Kellin opened his eyes to darkness. There were no sounds, there were no lights, and he briefly wondered where he was and, if possible, if he was back home.
Am I dead? He thought to himself.
However, the faint beating of his heart thudding in his ear canceled out that option for him.
"Vic?" He mumbled hopelessly.
He sat up in the plush bed, his fingers grazing the soft material. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled his lower half to the ground. The soreness of his body ached and with every slight move he hissed, the pain hadn't so much faded away yet.
His feet maneuvered their way against the ground and he used his hands to find a light switch.
And once he flicked on the lights, realization dawned upon him. He wasn't home. He was still there with the kidnappers.
His eyes teared up but he refused to let the dozens of tears fall again. He wanted to be done being weak, but he couldn't. No matter how much he pleaded and begged his subconscious to just stop, it wouldn't. Despite his greatest efforts, a tear slid down his cheek.
He turned his body to look in the mirror.
Vic was looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The flesh around his eyes raw, and the bags underneath them heavy and purple. His hair was a disheveled mess and his eyes a bloodshot red. His skin had drained itself to an unhealthy pale color, the once tan skin no longer healthy and glowing, but defeated and sick.
His reflection had sickened him because it only reminded him that he wasn't strong enough or quick enough or even smart enough to be there when Kellin was taken. If he would've just thought through what he was going to do then none of it would've ever happened.
And like that he got angry. Blaming himself and cursing the world as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
His tears welled up and he was so sick of seeing himself cry and pitying himself. He was just so angry.
He snapped and hit the glass. The force impactful and strong as his knuckles came in contact with the cold surface. It rained down in shattered pieces that glinted in the dim bathroom light, stained red. His reflection cracked in the mirror, shards hung off of it dangerously.
He turned away from himself, too disgusted to continue looking.
He stepped into the shower, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor. The water scorched his skin, turning the color bright red against it. Steam swirled up and left the bathroom as red droplets fell from his fingertips.
The blood mixed in with the water, turning a lighter shade, pink almost, and slipped down into the drain.
His tears also mixed in with the water, disappearing and vanishing as if they were never there. But when Vic finally stepped out of the shower, knuckles raw and skin pink, it was evident he had been crying. The skin under his eyes tired and swollen, and sniffles that came from his nose, and then there was the shattered mirror, pieces still glinting in the sink almost viciously.
And Kellin looked at the broken mirror. He looked at his reflection that stared back cracked, sad and broken. Who had he become?
The pieces from the mirror dangled dauntingly in front of him. His knuckles, too, stained with the bright red color he had come so accustomed to seeing on his skin.
The sad blue color of his eyes stood out against the faint red veins that surrounded them. With his unused hand, he pushed his hair out of his face and stared at the broken reflection.
The walls seemed to cave in on him.
And the dim light from the bathroom never faltered.
The mirrors held the reflections of both boys and how broken they were. A crystal clear image of who they had truly become. Or at least, what they had been morphed into. They never asked to become that way, they never wanted it. But no one ever heard them say 'no'.
And maybe that was their mistake.
But maybe they did say no, maybe it was just that their voices were too tired from screaming for anybody to hear them whisper no. The single word spoken and taken out into the world in soft wisps that would surely get destroyed, if not now, then later.
At last, Kellin turned away from the mirror, or at least, what used to be the mirror. But before he could fully turn away, he grabbed the sharpest shard of it he could find. The skin against his palm split open and the bright red color resurfaced, coming out faster than the blood on his knuckles. His hand slipped on the bloody glass but when he was finally able to yank it off, he hid it underneath his bed.
His hand had droplets of blood cascading down his arm to the safety of his elbow. It was going to leave a scar, a faint, little, white scar. But the damage done to his hand was no where near the damage done to his heart. Because his heart was also going to have a scar, but that scar stretched across his entire being until it came back around to meet where it started, no where near done bleeding and most importantly, no where near done healing.
He wiped his hands on his jeans, then used one to push back his hair again. Then he laid down on the bed once more and couldn't help but wonder what Vic was doing.
Vic had left his ugly reflection in the mirror and he left the broken pieces of it there. He had changed and was laying on his back, staring at what was nothing.
The phone ringed.
He didn't hesitate in picking it up this time, already awaiting the call.
"Hello?" His tired voice spoke.
"Uh, Vic, I got the. . . I got the fight set up, you just have to come down." Eddie ran a hand through his hair and tugged on the loose strands. He was unsure whether to actually set up the fight or not, but in the end he just went with what Vic told him.
"Ok. I'm going." And then Eddie was left listening to an empty line and his breathing. He sighed and took a seat at the brown table. The air smelled of musk and sweat. Off in the distance you could hear heavy grunts and shouts of encouragement.
The boxing arena was full tonight.
"Where are you going?" The voice of Jaime spoke. He had just entered the house again, getting off of a late shift.
"Out." Was all he received in response.
Jaime let out a tired sigh. "Vic. Please I just. . . I-I just want to know." He whispered. He couldn't bring himself to look Vic in the eye, he still felt ashamed to say the least.
"I have a match. It's at the arena, an underground match." Jaime new what he meant. He just couldn't believe Vic would bring himself to go back to that place.
"I'm going." Jaime told him. Vic snapped his eyes up to look at him before sighing and shaking his head.
"No, you aren't." He said with finality. He wasn't going to allow Jaime to be there and see all the violence and drugs involved. Vic had never been involved with the drugs, he was never pushed to that point.
"Vic, we're not together anymore," Jaime painfully pointed out, "I'm going."
Vic rolled his eyes at Jaime's stubbornness but continued to walk towards the door.
With the door open, entered a chill. The dark sky was alive with the stars that burned so bright but crashed so badly. Jaime followed Vic to his car and sat in the passengers seat.
No words were spoken during the ride, there was a sort of tension lingering in the air. Jaime felt that he was responsible for it, when really, it was Vic. He was too caught up in his thoughts that he didn't feel the very tangible tension. The tension that was eating away at Jaime and feeding his guilt.
A guilt that he had grown unbeknownst to him. But the guilt was heavy. So heavy, it pulled and weighed down his heart strings, snapping them almost.
Vic was in the complete opposite situation. Although his heart was weighed down with guilt as well, he was ridding himself of that guilt. Slowly but surely it was disappearing. It would take a few days though. The question at hand, though, was how long?
He cut the engine off and stepped out into the cool damp night. It rained just a few hours prior and the chill that swept the streets left the two boys shivering as it crawled down their spines. They hurried to enter the old building, going down a set of a cement stairs and entering a dimly lit hallway.
The bodyguard who usually stood watch was slipping his gaze past Vic, who he had grown familiar with, and towards Jaime who was standing awkwardly behind him.
"He's with me."
The bodyguard nodded his head and let the two go by without hassle. Vic hurried to get through the ravenous crowd and to the locker rooms that lay farther down the corridor.
Eddie was sat at the brown table still when Vic and Jaime entered.
"Vic. . ." Eddie couldn't bring himself to say another word as he stood up and stumbled his way towards Vic. In his eyes, all that stood before him was the remains of a broken man.
Once he reached Vic, he pulled him into a hug. It was a tight hug, but a hug that was filled with reassurance and safety. One that made Vic's eyes tear up and slowly move his hands to hug his friend, his brother.
They weren't biological brothers, but Eddie was more a brother to Vic than his actual brother, Mike.
"I'm here for you, man." Eddie whispered to him. Vic pulled away and wiped at his eyes. Meanwhile, Jaime had been stood in the corner, watching with heartbreak as the man he loved found comfort in yet another person that wasn't himself.
Jaime felt he was far too pathetic for Vic to ever seek comfort in him. It might've happened once or twice, but that was simply because he was desperate, and quite frankly it was a slip up, a mistake. And signs of desperation rarely came from Vic but it seemed that this week that's all he was. Desperate.
"I'm ready for this fight, Eddie." Vic told him, clearing his throat after painfully hearing it crack, his second sign of weakness since being there.
"Okay. But it looks like we'll have to bandage up you're knuckles. You messed them up pretty bad, what'd you do?" Eddie said, observing the damaged tissue on Vic's knuckles.
Jaime, too, had just noticed Vic's raw knuckles and briefly wondered what he had done while he was gone.
"Are you okay, what happened?" Jaime rushed, eager words followed by eager steps towards Vic. He grabbed the damaged hand and looked at his knuckles before Vic snatched his hand away. He moved away from Jaime as if he disgusted him, like if he were a disease. Jaime's face showed signs of hurt but really it was nothing new.
"I'm fine." Vic snapped, the aura of the room drastically changing. Jaime's cheeks burned with embarrassment and Eddie took two steps back, refusing to interfere with what had just happened before him. The whites of Jaime's eyes brimmed with glassy colors of red. Without another word, he stepped out of the room and into the long narrow hallway. Faint chants and calls were heard down at the opposite end of the dim strip of the corridor.
He leaned against the wall, hands placed firmly against the cold brick as he breathed in and out.
"Vic..." Eddie trailed off, placing a hand against his shoulder. Vic shrugged him off, walking towards the raggedy locker with his duffle bag. He dropped it harshly to the wobbly bench before unzipping it and taking out his shorts.
After he had changed, Eddie wrapped his knuckles in a soft, white gauze. The material was being used to protect his hand from further damage. He flexed his fingers, swinging a few times then ducking; warmups.
The announcer was heard overhead on an old speaker placed in the top right corner of the room. Eddie patted Vic's shoulders and grabbed his red boxing gloves. "You're up."
The lights flickered over their heads as they swiftly passed Jaime and continued down towards the arena.
Women stripped of their dignity walked with swaying hips and fake smiles across the floor, flimsy signs with bold red letters held by the smalls of their hands.
Round 1
Vic sat in his designated corner. His coach gave him a pep talk filled with fast words and slurs that Vic didn't bother to try and decipher. He focused on his opponent, a big burly African American man. His name was called out over the speakers along with his weight class and age but Vic couldn't hear it, the chants and scratchy voice of the speaker blurred out by the amount of focus he had ensued on the man. The lights in the area darkened almost to nothing, before blowing back up in an arrangement of blue and white strobe lights that littered peoples faces.
The light blinded Kellin. He was sleeping sideways on the bed. The seems were stained with a red that didn't look to be coming off and the room itself looked a mess. Broken glass, bloody sheets, and bright lights.
"Get up." Someone cleared their throat and spoke, the words gravelly and deep. Tony looked around the room, disappointed with what he saw. He visibly shook his head, face twisting in disgust.
Kellin sneakily slipped his hand to the underside of the bed, gripping the cold metal that broke his skin again. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing everything away. He hadn't thought of a plan on what to do with the glass, he just knew he had to get out. He didn't hear other footsteps approach the room with Tony, so he figured he was alone. When Kellin refused to lift himself up off of the bed, making no movements whatsoever, Tony's heavy footsteps bounded against the carpet floor, thudding their way towards the bed. Tony went over and pulled Kellin up by the hair.
"I said get the fuck up!" Tony seethed. Kellin screamed at the amount of pain surging through his skull. With his free hand, his right hand, he clutched at Tony's left arm, the one gripping his hair. Then, using no sense of precaution or precision, he swung his left hand up, slashing left and right haphazardly. He was about eye level with Tony and he felt something warm and wet fall against his cheek, he didn't bother stopping, so with that said he continued slicing.
"Agh!" Tony screamed in pain, pushing Kellin back to the bed. Tony crashed back onto the dresser, cutting his hand on the small pieces that lingered. As soon as Tony let Kellin go, he scrambled off of the bed, attempting to keep his mind in pace with his body.
But he couldn't. His mind was moving a million miles a minute and his body seemed to move in slow motion, legs feeling like mush, but stinging with the excess amount of force put into moving his limbs. His breathing was heavy, labored, he was so close. And just as his hand touched the frame of the doorway, he cowered away. The same two men that always stood guard appeared from both sides, angry scowls and snide smirks walked towards him with grabby hands.
He walked backwards until he felt the walls close in around him. Trapped. He was cornered. There was no way out now.
The bell crackled with three harsh hits to it, the cheers increasing in volume and the crowd moving violently. Now was the time.
Vic was pushed out into the center of the arena, the familiar feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was what he needed. His freight was overcome by his anger which quickly doubled as the seconds ticked by.
The two opponents knocked gloves, glaring heavily as the round started. The first swing was taken.
Kellin didn't know what to do, the two guards had taken hold of his arms and willed him to drop the glass. It fell to the floor with a small 'clank'. His eyes widened in fear as Tony regained his composure. His posture was calm, eerily calm. But his eyes, they were almost as red as fury itself. But the anger that flowed from Tony was no where near the amount of blood pouring from his cheek. It slipped down his cheek slowly, smudging when he used his forearm to wipe it way. Then it continued to fall.
Kellin thrashed his body to and fro, at one point being able to fully rip his grip out of one of the mans arms. It wasn't for long, though, because Tony lifted his hand up and cocked it back.
Crack
The impact stung and a various amount of 'ooh's came from the crowd. The blood rushed to his cheek where he had taken the hit, swelling. Vic had gotten hit directly on the cheek and things didn't look good. The man smirked at him before advancing forward. Vic shook off whatever anxiousness he was feeling and brought his guard back up to protect himself.
Kellin's cheeks was bright red. He but into his lip to stop the cry from leaving his lips. Then, he grounded his teeth together until the pain subsided. But it didn't because then he received a blow to the stomach, thoroughly stealing all the wind from his lungs. He gasped for breath and tried to push himself further into the corner, hoping to shrink into it, letting it envelope him whole.
Maybe the ground could just let him sink down into oblivion, so he could never return. But no matter how hard he fought to hold back groans and pleas to stop, he couldn't. No matter how many times he apologized and said he wouldn't do it again, no matter how many times he lied, they wouldn't stop. His attempts were all feeble.
Vic was winded, too. The large man had hit him in the stomach, stealing his air. A deep chuckle resonated from somewhere in the back of the man's throat. There was still a minute and thirty seconds of the first round, but it seemed like Vic wasn't going to be able to make it past the first round.
He circled his opponent, then he took to jabbing his gut so he'd be spent and tired. Vic kept light on his toes but quick with his hands. He successfully managed to hit him a few times, but the lack of height he had on the guy made it slightly harder. The two were both sticky with a sheen of sweat on them, the air in the underground arena seemed to be hot and stuffy.
It seemed that with every hit thrown and received, Kellin got both. He now had a bloody nose, and a cut at the side of his cheek. The cut Tony had received made Kellin's look irrelevant, his was still dripping blood. The gash stung him as he wiped more blood away. The two men holding Kellin dug their fingers into his arms, bruising forming in the shape of fingerprints. "You think," Tony told him before hitting him in the stomach," you can get away with trying to escape from me?" He growled. The amount of pain he felt in his stomach worsened when the two men dropped Kellin to the floor, hands and knees, and Tony kicked him.
He squeezed his eyes shut in pain before clutching his stomach and curling to the floor.
"Vic! Come on man, get you're head in there!" Eddie called out above the crowd. His words barely processed to Vic's mind. There was a numbing sensation, dull and pounding, in his arms, and his nose was bleeding. There was a deep shade ring of purple around his opponents eyes and he had a busted lip. The big guy was tired and breathing heavy. But the match was no where near ending.
"Next time. . . There won't be a next time." He said menacingly. The threat was clear in his voice and his stance. He flickered his eyes overs Kellin's broken body before grimacing in disgust.
"Go clean him, I have a somewhere to get to." He stepped out of the room, leaving a cold chill in his wake and a blearily eyed figure crumpled against the floor.
Jaime's eyes widened while he watched Vic fight. He never knew this was what Vic was doing. It was so violent and filled with such anger that it pained Jaime to watch. These tournaments, these fights, were nothing compared to the arguments they used to have at home. He moved further into the crowd, pushed against a grimy wall and past bodies that stunk and bounded everywhere. His gaze connected with each face individually, flicking to the next face when he made eye contact with someone. He hated it there. It was cramped, had the aura of a dogfight, and smelled of vomit. He had to get out of there.
He passed a man in a black loose fitting tank top who seemed to have just arrived. The man had a bandaged cheek and stood with the sketchy crowd. He observed the way Vic moved and watched as each movement was powered by aggression, fear, and anger. An odd combination of the two but Vic's movements were powered by his fear of anger. Tony continued to observe Vic inconspicuously. Everyone avoided Tony for fear of their lives. No one dared to greet him, people moved out of his way when he wanted to get up close, and no one dared to meet his eyes.
By now, Kellin had a large white bandage around his torso, had showered despite the pain he felt, and held an icepack to his cheek. They were nice enough to remove the bloody sheets and made sure to specifically take out all of the glass in his room. They couldn't risk another accident happening. And they couldn't risk Tony getting angry again. Kellin laid down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. This had become his room. His room. He loathed the idea of this being his because he shouldn't had been there to begin with. But things had to be they way they were and he couldn't change that.
The match came to a quick ending when the man fell to the mixture of blood and sweat that was the floor. His mouth gaped open in pain, clutching his stomach with embarrassment. Some people in the crowd booed while most whooped but there was no smile from Vic. No dazzle in his eyes as he gazed at the crowd. There was only more anger. And that was dangerous. Vic slipped off stage as Eddie brought the suitcase with money to the locker rooms.
Eddie, who was surging with a newfound excitement, spoke eagerly. "I can't believe you won, man. You did great. Albeit, I thought you weren't gonna win but boy did you prove me wrong!" His excitement was short lived when he noticed he was receiving no reaction from Vic. His words of encouragement went by Vic unnoticed and Eddie only then remembered why he had needed that fight. He deflated a bit when he saw Tony enter the room.
The drug lord watched Eddie with careful eyes and manned his two guards to watch the doors. The order was done with the simple nod of his head towards the two dressed in all black.
"Who're you?" Vic was the first to speak. Tony smiled, or at least he tried to smile, it came off as more of a smirk as he advanced his way towards Vic. "Tony, nice to meet you." He formally introduced himself as he held out his hand. Vic flickered his gaze between Eddie, who had suddenly gone silent, and the man's hand. Without a word he turned his back to the man to change. Tony took retracted his hand, anger igniting something inside of him that he held back. "Vic." He told him. Tony nodded stiffly.
He cleared his throat forcefully to get Vic's attention after he slipped his t-shirt on. His brown eyes landed on the man's before him. "I'm having a little get together with a few friends. Powerful friends. Was wondering if you'd be interested in coming?" Tony offered. He looked at Eddie, who had been staring at him, and glared. Eddie turned away immediately, busying himself by entangling his fingers together.
Vic thought about the offer at hand. His mind had completely triggered him into forgetting about where Jaime had gone, and thought nothing of the repercussions that followed. He nodded his head slowly, almost hesitantly, just to ensure hews ant going to regret his decision. Eddie's face paled but Vic refused to meet his gaze.
"Yeah, sure. I'll go." Tony had smiled then. He clapped his hands together, "Great. Let's go." And as the drug lord left the room with his two guards, Vic started following. A hand pulling at his elbow stopped him and he turned to glare harshly at Eddie.
"Vic, don't go." Eddie pleaded him. Vic simply shrugged Eddie's grip off of him before continuing. Then Eddie grabbed Vic by the shoulder and turned him around. "Vic, you shouldn't trust him. Listen to me. That man, he's a very, very, powerful man. But he's also extremely dangerous." Vic stopped Eddie short. "Stop trying to control me just like everyone else, I know my boundaries." Eddie was questioning Vic's boundaries at that moment because the man seemed to have no care for his well being at the time.
Once Vic started walking again, already at the doorway, he stopped to hear Eddie one more time.
"Vic, I don't want to have to say I told you so. Don't go." Vic only ignored him, though, and continued walking despite Eddie's protest. And as he got into the dark limousine with the man he had only just met, he wondered what exactly he was getting himself into.
And what would Kellin think.