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“You brought a direct line to Lennox.”
He throws his hands up in the air and lets them slap on his thighs. “What the hell are you talking about? The Hellions have nothing to do with—”
“C.C.C. does.”
“I know.” Those thoughts only last so long before he puts my thought process together and venom begins to ooze from his pores. True hatred glazes over his eyes. His lips curl into a snarl. “And me hanging out with Hellions has somehow gotten her trafficked? Is that what you’re saying? Because C.C.C. attacked and that’s what they’re involved in.” Trace’s voice quivers. And if I didn’t know any better, it’s fueled by anguish.
This motherfucker. He does have feelings for her.Strike one.
He pushes off the wall he’s been leaning against and makes himself stand taller.
“You’re out of your goddamn mind, Bennett. And fuck off with blaming me for that shit. You want to blame someone, then blame yourself.” He points in my direction as I seethe. “What kind of fucking man are you that you let her get taken? Thatyoulet her leave on that goddamn bike and weren’t there to protect her?”
Let her leave on that bike. A decision I will never live down. My girl is gone because of me.
Strike two.My balled fists twitch as my wrath trickles in to toy with the edges of my vision. Fuck, this anger is scary, almost as if I’m losing touch with the world around me. It’s probably misplaced. I shouldn’t be fighting with my best friend. If he has feelings for her, then so be it. He hasn’t acted on them, so why would I be so upset?
Because him being distraught and leaving me, blaming me, feels like he’s making his move and I’ve been through so much in the last two weeks that I’m questioning everything. Nothing in my mind is rational or makes sense at all. I’m delirious and in emotional pain unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with before. I just want my girl back and my best friend. But this feels like a deep line drawn in the sand. No, not a line. This is a crack in the earth.
Trace opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “Enough.”
“So what, you can blame me, but I can’t blame you? When it’s you who let them take her? When it was you who couldn’t man up and handle your shit, too freaking blinded by some Hellions to see that your girl was on my side, anyway?”
Strike three.
I launch myself across the apartment, fist reared back and snarling. Trace may have been able to sober himself up slightly to have the conversation, but he hasn’t cycled through enough of the alcohol to dodge my attack fast enough. My hit lands exactly where I place it, on the right side of his jaw, clacking his teeth together. He staggers back about four or five steps and his calves hit the arm of the couch. The momentum drops him onto the cushions and I follow, trapping his body against the fabric, landing blow after blow. Trace may be just under six feet, but he’s lean and not really a match for the anger I’m feeling right now. However, he gets his hands on my collar bones and pushes with everything he has. The move opens us up just enough that he can get his feet up under me to kick me off. I topple back, slamming into the wall, glaring at my best friend, barely seeing the blood flowing from his nose or the bruises already welling beneath his eyes, dulling the blue depths of his irises.
He groans and rolls off of the couch, unsteady. His blonde hair is wild, pieces falling around his face from his bun. Struggling to get his hands beneath him, he drops to his forearms, not caring that I’m behind him and could attack again.
I won’t. Because I’ve worked on myself since I’ve been back in Northgate, and this shit isn’t me. We are hurting, for different reasons, or the same reasons, and we’ve said shit we don’t mean. It gives me no right to put my hands on him. I’m no better than the people I’m going to school to put away if I can’t keep myself in check.
We’ve wrestled before, but have never put our hands on each other in anger and I’ve crossed a line in a major way. Words are one thing, but what I just did is not cool, and he didn’t deserve it anymore than I do for blaming him as well. This isn’t me. This shit isn’t who I am anymore. I’m disgusted with myself.Fuck.
I run my hands through my hair, wincing when pain tingles in my bruised knuckles and reminding me of what the hell I’ve just done. It’s only a tingle because adrenaline is thick in my system like a nasty sludge that I haven’t felt in a very long time. It’s been filling to the brim of my control lately and has just overflowed. On Trace.
“Tr—”
“Fuck you.” A wad of blood and mucous lands on the carpet beneath him when he spits. He hangs his head, working to get his knees beneath him so he can stand. Stepping away from the wall, I bend to reach for his elbow to help him up. He swats my hand away and growls. His forearms are shaking and he’s swaying. It could be the alcohol or it could be the countless hits he took to the face.
Jesus Christ.
“Fuck, brother. I’m so goddamn sorry. I don’t know what the hell came over me.” He coughs and spits again. This time the blood is thicker, darker, and a pang of worry stabs my chest. He needs to see a doctor. Slowly, he climbs to his feet, clinging to the wall to lead him to the room he’s been staying in.
“I’m getting my shit. I’ll be out of your hair,” he mutters without looking at me and disappears into his room. When he reappears with what looks like a pile of nothing in particular and he’s blinking down at his hands like he’s forgotten his own name, I take a few steps toward him. He staggers and his shoulder bumps into the wall, knocking into a Breaking Benjamin poster that Lennox put there as a joke when I moved in. They’re her favorite band and wanted me to be reminded of her every time I opened my front door. Since I’m into guys as well, she thought it fitting to putman candyon my wall instead of her photo. I push away thoughts of her for now and focus on my best friend. He isn’t okay, and that thought makes me choke on the air I’m trying to fill my lungs with.
He’s never going to forgive me for this. With our pasts, we promised we would never fight out of anger.
“Are you alright? Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Fuck. Fuck.Fuck. Please, T—”
“I gotta go. Spencer is waiting for me.” I scoff, a surge of anger striking me.Spencer.I refuse to let it boil over again.
“Can we talk about this? You don’t have to leave. You have a home here.” I don’t say shit about that asshole. I can’t, and I refuse to think about how I’m losing my best friend to the shit I’ve worked so hard to change about myself.
“Nothing…talk ‘bout.” He blinks his eyes as if he’s trying to get them to focus and takes a dodgy step forward. “Shit over ‘tween us.”
“Tra—” A heavy booted foot kicks in my front door, sending splinters off in all directions. Spencer’s forty-five enters before he does, pointed directly at me as if he already knew my position in the apartment. He glances around, eyes bouncing until they land on Trace, who is nearly bent over from trying to stand.
He’s so fucked up. Blood is still trickling from his nose, dripping down his neck in dry streaks and soaking into the collar of his white, long sleeve shirt. Bruises now line his jaw where they were red only minutes ago. His bottom lip is busted and swollen. I’m not sure if all the blood on his chin is just from his nose or if his lip is bleeding as well. Forced shut, the skin around his left eye pools with blood that has rushed to the surface.
