today at all. It's when your stomach grumbles and you have to get up from your comfortable bed, but you hurt all over and start thinking that maybe you can go a day without eating.

I have Gina to help. Does Cameron have anyone?

I don't have long to think about it, because Cameron lunges. He shoves me against the wall and I try not to hit my head in the process.

"What are you trying to prove?" I ask him, gripping his wrists so he can't punch me. "That you're better? Stronger?"

"Enough chit-chat, boys!" A girl yells. She's trying to get my attention. Trying to get me to take another look at her and approach her later. And maybe I will. I'm not limited to liking one gender, so maybe, indeed, I will.

But maybe I'm going to look at her only to walk past and start a conversation with her friend who doesn't seem to like what's going on. Or maybe I'm going to ask her whether she has a hot brother she could introduce me to.

Maybe, girl, I'm going to behave quite the opposite way you imagined. And you're going to walk away disappointed.

Cameron snickers. "And what are you?"

I let go of his wrist and slam my knuckles against his ribs. He grunts and falls back, staggering until he collapses on his other side, the one that's still in tact. I push away from the wall and step closer to him.

"That's probably cracked," I say and point my bloodied finger at him. "You should probably give up."

Cameron's staring at me as if trying to communicate with my soul. Or whatever angel that's supposed to protect me. I bet he's finding neither.

Then he pats the floor twice.

The crowd groans.

"I bet on you!" someone yells. "You stupid fuck!" They push through the people, angry.

I curl my fingers at my sides.

"I fucking bet on you and now you just give up?" he asks, breathing quickly.

Cameron tries to get up but the guy puts his foot on Cameron's chest.

"No!" he says sternly. "Now it's my turn."

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