06-23-2014, 10:07 AM
<small>((with Ayden))</small>
Ayden saw that Connor was leaving. He looked pretty beat up. Her concern for him rose to a crescendo and she had to ask, even if he hated her, she had to ask. He was at the door by the time Ayden caught up to him. "Connor"
. He turned around and she saw his face closer and it hurt that he was hurt. She started to reach for his face, to caress the injuries, but she stopped before touching him. "Are you okay?"
His heart dropped in dread and yet surged to life as he watched her come to him. Fueled by drink, his emotions bubbled just under the surface, loss and fear and hope and desire. She was a walking storm and she still had his heart. He wanted it back.
She reached out to him and he shied back. He couldn't let her touch him. He would lose himself then. This wasn't working. None of it was. And yet he couldn't get free. He hated this, hated himself, even hated her. "I'll live."
He wanted to hurt her. Almost....almost he said 'It's just a bloody lip. You've seen blood before haven't you?' Almost. But as addled and turbulent as his emotions were, his desire to drive her away, those words would not come out. In the back of his mind he remembered the shift of the bed; arms around him; tears. She was better than that. Filled with self-loathing and anger he turned to go.
Ayden spoke quietly, mostly to herself, but loud enough he could have heard. "I'm sorry."
He heard her but walked out the door. He was losing it. The desire to go to the club overwhelmed him. He headed to the metro, heart pounding in his chest, lost in an emotional fog.
The train ride calmed him a bit, the hypnotic clacking of the wheels on the rails, the slight rhythmic rocking of the car, the piped in air, the muffled sounds of the tunnels. For a while, he lost himself in it. Nothing changed. But it was another respite, another place to get away.
And then the train stopped at his destination and he left that safe cocoon and ascended back up into the night. The area around the the metro entrance was quiet. He could only hear sounds in the far distance. The building he sought was only a couple blocks away. He started walking and was strangely reminded of when he was walking home that night he met Jensen. Come to think of it, he had been in the same emotional state back then. The thought flooded him with depression. So pathetic. You refuse to let yourself be happy. He shoved that thought away. It wasn't the same. That was very very different.
The salvation he sought was across the street. There were only 2 or 3 cars tonight. Not busy. His heart began to pound. What he needed was inside. He was so tired of running.
He went inside the building and there was a fight in progress. He took comfort in the sounds, in the smells, in the noise of the cheers. He felt relief. Here was home. One of the guys looked over when he came in and then came to him. Before the man said anything, Connor said, "I'm a friend of Charlie's. I joined up last week."
Friend. He'd left his friend at the bar. But Charlie was wrong. Odd that he didn't see what this place was for.
"All right. Name's Gunter,"
he said, sticking out his hand. "You're the new guy here, so you gotta fight."
Connor shook the man's hand- he was a beefy man, Germany thick on his tongue. He shouldn't be surprised how many men here were foreigners. "That's all I'm here for."
Almost all.
The fight ended with one guy tapping out, blood fountaining from his mouth. Connor felt impatient rather than connected to the men who were fighting. But that would change once the fight started. Connor took his shirt and shoes off, as well as his belt. Gunter introducted him to everyone and then, to his surprise himself preparing to fight. Gunter was a big guy, but Connor didn't mind at all. It wasn't about winning or losing. It was spiritual. And he needed this badly.
The fight began. Gunter was fast and Connor took a few hits. But he also got a few solid ones of his own. The feel of the impact of muscle and bone and fat on his fist traveled up his arm to his shoulder. When he swung, he could feel the power of his torso flow through his arms and out his fists. But it wasn't happening, the hyper awareness, the feeling of connection, the relish of pain. The pain hurt! As he took a blow to his jaw, he laughed at that realization. The pain hurt. Duh! But it was something new, something different now. He didn't want just the hurt. Anger was growing inside him. Anger at God; at the universe; at himself. At Ayden.
He rushed Gunter at the waist and lifted him up onto his shoulder and then spun around and let the momentum throw him against the wall. Stunned, the man had no time to respond as Connor laid into him, bashing his head against the wall. His anger flowed, his rage and fear and hatred and everything else. For a moment, he flashed back to the man in the room with the little girl. The fire inside him burned even hotter.
He lost himself in the fight. His eye throbbed, ears burned, head ached, ribs on fire. The fight had gone on forever it seemed, the rooms stifling and hot. He and Gunter flailed at each other, both refusing to back down, both staggering slabs of meat. But Connor wasn't going down first. Not until he got what he wanted, what he needed. Why wasn't this working?!?! Why am I not feeling it like before?!?! The desperation clawed at him. I need this! It was the only way. Ayden's face flashed across his mind. He surged at Gunter with an emotion fueled energy and was finally able to bring the big man down. Gunter moved but wasn't able to get up. Finally, finally it was over.
Connor sank to his knees, exhausted and in agony, finally aware of all the cheers surrounding him. The men seemed happy and were helping Gunter , who had a slight smile on his bloodied face.
Connor felt empty. Nothing. Cold. The alcohol induced haze was still there and he felt himself sinking deeper. There was no way out. None. He wanted to weep. No way out.
The sound of the door caught his attention and his bloodied mouth dropped open, struggled to work, to contain the shock. What was she doing here?
Ayden saw that Connor was leaving. He looked pretty beat up. Her concern for him rose to a crescendo and she had to ask, even if he hated her, she had to ask. He was at the door by the time Ayden caught up to him. "Connor"
. He turned around and she saw his face closer and it hurt that he was hurt. She started to reach for his face, to caress the injuries, but she stopped before touching him. "Are you okay?"
His heart dropped in dread and yet surged to life as he watched her come to him. Fueled by drink, his emotions bubbled just under the surface, loss and fear and hope and desire. She was a walking storm and she still had his heart. He wanted it back.
She reached out to him and he shied back. He couldn't let her touch him. He would lose himself then. This wasn't working. None of it was. And yet he couldn't get free. He hated this, hated himself, even hated her. "I'll live."
He wanted to hurt her. Almost....almost he said 'It's just a bloody lip. You've seen blood before haven't you?' Almost. But as addled and turbulent as his emotions were, his desire to drive her away, those words would not come out. In the back of his mind he remembered the shift of the bed; arms around him; tears. She was better than that. Filled with self-loathing and anger he turned to go.
Ayden spoke quietly, mostly to herself, but loud enough he could have heard. "I'm sorry."
He heard her but walked out the door. He was losing it. The desire to go to the club overwhelmed him. He headed to the metro, heart pounding in his chest, lost in an emotional fog.
The train ride calmed him a bit, the hypnotic clacking of the wheels on the rails, the slight rhythmic rocking of the car, the piped in air, the muffled sounds of the tunnels. For a while, he lost himself in it. Nothing changed. But it was another respite, another place to get away.
And then the train stopped at his destination and he left that safe cocoon and ascended back up into the night. The area around the the metro entrance was quiet. He could only hear sounds in the far distance. The building he sought was only a couple blocks away. He started walking and was strangely reminded of when he was walking home that night he met Jensen. Come to think of it, he had been in the same emotional state back then. The thought flooded him with depression. So pathetic. You refuse to let yourself be happy. He shoved that thought away. It wasn't the same. That was very very different.
The salvation he sought was across the street. There were only 2 or 3 cars tonight. Not busy. His heart began to pound. What he needed was inside. He was so tired of running.
He went inside the building and there was a fight in progress. He took comfort in the sounds, in the smells, in the noise of the cheers. He felt relief. Here was home. One of the guys looked over when he came in and then came to him. Before the man said anything, Connor said, "I'm a friend of Charlie's. I joined up last week."
Friend. He'd left his friend at the bar. But Charlie was wrong. Odd that he didn't see what this place was for.
"All right. Name's Gunter,"
he said, sticking out his hand. "You're the new guy here, so you gotta fight."
Connor shook the man's hand- he was a beefy man, Germany thick on his tongue. He shouldn't be surprised how many men here were foreigners. "That's all I'm here for."
Almost all.
The fight ended with one guy tapping out, blood fountaining from his mouth. Connor felt impatient rather than connected to the men who were fighting. But that would change once the fight started. Connor took his shirt and shoes off, as well as his belt. Gunter introducted him to everyone and then, to his surprise himself preparing to fight. Gunter was a big guy, but Connor didn't mind at all. It wasn't about winning or losing. It was spiritual. And he needed this badly.
The fight began. Gunter was fast and Connor took a few hits. But he also got a few solid ones of his own. The feel of the impact of muscle and bone and fat on his fist traveled up his arm to his shoulder. When he swung, he could feel the power of his torso flow through his arms and out his fists. But it wasn't happening, the hyper awareness, the feeling of connection, the relish of pain. The pain hurt! As he took a blow to his jaw, he laughed at that realization. The pain hurt. Duh! But it was something new, something different now. He didn't want just the hurt. Anger was growing inside him. Anger at God; at the universe; at himself. At Ayden.
He rushed Gunter at the waist and lifted him up onto his shoulder and then spun around and let the momentum throw him against the wall. Stunned, the man had no time to respond as Connor laid into him, bashing his head against the wall. His anger flowed, his rage and fear and hatred and everything else. For a moment, he flashed back to the man in the room with the little girl. The fire inside him burned even hotter.
He lost himself in the fight. His eye throbbed, ears burned, head ached, ribs on fire. The fight had gone on forever it seemed, the rooms stifling and hot. He and Gunter flailed at each other, both refusing to back down, both staggering slabs of meat. But Connor wasn't going down first. Not until he got what he wanted, what he needed. Why wasn't this working?!?! Why am I not feeling it like before?!?! The desperation clawed at him. I need this! It was the only way. Ayden's face flashed across his mind. He surged at Gunter with an emotion fueled energy and was finally able to bring the big man down. Gunter moved but wasn't able to get up. Finally, finally it was over.
Connor sank to his knees, exhausted and in agony, finally aware of all the cheers surrounding him. The men seemed happy and were helping Gunter , who had a slight smile on his bloodied face.
Connor felt empty. Nothing. Cold. The alcohol induced haze was still there and he felt himself sinking deeper. There was no way out. None. He wanted to weep. No way out.
The sound of the door caught his attention and his bloodied mouth dropped open, struggled to work, to contain the shock. What was she doing here?