He got in my way. He did this.
If he hadn’t stopped me — if he’d just let me go through with it — I wouldn’t feel like this. I wouldn’t be split open and bleeding inside. I wouldn’t be shattered. I’d be fine right now.
Rage detonates inside my chest. White-hot. All-consuming. It hits me harder than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. It overpowers me. It’s alive, twisting my muscles, my mind.
I spin. My fist connects with his face, jerking his head sideways. My knuckles burn. It feels good.
I don’t wait. Another blow slams into his ribs. Every ounce of pain I’ve carried for years fuels it.
He should’ve stayed the fuck out of it. He should’ve let me finish it.
But Bones never stays down.
He slams a fist into my gut, knocking the wind out of me, sending me stumbling back. I welcome the pain. Ineedit. Maybe if he hits hard enough, I’ll stop hearing her voice in my head. Maybe it’ll kill whatever’s still left of me.
I straighten fast. I see his eyes — wary, measured. Full of fucking pity.
Don’t look at me like that, asshole.
You shouldn’t have stopped me back then.
You should’ve let me burn.
The rage grows to impossible heights, like a bomb going off inside my chest.
I roar. It’s not even human. It’s the guttural sound of a wounded animal.
I lunge, ready for the pain.
We crash to the ground, fists flying, hands clawing, rage unleashed. We’re not just fighting, we’re breaking each other. Maybe that’s what I need, because if he tears me apart from the outside, maybe it’ll match the ruin on the inside.
He grapples me, manages to flip us, and clamps an arm around my neck. I yank his cut like I want to rip his spine outthrough his back. He stumbles, and I shove behind him, but he anticipates it. His elbow cracks under my jaw, snapping my head back.
We’re up again. Both of us wrecked, breathing ragged, bleeding and circling each other like feral dogs.
My tongue rolls over the metallic sting of copper, tasting the blood dripping from my nose. His lip is split, red flowing down his chin. We’re a mess of forming bruises, swelling knuckles and burning lungs. We keep circling each other like caged wolves, calculating, too far gone to stop now.
I’m still not done.
I need more.
I need to destroy or be destroyed.
Just as I’m about to lunge again — rage in my blood, fists ready to break— icy water slams into me, cold and brutal. It punches the breath from my lungs, locks my limbs, freezes the fire raging under my skin. I go still, paralyzed mid-strike, like death just touched me with its fucking hands.
“What the fuck?” I gasp.
I look over and see Mindfuck, holding an empty bucket, his eyes murderous.
This fucker.
I’m drenched. Fucking drenched.
“Stop being a fucking idiot,” he growls.
I turn toward him, rage re-igniting, when he points at me and starts yelling, his voice full of shock.
“Stop, Ghost. Just fucking stop. What’s wrong with you? Look at yourself. Look at what you’re doing!”
