sorry for the wait! here's a chapter to makeup for me missing so many days... hope you like it.
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Penny
His chest is rising and falling slowly to the incessant beeping sound of the heart-rate monitor. His skin is so pale it looks almost as if he is already a ghost.
I shift on the uncomfortable metal hospital chair, crossing one leg over the other while keeping my hands clasped on my lap. My eyes pan the room, pausing on all of the flowers and cards that clutter the table standing by the far left wall. Written on them are messages of reassurance and of hope, filled with scribbles of different tacky quotes,
We hope you wake up soon!
Get well soon!
Sending you and your family wishes and prayers.
Along with all of the flowers, cards and half-deflated balloons that hover close to the ceiling, with the words, Get Well Soon printed in big colorful letters. I bet the people who bought those gifts didn't even realize what was written on them before dropping them off to sit in a room for a man currently unconscious in a coma. It's not like he's a child who caught a bad cold, theres no way to know if he's even getting better.
I sigh resting my head on my palm, my eyes drifting away from the balloons down to Connor, back to the steady rising and falling of his chest. His lungs Inflating and deflating—like those balloons hovering above him—from the constant cycle of the oxygen machine pumping his lungs up with air. I try not to notice all of the other wires connected to him, like the ones running up his nose or the ones plugged into his wrists, drawing blood into a bag that's hanging off of the side of the bed. And I definitely try not to notice the tube that disappears underneath the sheets, the tubes that have to help him go to the bathroom.
My chest hurts, my eyes well up with unshed tears and I need to look up at the ceiling to keep them from falling. This isn't what Connor would have wanted for his life. Being in this hospital bed, he's not living, he's not even awake.
The doctors keep telling his parents that there is still a likely chance for him to wake up within the next couple of months. I guess I should be hopeful, follow the mantra of the dozens of fake get well soon cards that litter the tabletop. In a way, I think having people send those to Connor makes his parents feel better like maybe they haven't been forgotten in the big metropolis that is New York City. Especially since his parents are pretty big socialites, the gratitude they feel when all of their famous friends shower their comatose son with tacky flowers, cards and balloons makes them feel important and thought of, kind of inflating their already huge egos.
I guess I'd like that too.
Connor never mentioned his parents much and some part of me wonders if he actually likes them or only deals with them to keep the money flowing into his bank account.
I try not to think about the wealth that my friends have. Most of them are from successful families so I try not to let it get to me that I don't even have any sort of healthy relationship with my mother.
She basically abandoned the idea of being a mother the moment she met my step-father. With his old money and his fancy cars, she was stolen away from me. After we moved from my childhood house into his ginormous mansion, sold my dog and got used to the come and go of being known in town my old life was gone.
And my Dad?
He left along with everything else from my childhood, he was here one day and then after a big fight, he never came back. Sometimes I think about him, but not for long before I make myself sick and return to the present, back to the blooming problems that have bubbled before me.
I look back to Connor, whose face is healing slowly from the brutal cuts and bruises, reminders from that night, to the fears and pains I shed as I watched his body go limp.
I shiver and pull my cardigan tighter around my shoulders.
Wednesday at 3.
I glance at the time on the clock mounted on the hospital wall, a chill running through my bones when it reads 1:30. The time has been getting closer and closer to 3 o'clock.
Would he actually meet me there?
I glance back across the darkroom to Connor, my chest contracting painfully with the thoughts of how exposed and vulnerable we both were that night. How vulnerable my friends had been.
I've been contemplating meeting him since Saturday, my mind whirring about the possibilities of our meeting and what I could gain.
But also about what I could lose.
Mr.Bridger never really leaves my mind, everything that is caused by The Den has the possibility of being linked back to the big man.
But even after I meticulously went over the pros and cons list in my mind, the pros won out each time. Outweighed by the possibilities of learning and finally being strong enough to have my fate resting in the palms of my own hands.
I saw how controlled his movements were when he spun out of my hold, he was fluid and fast and specific. I want to move silently like him, silent and deadly. Because if I have to work for Enzo Bridger as he said, I need to be able to defend myself against the Devil's that slither through the shadows.
With my mind made up I stand, my eyes resting on Connor's immobile body. I breath in a shuddering breath and take steady steps out of the hospital room.
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My hands wrap around the door handle, pushing lightly, it opens up leading into the drafty lobby of the Lowertown gym.
A sweet-looking man sits at the desk, his eyes are narrowed behind his glasses, looking down at the newspaper laid out in front of him. When I close the door softly behind me a little bell rings from the top of the door and the man looks up at me above his glasses. A slow smile spreads across his face and his eyes light up, the creases that were on his forehead moments before disappear as he looks me over. His warm eyes traveling from my face down to the bag I have clutched in both hands.
"You must be her!" He exclaims standing up and walking around the desk towards me.
My cheeks heat up and I blink a few times, "I-uh... I guess so" I go with that.
He moves up to me and stops a few feet away before smiling and motioning down the hall with his arm
I follow him down the hall quietly. Our footsteps echo off the walls, my eyes move to the pictures that line it.
My interest is piqued by one in particular, I stop walking and go towards the image. On it are two people, the man currently walking next to me and him. I stare at it, focusing on the boxing gloves covering his hands and the punching bag that's hanging in front of him. My eyes trail up to his face, which is pinched together in concentration, his dark brows furrowed together and his lips pulled down into a cute pout.
"Isn't he great?" The man asks from next to me.
I look over at him and watch as his eyebrows raise and his eyes squint in a smile.
I hum to myself looking back to the picture, "He boxes here?" I look back at the image, the man standing next to me looks a little younger in it, his face is stern and he seems to be mid yell.
"Oh yeah he's one of our star boxers, been training him for a couple of years now, but he's grown into one of our best." The man grabs the frame and straightens it.
That must be the reason behind his knowledge of the best moves for self-defense. I smile falling into step beside the man, "He does seem pretty talented."
He hums to himself a smile coming to his lips, "Yes Kade is bright, I have no doubt that he'll go far."
Kade
I freeze for a moment and stare dumbfounded at the man who continues to walk down the hallway. It takes me a moment to internalize his name, but when the man stops and looks back at me with one brow raised I simply plaster a coy smile on my lips and catch up to him.
"What's your name? I'm sorry I don't want to be rude"
"Oh, of course, It's Rob Mccoy," His hand darts out.
I smile and shake it, "Penny."
He smiles stopping beside a door, "Well Penny it was nice to meet you, hopefully Kade treats you well in there, let me know if he tries any funny business," Rob winks his head falling back and a hearty laugh rumbles out of his throat.
I smile and walk into the changeroom, pulling out my leggings and light work out shirt.
His name replaying in the back of my mind in a constant loop.
Kade.
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The music hits me as soon as I step out into the small training room. The sun is shining brightly through the large windows illuminating the grey mats that line the floors. I take a few steps into the room and instantly hear a deep smacking sound traveling over the loud music that's blasting through the speakers.
I peer around the wall silently, the breath almost leaves my lungs when I take in Kade. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, sweat sliding down his face and onto his dark stringer shirt. His eyes are narrowed onto the punching bag in front of him, focused on the swift movements of his hands. They glide through the air in a horizontal ark and slam into the deep imprint on the punching bag.
Again and again back and forth I watch mesmerized as his hands move quickly, not pausing for one second before he breathes in deeply and punches harder. The gloves covering his hands make a loud thud as they push the punching bag back some more.
There is no part of me that wants to walk over and interrupt him and to be honest I'm enjoying the view.
Kade's breathing is growing heavy and I can hear the low grunts as he pushes harder, the muscles in his biceps flexing with every movement. From the glare of the light shining down on him, the sweat on his skin glistens and makes his golden skin even brighter.
He screams and slams both fists into the bag at once the rest of his body collapsing into the bag as well. His long arms wrap around the bag for support probably to slow down his racing heartbeat and the adrenaline that must've been pulsing through his veins.
I look around the room and spot a towel draped over a fold-up chair by the door.
Gathering up all of my dwindling confidence I grab the towel and pad towards Kade.
He's hunched over with his arms holding onto his knees for support, his head falling forward.
He stiffens when the song ends and my steps become louder in the silent the room. I stand still when he looks up, dark strands of his hair are pasted against the sides of his face out of the way of his dark intriguing eyes that study me.
I swallow and extend my hand holding out the towel towards him.
His eyes leave mine momentarily and snag onto my extended hand and the towel I'm holding out to him, then they continue past the towel down my legs stopping at my running shoes.
Kade stands fully a small smile playing on his lips, he steps forwards accepting the towel from me. He brings it up to wipe away the sweat from how brow, my eyes trail his movement and I let myself admire his soft strokes.
His eyes meet mine again and he raises an eyebrow. "Bright purple running shoes?" He asks humor lacing each word.
I can hear the laugh trembling in his voice.
I look down at my shoes and shuffle them against the mat, I keep my eyes trained on them not wanting to look back up at him because I can feel the slow blush rising to my cheeks.
But when I do look up just as I expected his gaze is locked onto me a soft expression gracing his usually stoic face.
I look down trying to think of a comeback when I notice he isn't wearing any shoes and a laugh bubbles out of my chest and up my throat.
"Where are your shoes?" I laugh.
His eyes widen and he looks down at his own feet.
"Hey never knock it until you try it, I gain more traction without wearing shoes, they slide around too much on the mats," He explains calmly.
I sniffle and wipe the tears out of my eyes, "I never thought I would see you without shoes, mr. oh so confident."
"And I never thought I would see you wearing bright purple sneakers, looking like you're about to join a hot yoga class," He counters, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"What--hot Yoga? I've never done that in my life!" I cross my arms over my chest taking a step up to him, his height obviously towering over me.
He smirks down at me his eyes twinkling, "Hmm, every girl like you does hot yoga classes in this city it's the new trend, isn't it?" He air quotes the words.
"Every girl like me huh?" I step even closer, "and what kind of girl am I exactly?" I say quietly watching his pupils dilate as he stares down at me his eyes flicking down to my lips.
His hand snakes around my waist and the friction of the palm of his hand against the exposed skin of my waist raises goosebumps across my skin.
I hadn't even noticed that he took off his boxing gloves.
The flat palm of my hand connects with his firm chest as he presses me in closer to him so that there is now only a hairsbreadth of an inch separating us. His head lowers and I close my eyes when I feel his hot breath against my cheek, the familiar sensation tingles against my cheek igniting the flames underneath my skin.
"The kind of girl who needs to learn to fight back and not find herself in these kinds of situations constantly." He whispers against my ear.
The air is knocked out of my chest and I am lifted off of the ground, his grip on my sides is tight as he spins me around in the air. My hands go to grip his shoulders and I can feel the wind blowing past my cheeks as I fly towards the ground. He pushes me against the soft mats, his arms holding me down by my shoulders.
I open my eyes and catch my breath, hissing when I see the teasing smirk settled on his perfect face.
"I do not get myself in these situations constantly, " I groan under his grasp, wiggling my hips and legs trying to get free. "It seems only with you." I whisper faintly.
His smile only deepens and he extends one calf to rest over both of mine, pinning them to the floor so that I can't move an inch.
"First thing you need to learn, remember never to leave yourself so exposed when talking to these men. They aren't like me and won't hesitate before grabbing you."
"Oh, so you hesitated?" I say, sarcasm dripping off of my words.
He gives me a look and rolls his eyes, "Yes and they wouldn't have, I've met some of these men, and let's just say they don't just want to talk. They take what they want and don't say sorry." His expression hardens his eyebrows furrowing slightly.
"So what's next? are you going to teach me to punch some people?" I say, my voice rising in excitement.
"Don't you want to know my name first?"
I shake my head and try to rise out of his grasp, but he only pushes down on my shoulders harder. In response, I bend my arms and wrap my slim fingers around his wrists, my pinky resting against the skin just below his tattoo. My eyes flicker to his arm and the ink that swirls against his deep gold skin, I can slightly make out the dark swirls and the faint words that line the ink, the cursive font connecting each word together, as if you were to say them all in one breath.
Love, Hate, Vengeance, Pain, Despair...
Before I can read the rest, his hands leave my shoulders and appear at my waist, his fingers trailing over my skin before he starts to poke and jab at the sides of my waist. With every taunting flutter of his fingers against my skin, those words inked into his skin drift from my mind as his tickling takes over my senses and soon enough I start to laugh and giggle like a maniac exploding on the floor with limbs flying in every direction. I wriggled against his touch my body squirming on my mats like a worm.
After a few more seconds I'm screaming out, "Stop Kade I know it, I know it!" I scream out hysterically between laughs.
He stops, his fingers are ghosts against my skin. I open my eyes to meet his stare.
"How?"
I sit up and scoot away from him to put a healthy amount of space between us before responding, "He told me, Rob Mccoy, he told me when we were walking in and I didn't want to say anything."
He lets out a breath, his eyes fluttering closed only for a second, "That's all he told you?" Kade asks, his voice breathless.
I nod slowly watching as he breathes out a sigh of relief and slumps back onto the mat, using his hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. His eyes train back on me and he stands clapping his hands together.
"Okay then, Let's begin!"
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"You're walking like a ballerina," he stops me, I look over to him as he begins to mimic exactly how he thinks I'm walking. I laugh when he begins to try and stand on his tippy toes and takes a few dainty steps forwards before stumbling, "See? Your steps are too light and you're stepping up onto your toes. It's making you unbalanced. Here. make sure to keep your feet flat on the ground and push your heels into the mats instead."
He explains coming to my side and using his hands to position my feet. He brings one hand around my calf and redirects my leg so that my dominant leg is positioned in front of the left one. He grips onto the heel of my shoe and spins my heel so that my toes are pointed out away from each other.
I narrow my eyes at him when he stands back up. His eyes are still admiring the work he did on my stance. I interrupt his admiration, "I am a ballerina." I say a slight smirk ghosting my lips.
His stern expression softens and his eyes twinkle, he looks me over once and cocks a brow, "no wonder you're so light on your toes, you might need to show me some moves later little dancer," he smiles, a small dimple appears on his left cheek.
I ignore his comment even though his words send tingles down to my toes. I hum in response and pretend to be focused on my footing on the mat. I concentrate on keeping my feet flat, and ground my heels into the mat as I swing. When I push my foot into the mat and swing my fist into the punching bag my foot slips backward and I lose my balance falling straight back onto my ass.
He laughs deeply, "That's exactly what you shouldn't do when trying to fight someone off."
I groan massaging my butt, "yeah, thanks."
"Hey, maybe it would be better to take off your shoes? Like I said, traction," He says.
A few moments later my shoes are discarded to the side and I am back on my bare feet in front of him. His eyes—like always—are trained on me.
I focus on my arms and not on his penetrating stare, I shake it off and bring my arm back closing my eyes and slamming my hand into the bag copying what I saw him do before.
"Ow," I say, pulling my arm back from the bag. I flip my hand over to examine my knuckles which are beginning to turn red from the continuous hitting, but not only that my arm is pinching uncomfortably every time I hit my fist into the bag.
A shiver goes down my spine as his warm breath fans the back of my neck, I didn't even notice he moved let alone is now standing behind me. I stand as still as a statue, my pulse racing against my skin, my heart is beating so fast that he can definitely hear it thumping out of my chest.
His hand appears beside my arm, he grabs both of my wrists, I can feel his body barely inches away from mine as he steps even closer. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge when he guides a scarred hand up my forearm, his one finger drawing a circle along the outer part of my elbow.
"Here," He trails his finger along my elbow, "This is where you direct your aim, the sharpest part of your arm, if you hit someone in the gut you direct it from there with your elbow and they'll go down a lot faster," He finishes, guiding my arm in an upward swing so that my elbow is directed into the dummies torso.
His finger trails back down my arm towards my hand which is squeezed shut, he wraps his hand around my own, turning it around in his palm. His fingers ghost over the red splotches on my knuckles, one finger presses against my thumb, "here, you need to keep your thumb on the outside of your fist, never have your thumb inside or you'll break it. Also twist you first so that you're hitting directly with the top of your hand facing the ceiling, not the wall."
My eyes are consciously focused on where his hands are glued on mine I'm not focusing on my movements or the way that he swings my arm. My focus snags at the scars on his hands, the skin that has burned and healed, it is thicker in some areas slowly blending back into the normal color and texture of his skin and I have an urge to run my fingers along every painful burn to steal away the memories that must be attached to each scar.
I focus back on his grip on my wrist as he spins it to the specific way I should be positioning my hand, and as he continues to explain all I can think about is the tightness of his grip on my wrists.
"Now try it on me," He says simply, letting go of my hand.
"Wha-what?" I splutter, my eyes going wide.
He twists me around to face him, his eyes are dark and his cheeks are slightly flushed. I swallow and look down at my arms trying to remember what he was showing me only moments before.
He cocks a dark brow, his lips pulling up into a smirk.
I place my hands on my hips, "Alright alright I'll try." I huff.
Squaring my stance, making sure my feet are spaced out equally with my shoulders like he showed me, I look up into his eyes with determination. His smirk quickly disappears when I let out my battle cry and take a few steps towards him, aiming my elbow up and directing it towards his middle as he had shown me.
I push all of my strength through my dominant leg and plant my foot on the mat, stepping up onto my tippy toes I drive my elbow into his stomach. Hard.
It hits its target and Kade lets out a grunt at the impact but stays standing, not swaying once.
I glance up at him, trying to analyze his facial expressions. But look back down at my arm when he wraps a hand around my elbow and guides it up slightly to where I actually should have hit for the most impact.
"Here," He mumbles, pressing my fist deeper into the soft pit of his stomach.
I nod stepping away back to where I started, "Again."
He smiles and nods cracking his knuckles against his palm and squaring up. His eyes narrow slyly and his smile deepens revealing a dimple on his left cheek. My heart flutters at the pure happiness on his face.
He brings his hands up and bends his fingers motioning me forwards, "Bring it on angel."
I smirk and cry out running towards him full speed, picking up the pace and like last time stepping onto my dominant leg before swinging my elbow up full force into the exact spot he told me to.
I watch his face this time, knowing I hit my mark, It pinches together in momentary pain, his eyes moving up from my hand to meet my gaze. He smiles and winks before falling backward.
I'm about to yell out in triumph when a strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls me down onto the soft matted floors.
He hits the floor first, with me falling afterward into his warm chest, the side of my cheek is smushed against his chest that rises and falls, the thumping of his heart reverberates through my face.
I open my eyes to find him looking down at me curiously.
I groan and slam my fist into his ribs before pushing away from him and onto my knees. I feel the heat warming my cheeks from his constant eye contact with me.
I nibble on my lower lip self-consciously but stop when I feel his eyes concentrating on them.
"I did it!" I shout standing up quickly brushing the dust off of my leggings.
He smirks pushing up onto his knees, "You did, and it hurt..." He pauses for effect rubbing his stomach and lurching over, groaning.
"Oh shut up, it did not," I smile to myself and rub my elbow.
"I'm proud." He says, moving back up.
"Oh.. thanks, you taught me everything I know" I laugh.
Kade rolls his eyes, but smiles cheekily, "I sure did little dancer."
A/N
Hey... Hey... How y'all doin'... *waves awkwardly*
AHhGHHH sorry, I was gone for so long. I missed writing these characters but I was super busy with finals. (Cries into the void)
But now that I'm done I can finally get chapters our (hopefully) two times a week again. I hope you guys are still around, the new chapters will start to get interesting.
Okay okay bye, don't hate me. I love you guys. xx
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