Page 130 of Resurgent

"Fighting," my councilors voice from previous sessions interrupts. "You were fighting for the only life you knew existed."

I stare through him, through the room of people oblivious to what's happening, through the memory of how hard I fought.

“They’re dead.”

His face twists. “Uh…” He squints. “What did you—Actually…never mind.”

"Let," I twist my wrist slightly, testing his grip. “Go!”

He ignores every word, though his expression has softened into something that makes my skin crawl.

“Gods,” he murmurs. “You look so beautiful tonight.”

He yanks my arm again.

"I SAID DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" I yell as I pivot hard. His hand fighting to regain purchase just as all of my training floods back into me—my fingers curling into a fist on instinct before it's connecting with his face.

Crack.

He crashes to the floor in a tangle of limbs, one hand cupping his face as shock, confusion, and then pure rage ripples across his drunken features.

"What the fuck?" he spits, blood dripping from his mouth. "You bitch! You fucking knocked my toof out!" The words whistle through the bloody gap in his snarling face, only proving his point.

"You're lucky that's all she did," a deep familiar voice says.

Before the drunk can even process it, Matt is there—one massive hand fisting the front of his jacket, hauling him clean off the ground before slamming him hard enough into the brick wall to rattle the framed pictures beside us.

“Don’t.” Thud. Matt shoves him back again, the back of his skull bouncing against brick. “Ever.” Thud. Another violent shake. “Put your hands on a woman—” Thud. “Without her fucking consent.”

Matt leans in until they’re nose to bloody nose, his voice dropping into something far more terrifying than shouting.

“Do you hear me?”

"Yeth! Yeth! I didn't mean—"

Matt doesn't stick around to hear any more, already guiding me away from the drunk, his hand protectively settled on my lower back. "I'm so fucking proud of you. You did great, Lee. You did great." Every word is said with a softness he has only for me, though I can feel the rage still rolling off him.

"He thought I was someone else—" I rush out, adrenaline on high as I subconsciously head for the door.

"It doesn't matter. You told him to let go of you. I heard you all the way from the bar."

"Wait! Emily and Sasha are over there, I can't just leave them."

"I'll go tell them I'm taking you home. Are you fine to wait here for a second?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

Spinning around, Matt practically plows through the crowd to where I said I'd last seen them, bumping into couples making out—not that he seems to spare them the courtesy of apologizing.

After what could only have been a handful of clipped words—and maybe thirty seconds, tops—Matt breaks away and heads straight for the bar.

He tosses a thick stack of bills onto the counter, jerks his chin in Em and Sasha’s direction, then snatches up a brown paper bag of food the bartender slides his way before handing over a worn leather wallet.

"Sorry that took so long," he says, opening the door for us to leave. "The bartender put the tab under the wrong name."

"Mattey, you didn't need to pay the tab. I've only been drinking water and most of their drinks have been bought by guys all night."

A laugh rumbles out of him as he unlocks the doors.