by Beck, J. L.
Between Jackson’s anger and Tylor’s presence, I’m in my own personal hell.
With one final shove, he releases me, and I slump back against the wall. I’m broken, a wound pulsing with blood, and soon I’ll bleed out. Rearing his arm back, he swings it at me like he’s going to punch me. The air swishes past my face, and I close my eyes and wait for the pain, but it never comes.
I feel the impact of his fist against the wall, and when I pry my eyes open, I find him standing in front of me, blood dripping down his clenched fist. He’s looking straight at me with nothing but unbridled hate and betrayal in his eyes. Everything we shared these last few days, every happy moment, every kiss, and every touch has been erased from his mind. In an instant, I’ve become nothing to him.
For every step we took forward, we just took twice as many back.
“I hate you, and I regret ever meeting you. I regret touching you. I regret everything between us,” he spits the words at me before turning around and walking away. Tylor stands there for another second, a wide smile spread across his face. I don’t even have to ask because I already know that he did this. He told Jackson a lie, and of course, he believed his friend over me. He didn’t even consider that Tylor was lying. He is convinced that I did whatever it is Tylor told him about me.
“Catch you later, baby,” he says, low enough so Jackson won’t hear before he too, turns around and walks away.
Left in the alleyway all alone, I have a hard time staying on my feet. My knees threaten to give out. All the wounds that were healing, have been ripped wide open. I feel so broken, shattered into a million tiny pieces that no glue in the world can put back together.
I thought I could heal, thought I could get better, but now I know that it was all an illusion. There is no redemption for me. I killed my best friend, and now I’m being punished. Forever punished, and I guess that’s what I deserve.
Shut it off. My brain screams as the sadness threatens to consume me.
When I can finally make my legs work again, I use that energy to take myself home. I’m so tired, so exhausted by simply trying to live.
I walk through my door, barely remembering the way to my apartment. My mind and my body feel disconnected somehow. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to do this. Fight to live, struggle to breathe.
I just want silence, peace…
On autopilot, I walk into my bathroom and strip out of my pants, remembering his words… “Cut yourself a little deeper next time.”
With shaking hands, I open the medicine cabinet and find the razor blades in their usual spot. Maybe part of me expected this to happen since I never threw them out. I guess my subconscious knew that my healing was only temporary.
I step into the bathtub and sit down. This will be easier to clean up, I think to myself as I look down at my thighs. It’s been a long time since I had a healing scab. Not having cut myself in days has left me without any fresh wounds. I take my legs in one last time, knowing that I’ll probably never see them like this again.
My heart pounds against my ribcage as I find a smooth spot on my thigh and bring the blade to my skin. With one flick of my wrist, the sharp razor slices through my skin like a hot knife through butter.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the edge of the tub. The cut burns, but my mind relaxes, a calm washing over me in an instant. The constriction on my chest eases, and I feel like I can breathe a little better now. Everything vanishes from my mind, leaving nothing but momentary silence behind. I invite the peacefulness in, trying to hold on to it as long as I can, but like everything else in my pathetic life, it slips from my fingers.
Guilt, sadness, and hopelessness return to me all too soon.
He despises me.
He hates me while I can’t stop loving him.
Does he know I love him?
He probably wouldn’t care either way. His face enters my mind, and I can’t shake how he looked at me with so much disgust and hate.
He doesn’t love me, and he wouldn’t care if I died. No one would care if I wasn’t here. Not him, not my parents… no one.
No one would care.
Finding another spot, I make another cut. Slicing so deep, that blood trickles down both sides of my thigh. Another wave of serenity washes over me, drowning my mind into silence. My eyes roll back, and my head lulls to the side. I feel sated, calm, and satisfied, but I know the feeling won’t last long. I want it to last forever. Each slice is like another hit, another pulse-pounding euphoria.
With my eyes shut and my head leaning back, I bring the blade back to my skin without looking or thinking, slicing again before the bad thoughts and feelings can return. I don’t want to let those demons back in, it’s too much to take.
I can’t do this anymore.
I continue cutting myself, never even opening my eyes to see what I’m doing. I just keep cutting, banishing everything ugly away and welcoming the peace and quiet I desperately long for. I slice and slice until the blade slips from my fingers, and my hands slide off my leg.
I try to move, try to find the blade, but my fingers won’t listen to my commands. My limbs feel impossibly heavy, my mind drowsy like my head is underwater. Trying to open my eyes, I can’t. They’re weighed down with cinder blocks. Movements are impossible.
My body is useless, just like my existence.
No one wants me.
No one needs me.
Everybody will be better off when I’m gone.
That’s the last thing I think of before my mind slips into the darkness with open arms.
90
Jackson
Walking into the pit, I feel nothing. Not a damn thing. I’m so far from gone when it comes to my emotions, I might as well be in another universe. Blocking out everyone around me, I don’t hear the chants or feel the thundering beneath my feet. I bounce on my heels, cracking my neck and stare off into space, waiting for Franco to announce the fighter.
Tylor is standing just outside the pit with Talon. They’re whispering to each other, and I’m getting more agitated as the seconds pass.
“Where the fuck is this guy, Franco?” I snarl.
“I don’t know,” he replies without looking away from his phone. “If he’s a no-show, then we’re fucking screwed. Bets have already been placed, and everyone is already here. I’ll look like a joke if I don’t find someone to replace him within the next five minutes.” Sheer panic shadows his features.
“You’ll also be dead because if I don’t have someone to fight, I’m taking out your ass.” Franco looks away and starts typing out something on his phone.
Talon and Tylor jump down into the pit. Talon turns to me first. “What’s going on?”
“Franco’s guy is a no-show, and I have no one to beat the fuck out of. Who the fuck is this guy, not showing up for a ten-grand paycheck?”
I need someone, anyone, because if I don’t get this fire out of my veins. If I don’t drain the anger from my body, I won’t be able to stop myself from going to her. From truly hurting her in the same way she hurt me.
My muscles tighten with tension that needs to be released.
“Ten-grand?” Ty asks, rubbing his chin. “I wouldn’t mind that kind of paycheck.”
“Depending on what bets are made, even more. Jackson made twenty-five grand the last time he fought,” Talon explains.
“I’ll fight you, dude,” Tylor interjects, shocking the hell out of me.
“You’ll fight me?” I almost laugh. “You’re joking, right?”
It has to be the money talking.
Tylor’s features become serious. “No. I’ve been working out a lot more, and I know you need someone to fight, so let’s do this.” Pulling his shirt off, he starts stretching his arms. I glance at Talon, who looks just as surprised as I feel.
“Dude, I’m not going to take it easy on you because you’re my friend. Inside the pit, you’ll be nothing more than my opponent for the night.”
“
Are you scared I’ll beat your ass in there and embarrass you in front of all your new friends?” Ty asks, confidence dripping from his voice.
Does he really think he stands a chance against me?
If I wasn’t so hell-bent on fighting, I might care that I’m about to smash one of my best friends’ faces in, but I don’t. If he thinks he can take me, then I’ll gladly show him otherwise.
“Let Franco know that Tylor is going to step in,” I tell Talon.
He nods and walks away to find Franco while I push everything to the back of my mind again. I let Talon wrap my hands and watch him do the same for Ty. Since he doesn’t have a mouth guard, I don’t put mine in either. Doubt I’ll need it anyway.
A few minutes later, Franco’s voice fills the warehouse.
“We had a no-show, but no fear, we’ve found a replacement.” The crowd erupts around us, and Tylor shakes his limbs out, looking at me a little too gleefully.
Doesn’t he realize that I’m out here to win? This isn’t a pissing contest.
We both enter the pit, and I breathe deeply, shutting down all my thoughts, telling myself that the guy in front of me isn’t my friend. He is the enemy and nothing more.
Franco talks some more, and there is another loud eruption from the crowd, but I hear nothing. Silence settles in my head. I’m focused, determined, and ready.
“I’ll take it easy on you,” Ty says, grinning, bouncing around in front of me. Franco rings the fight bell, and the world fades away from me.
I take one small step toward Ty while he takes two large ones toward me, fists raised, ready to fight. His inexperience comes through right away as he takes a wide swing, giving me plenty of time to duck down and jab him in the ribs instead.
He doubles over and stumbles back, looking at me like he didn’t expect me to hit him. What did he think this was? High School wrestling?
His cockiness is quickly replaced by his anger. Charging for me, he swings again, a little bit better than the first time, but still nothing I didn’t see coming. I easily avoid his fist, twist around and punch him in the side of the head.
This time, I think he is going to fall over. Uneasy on his feet, I give him a minute before hitting him again.
“Dude,” he growls, throwing up his hands.
“I told you I wasn’t going to give special treatment. You knew what you signed up for when you stepped into this ring.”
Blood drips from his busted lip, and he wipes it with the back of his hand. “Wow, that bitch really did a number on you.” I know he is bringing her up out of desperation, hoping to throw me off and give himself a chance. What he doesn’t realize is that the mention of her only fuels my anger, making me stronger, more vicious.
I move so fast, he doesn’t even see the kidney punch coming. I hit him so hard it knocks the wind out of him, and he crumbles to the floor with a groan.
Franco starts to count down, but only gets to three. To everyone’s surprise, Ty gets back up. I shake my head at him. He should have just stayed down.
“I don’t even know what you like about her,” he slurs, ready to pass out. I must have really rattled his brain because his next words make no sense at all. “She can’t even suck a dick right. Terrible gag reflex.”
“Just tap out, Ty, you’re done. You’re talking gibberish.”
“I know what I’m saying, asshole! I said Kennedy can’t suck a dick. I had to hold her down and show her how to do it right that night at the party.” He lunges for me, and this time I can’t move. His fist connects with my jaw, making my head snap to the side before I can recover, he gets me again in the side of the head, and again in my ribs when I try to turn away.
I know I need to concentrate on the fight, drown everything else out like I always do, but his fucking words are messing with my mind. Did he just say what I think he said? He did what to Kennedy?
His words take hold slowly, almost like I have to digest them one by one. With each of his words reaching my mind, a picture of Kennedy flashes in front of my eyes. Her huddling on the floor when I told her to suck me off. Her choosing sex over a blow job at my place. Her telling me she just can’t do it even after I made her come.
The fear in her eyes. The tremble in her voice.
No. Tylor wouldn’t have…
I just can’t believe my friend would do that.
Ty is raining down punches on me, but I can’t feel anything right now. With my fists covering my face, I let him shower me with body shots just so I can think. When I’ve had enough, I shove him off and drop my arms long enough to look at his face.
And then I see it. The smug grin on his face. The darkness in his eyes.
“You know she turned me down because of you?” He chuckles, and the heavy fog on my mind is lifted. The puzzle pieces lock together, forming a very vivid painting right before my eyes. He… he hurt her. My body starts shaking with violence. Every fiber of my being ready to attack, ready to kill. He hurt her…and now I’m going to hurt him.
The next few minutes happen in a blur. One moment I’m looking at Tylor’s evil grin, the next, he is passed out, and I’m on top of him. It’s like I’m watching myself move outside my body. My fists are coated in blood. I can barely recognize his face when some unknown arms pull me away from his unmoving body. I want him to keep moving, want him to fight back, but all he does is lie there.
When I try to struggle free, I realize that there are three guys with their arms wrapped around me, tugging me backward. I Try to look over them and to the fucker’s body. I want to make sure he’s unmoving.
“What the fuck was that?” Talon’s voice cuts through, even over the crowd cheering me on. “I think you killed him, dude.”
Good. I hope I did. Fuck the consequences. I’ll gladly live the rest of my life behind bars if he’s dead.
Franco rushes to Ty’s side and checks his pulse. “He’s alive,” he announces. “I’ll have someone come and check him out. You get him out of here,” he tells Talon, but I’m already rushing out.
It feels like an elephant is sat on my chest. I need to get to Kennedy. I need to tell her that I was wrong, that I’m sorry. It all makes sense, everything. Talon yells my name over and over again, but I ignore him, I need to get to her.
Climbing into my SUV, I race out of the parking lot. My hands are slippery as I grip the steering wheel, and I look down to see my hands are covered in blood. I can’t seem to be bothered by it, though, because all I can think about is getting to Kennedy and telling her that I fucked up.
My stomach churns, and acid burns up my esophagus at the thought of what he did to her. I want to punch myself in the face, to rip out my heart and put it on a platter, and give it to her. This whole time she’s been hurting, and for a multitude of reasons, not just because of Jillian’s death but because of the events of that night.
It seems to take forever for me to reach her apartment complex. I barely slam the car into park and turn it off before I’m out and racing inside. I know something is wrong before I even knock. I can feel it deep in my gut. Something is terribly wrong.
I knock once, screaming her name. When she doesn’t answer right away, I can’t wait another second. This bad feeling snakes through me, and I have to get inside, have to make sure she’s okay. Taking one step back, I lift my foot and ram it into the door. The wood easily gives way with the force.
Running into her apartment, I scan the living area quickly before making my way through the rest of the apartment. “Kennedy!”
Silence.
Bursting into the bedroom, I find it empty too, and the bad feeling in my gut expands. I turn to look into the bathroom, and then I see it. A few strands of her silky blonde hair are falling over the edge of the bathtub. The coppery tang of blood tickles my nostrils, it’s filling the air and making me sick to my stomach.
Walking into the room, my heart sinks to my feet, then stops beating all together when her entire body comes into view. Blood. There is so much blood. Her legs, her hands, he
r stomach, it’s all covered in blood. I don’t even know where it’s all coming from.
Dropping to my knees on the side of the tub, I call her name, praying she’ll wake up. Her face is pale, and her eyes are closed. My hands tremble as I find my phone. I try and type in the code, but my hands are too bloody, my finger slipping over the screen, but nothing happens. The blood on my hands, making it impossible for me to call for help.
Looking down at Kennedy one more time, I decide I don’t care about anything but getting her help. Plucking her up out of the tub, I try not to be bothered by the warmth that covers my hands and belly.
“I’ve got you. I’m going to take you to the hospital. Don’t die on me, Junebug. Do not die on me,” I croak, and it feels like I’m losing Jillian all over again. I did this. I pushed her, and I have to save her. I have to be the one to make sure she is okay.
Carrying her out of the apartment, I can hear each drop of blood as it hits the floor. When I reach my SUV, I open the back door and put her in the seat, laying her across them. Then I climb in and drive. Speeding the entire way there, I don’t even think I breathe until I’m outside the ER, climbing out and carrying her inside.
“Dear lord,” the nurse says when she spots me. Doctors and nurses rush over and take Kennedy from me, and suddenly everything is moving in slow motion. Sinking to the floor, I place my hand against the cool ground. The tears rush in, and like a dam, I release every ounce of emotion I’ve been holding back.
Pain. Hate. Anger. Regret. Shame.
I lost Jillian, and now I’m losing her too.
I’m sorry I never told you I loved you…
91
Kennedy
Peace… I’m finally at peace. No pain or heartache, no disappointment or guilt. My body is numb, and so is my mind. Darkness surrounds me, wrapping me up in a blanket.
I feel as if my body is floating on a cloud, somewhere in between being awake and asleep. Alive but not quite living. I try to think of where I am and how I got here, but every time I form a thought, it slips away.
