"See anyone you like?" Zack asks.
I take another look around the bar, my eyes scoping out today's crowd. I think I'm off my game or some shit because I genuinely don't see anyone I want to fuck.
"No," I take a sip of my beer and set it on the table again.
Zack leans back against his side of the booth. "What the hell is up with you? You've been weird lately."
"No, I haven't."
"Yeah, you have. All month."
I choose not to answer that but he's right. This really hasn't been my month. It's fucked me over from all angles and positions.
It started early October when Mom's health took one fuck of a hit. She'd been in so much pain that she had to be admitted to the hospital and she was there an entire week, hopped up on medications. She was so out of it she was barely able to talk to anyone. Mostly she just slept. Dad let me ditch school for that weak and I was grateful because I would have raised hell otherwise. I didn't say a word to him the whole time I was home but I considered it progress. At least we weren't fucking screaming at each other for once. Even silence is better than that.
But it was an exhausting week and as much as I hate to admit, by the end of it I wanted out. I wanted to go back to campus because there was so much grief and sadness it felt like I was drowning. Landon looked miserable the day I headed back to Boston U. He had some relief when I was there to watch over the house and do the chores and shit. He caught up on his sleep and his school work. I felt bad as fuck for him but grateful for myself when it was time to return to campus.
I thought I'd get some relief being back here but as soon as I stepped into my dorm I wanted to go home again. Being at school felt wrong all over again and it only frustrated me because I didn't know what I wanted anymore. I'm miserable when I'm home, I'm guilty when I'm here. I just can't fucking win. There's no answer and nothing is more frustrating than not having an answer. I can't fix what I'm feeling. I can't fix Mom's health. I can't fix my family. I have no control in my life anymore. Maybe that's why I haven't fucked anyone all month. It's the one thing in my life that's actually in my control and if I have sex then I'll lose that too. How goddamn pathetic is my life?
This month has been a fucking blur at best. I'm failing all my classes. Today with Zack is the most I've spoken to him all month. I haven't spoken to Olivia at all. She sees me around but I think even she knows I'm not up for fights. We have an unspoken agreement to push pause on our game. There's nothing fun about it right now. I feel nothing. I'm just so fucking numb and tired, all the fucking time.
"Shit is going to be okay," Zack finally offers when I don't say anything.
I stare into my glass, watching my reflection in the alcohol. "You don't know that. Don't give me fake answers just because we can't find real ones. It doesn't fucking help."
"Look, I don't know what else to say."
"Nothing," I drag a hand down my face. "You say nothing because that's the answer. Nothing can be done. Nothing can be fixed. Nothing is going to help. Fucking nothing."
I kick the bottom of my seat in frustration but it doesn't do anything for me. The urge to break something is overwhelming. As if Zack senses that he reaches across the table to grab my glass and drags it away, out of my reach.
"We should hit up one of our dads' gyms," He offers.
After Fighter's Den got famous for producing talented boxers, my father and uncles took it upon themselves to market it. Each of them opened up their own Fighter's Den location with the money they made from fighting and they each coach their own gyms. It's how our families still make millions. The five FD locations groom aspiring boxers, promote and sponsor famous fighters, sell merch, all kinds of shit. At this point there's almost no such thing as being a boxer that doesn't come from Fighter's Den. We own the boxing industry.
"That's a decent idea," I relent. "But not my dad's gym. I don't want to see him."
"There's no way he's there at this time."
"Still. I'm not in the fucking mood."
"Fine. We'll go to Uncle Cam's gym."
"Double fucking no," I scowl. "You know he hates me because of Olivia. I want to whoop ass, not have my ass whooped."
"Jesus," He rolls his eyes. "Fine. My dad's gym then."
"Fine," I agree and drop a bill to cover our drinks. "But you're driving. You didn't drink, right?"
"Sober," He confirms, pointing to his untouched glass.
We head out and I toss Zack my keys. He catches them mid-air, heading to the driver's side. The drive isn't too far because all the Fighter's Den locations are in the Massachusetts area. Uncle Nate's gym is in Cambridge so it takes us fifteen minutes tops to get there. We park in the deserted parking lot and head for the building. Zack opens it up with his keys, nodding at Sebastian, Uncle Nate's head of security for two decades now. He's also married to Uncle Nate's sister, Lexie, so he's family too.
"Ye look drunk, lad," He tells me, his thick Scottish accent poking out.
"It's a drink I call misery," I deadpan.
He doesn't get offended or provoked. Sebastian is cool as fuck. He's a stone cold motherfucker and I admire that. He actually nods his head. "Aye. Can't say I blame ya."
I manage to crack a smirk. Finally, someone who isn't sugarcoating or pretending that this isn't happening to me.
He tips his head to give us the go ahead and Zack and I step inside. The place is empty, which is just what I hoped for. It's huge as fuck considering it tends to almost a hundred students a day so Zack and I can blow off some killer steam if it's just us.
"Want to spar or do you want to do your own thing?" He asks and heads for the locker room. I'm close behind.
"Let me do my own thing and then we'll spar. I might kill you otherwise."
"You wish, Cage."
We're both good at boxing. That's just a given. But our fathers never pushed us to follow in their footsteps and become professionals at the sport. I know a lot of their fans expected their kids to continue their legacy but the truth is, most of us are immune to the hype of boxing. We've been surrounded by it all our lives. Our fathers trained all of us but never pushed us to make it full time or go pro. The only one of us that are actually passionate about going pro are Ethan and Evan, Uncle Asher's twins. They're beasts at the sports at just fifteen years old and we all know they're going to go far. The rest of us aren't really interested. Zack and I just like it to work out.
The girls in the family aren't into it either except maybe Reese, Uncle Wolfe's eldest daughter. From his three girls she's the tomboy and is always training with Ethan and Evan. She's only thirteen but she seems serious about it.
When Zack and I finish changing into our workout clothes we head back outside. I go straight for the punching bag, kicking that motherfucker without a second thought. Boxing is hardcore but it doesn't satisfy me the way MMA does. I can't restrict my movements to just my fists. I need to use every part of my body to really blow off steam. Dad picked that up from the first day I stepped inside a gym to train with him. He taught me MMA inside and out and I have to admit I'm pretty fucking killer at it.
The reminder of that simple time when him and I were actually best friends hits harder than I expect it to. It's bad enough I'm losing my mom but it feels like I'm losing Dad too. It's not even about our stupid fucking fight about him making me go to school. I get it now. Things have just been so fucked up between us neither of us know how to go back to how it used to be. Every time we try to talk we burst into more fights and arguments. Our relationship is so goddamn fragile that the slightest disagreement ends up in a huge fight and ruins our relationship more than it already is. It seems beyond fucking repair now. We forgot how to talk to each other. We don't understand each other anymore. We're strangers. Fuck me if I don't feel my throat lock up.
How can I hate him and miss him at the same time? I miss him so fucking much. I need him and he's nowhere to be found. I kick the punching bag again when I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. Motherfucker.
I'm going at it before I can even make sense of what I'm doing. I hit the bag with jab after jab, hook and cross, roundhouse kicks, throwing my entire body into each hit until I can't feel my limbs anymore. I hit the bag so hard that my skin is burning and pinked up from the friction of the leather on my skin. My muscles are screaming in pain now that they're overworked and overused. But I welcome it.
I welcome the bodily pain because it's so much easier to tolerate than the pain inside of me. The pain inside of my head. I can't heal or fix that pain. There isn't a remedy. I have to live with that pain every waking minute of my life. It's like I'm trying to outrun myself but I can't because I'm trapped in my own body, surrounded by my own demons. Everyday I'm suffocating and screaming for help but nobody sees me. Nobody cares. I only have myself.
"Fuck!" I punch the bag one final time and my knees give out on me. I sink the floor and lie down on my back, breathing hard and trying to get my pulse under control. I can feel every inch of my body pulsing in exhaustion but at least it distracts me from everything else in my life, if just for a moment. But moments never fucking last, do they? Like everything else in life, they reach an end. My moment of peace is gone and the second I close my eyes I see Mom. The image of her in the hospital and silently crying in her sleep because she's hurting so bad hits me square in the chest.
Nausea bursts through me and I bolt upright, staggering to my feet and making a run for it. I head for the locker rooms and barely make it to the stall in time to throw up in the toilet, all the alcohol leaving my system in a flurry. My throat burns from the acidity and my eyes water. I heave so hard my stomach clenches painfully and it makes me want to hold back the vomit but I know that'll only make me feel shittier. I stuff two fingers in my mouth and poke at the back of my throat until the remainder of the contents of my stomach flood out of me. I cough and sputter through it all, panting hard and wiping the sweat out of my eyes. Jesus fuck. I lean back against the stall, my head falling back. It fucking stinks in here and makes me even more nauseous but I can't move. I'm so goddamn tired. I don't want to feel anything anymore.
I'm aware of the hot tears slipping down my face but I ignore them, pretend like I'm not losing my shit right now. I already feel like a fucking failure. I don't want to be a pussy on top of that. Shouldn't I be stronger than this? Why am I falling apart and making a mess of everything? Why don't I have what it takes? And if I don't have what it takes then why the fuck is this happening to me in the first place?
"Damn it all to hell," I kick the stall door open and reluctantly get to my feet. I feel like I'm made of fucking jello as I drag myself to the sink and wash myself up. Thank fuck the bathrooms are fully equipped. I grab a one-use toothbrush and squirt some toothpaste on, brushing the hell out of my teeth and tongue to get the disgusting aftertaste gone. I don't want to remember this happened to me for another fucking second.
I still feel repulsive so I drag my ass to the showers, stripping off my clothes and tossing them in the trash can. They have puke all over them and I'm not interested in cleaning them up. I turn the water on to maximum heat and scrub myself until my skin is nearly red. I just want to get this feeling off — the feeling of exhaustion, failure, and so much fucking sadness. I'm tired of being so goddamn sad and hiding it in plain sight. When I'm convinced I've officially scraped off all of my skin cells, I lean against the divider and let the hot water run all over me. For a brief moment I find myself wishing the water would rise to the top and drown me so I can finally find escape. It's a fucked up thought and I curse as soon as it passes through my head. What's happening to me?
The door to the locker room opens, reminding me that the real world is still out there and that I can't hide forever. I'm pretty sure I managed to kill an hour's worth of time in here.
"Almost done," I call out to Zack.
"Lucas?"
I freeze. That wasn't Zack. It's Olivia. What the hell is she doing here?
"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask and my gaze immediately lands on her. The divider comes up to my pelvis so it manages to hide all the goods but Olivia's eyes still fall down like she might see something. Any other time I'd give her shit for that and probably never let it go but I don't have it in me right now. "Olivia."
Her eyes snap back up and she frowns, sitting on the wooden bench in the middle of the locker room and facing me. She grabs the edge with her hands, getting comfortable. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I answer and give her my back. "Go home."
"Not unless you tell me what's wrong."
"Are you shitting me?" I bark out a laugh and face her again. "I don't know, Olivia. How about 'my mom is dying and I wish it was me instead'? Does that work for you? And why the fuck do you even care?"
"Because I'm not heartless," She snaps back. "We might not be friends but that doesn't mean I'm going to cheer when you get knocked down."
"You should."
"Why?"
"Because I would do it if I was in your position. Don't get soft on me. It's a bad idea."
"Why do you have to be this way?" She shakes her head tiredly. "Just once, let your guard down."
"I did," I say through clenched teeth and grip the edge of the divider. "I did and I got fucked over. And then when I needed you, you went and did the same."
"How did I fuck you over?" She asks incredulously. "You were the one that abandoned me when I needed you that night."
"Because you abandoned me first."
"Because you wouldn't talk to me!" She stands up and I know the last of her patience is gone. "Do you even know how that felt? I thought I finally had you when you kissed me and then you went and ignored me the whole night. You disrespected me and humiliated me and I don't understand what I did to make you switch up so fast. And then I—"
When she clamps her mouth shut I find myself growing serious. We've never talked about that day and pride has stopped me from asking too many times. But today, I don't have the energy to play dumb. "You what? You went and hooked up with someone else just because I was ignoring you, right? Don't say that kiss meant something to you when it didn't."
"That's not what happened," She whispers. "You never even gave me a chance to explain. You're supposed to believe your best friend, not what others say about her. Fuck you, Lucas."
"Glad I never got the chance," I sneer and turn around again. I shut the shower off and shake my hair out to dry it off. I step past the divider and head for my gym bag for a change of clothes. I'm buck-ass naked but I could give a fuck. I cast Olivia a side-glance and my mouth curls when I find her eyes on my cock. "Oh, so you were asking me then? To fuck you?"
"You're an asshole," She seethes and quickly turns away. She sits down again with her back to me, avoiding looking at me altogether. "Look, you need to know what's happening. My parents are hosting thanksgiving this year and I overheard my mom telling yours that you're not allowed to get out of it. Aunt Em is going to play the cancer card, just so you know. So you need to be good."
Fuck is she, my mother? I'm irritated that she thinks she can tell me what I can and can't do. I throw my clothes back in the bag and stalk over to her until I'm standing right in front of her. She sucks in an audible breath at the sight of me and quickly looks away again, trying not to stare.
"There's no such thing as me being good," I start in a low voice. I grab her chin and force her face back towards me. She keeps her eyes trained on mine but I know she feels the heat of my cock inches away from her mouth. I can already feel it hardening. "I won't ever be good to you. But I can be bad. I could do very, very bad things to you, Olivia."
"To hurt me," She finishes. My fingers tighten around her chin.
"To mark you," I correct. "Because whether I give you pleasure or pain, you're mine to give them to."
"Who says I'd let you give me either?" She whispers defiantly. But I know better. I can feel her pulse racing under my fingers.
"You already have," My mouth curls as I lazily drag my fingers down her neck and between her tits. I eye the two stiff peaks through her shirt. "You allow me to hurt you. You allow me to touch you."
"I hate you," She says it like she's trying to convince herself. I nod.
"Good. But sometimes hating something makes you want it more. We both know what that's like don't we, firecracker?"
"Stop calling me that," She smacks my hands away and stands up abruptly, breathing hard. "You don't get to call me that anymore. We're not friends."
"Then why are you here?" I lean down, getting in her face. I can't help what I'm doing even though I want to stop. This day has been a shit show and now Olivia is here and I'm feeling all these things I don't want to feel. So I push and I hurt because that's me. "Why are you here when I didn't ask you to be? Why are you pretending to care about me?"
"Pretend? Not everything is a fucking game."
"But we are and that's all we'll ever be."
"Oh yeah?" She laughs, crossing her arms. "Then why do you call me yours? Why can't you keep your hands off me?"
"Because you're mine to play with, Olivia. Play. Not keep. When you play a game and win, it's over. I might want you for the sake of the game but don't ever think I'd actually keep you around."
As soon as the words leave my mouth, there's a sting on my cheek and my head is snapped to the side. She slapped me. She just fucking slapped me. My jaw ticks and I slowly bring it back to face her. My eyes clash with hers. The grey irises look like a storm. I've never seen her so livid.
"Let me clear something up Lucas," Her voice is deadly calm. "You're the one that doesn't get kept around. You're the one people leave. And it's because that's what you want, isn't it? But that's you, not me. People keep me. People respect me. People deserve me but you don't and you never did. So you act like a dick because me hating you is the only way you can have me and you know it. Don't act like I'm the one that needs you when you're the one who needs me."
She grabs her purse and storms off. Just before she opens the door, she looks over her shoulder and levels me with one final look.
"And before I forget, I'm bringing Beck to thanksgiving. So trust me, I'm not fucking yours."
The door slams shut behind her and I'm left staring at it with a heaving chest and clenched jaw. Not only did she have the last word, but she made me eat mine. Game fucking on.
__________________________
A/N
Luc baby what is you doingggggggg? Didn't I say he was an asshat guys? This is why I gave a ton of warning but I'm making him this way for a REASON. Sometimes you have to break apart and break everything around you to build yourself back and truly understand how to change. So just be patient.
And don't forget the beginning of the chapter. He's in lots of pain (which ofc doesn't excuse his behaviour but his pain is making him something he's not)!
Please don't forget to follow my Instagram! My IG followers received the news that Greg's novella is now releasing on August 8th and the whole thing will be uploaded at once! The synopsis is coming this week and is exclusive to IG ONLY. There will also be a contest where you can win the chance to be emailed the first chapter of the novella so don't miss out! IG is a ton more fun than wattpad. Follow me @authoramberisabelle!
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