He climbs into the backseat of a taxi on the night of October twenty-sixth, his hands wrapped in bandages and his right eye swollen. There's a bit of dried blood on his cheeks, and he's sniffling to prevent any oncoming nosebleeds. He holds his hand up to the tip of his nose and keeps it there, his gaze casted downward instead of out the window. "What'd you do?" The taxi driver speaks up, and he doesn't budge at all. He blinks but he takes in a sharp inhale. "I do some shit for a living that you shouldn't be asking about. Just take me to where I told you, okay?" And with that, he leans back and his eyes begin to swell with tears. He was fighting like he was some type of fucking pro, being the cockiest bitch out there as he broke jaws and made people bleed just because he was bleeding himself, but he probably wouldn't like himself when he looks in the mirror tomorrow morning. Yeah, he's a boxer. But it isn't like he doesn't ever regret hurting the people he fights. 

  • 1st person recommended.
  • JoinedFebruary 21, 2017

Last Message
lonelystarboy lonelystarboy Feb 26, 2017 04:08AM
Answers will be sent out in the morning.
View all Conversations