Chapter 1:Jaw
Intentions. I used to think good intentions were all that mattered. That if you wanted the right things, life would take care of the rest. Turns out, the best intentions can lead you straight into the dark...and by the time you notice, it's already too late to turn back.
It's 10:05 PM, and the stadium lights pour down onto the baseball diamond like brilliant searchlights, carving sharp, elongated shadows across worn bases and dew-dampened grass. Early autumn warmth lingers in the air, heavy with the earthy scent of fresh dirt, weathered leather, and late-night nostalgia. A few weeks into my senior year, nerves simmer quietly beneath the surface, as constant as the rhythmic hum of the pitching machine behind home plate. Everything feels suspended in a fragile peace, disturbed only by the sharp crack of a bat slicing through the night air and the distant thud of baseballs landing somewhere unseen in the outfield.
My dad and I take turns stepping into the batter's box, trading playful taunts and quiet advice. His familiar voice fills the spaces between swings, gently correcting my stance, my grip, my timing, guiding me, as he always has. Under these lights, the world fades, leaving only the two of us, the pitching machine, and the game that binds us.
Tonight's different. We're locked in a friendly rivalry that somehow feels bigger, more meaningful. Dad's hit 7 out of 10 pitches, and I've hit 7 out of 9. One more perfect swing, and for the first time ever, I'll finally beat him. The thought tightens my chest and slickens my palms with sweat, but beneath the nerves runs an electric thrill, the kind you chase your whole life, starting in childhood dreams.
I step into the batter's box, my fingers gripping the polished wooden bat. Its smooth weight steadies me, grounding me against rising anxiety. For a moment, reality shifts, the empty bleachers erupt into roaring crowds, cameras flash, faces blur into a sea of fans chanting my name. I glance upward at the houses perched on the hilltop, lit gently against the night sky, and whisper to myself, "This time, I'm getting it to the top." The scenario crystallizes clearly in my mind: bases loaded, two outs, tie game. Do or die.
"Come on, Leon, you got this," I mutter softly, adjusting my stance. My heart pounds fiercely, but determination anchors me in place.
"You ready?" my dad calls from behind the pitching machine, his voice warm, edged with friendly challenge.
I meet his gaze, give a confident thumbs-up. "Ready."
He pushes the button, the pitching machine roaring briefly as it launches the ball toward me at 70 miles per hour. Everything narrows sharply into perfect clarity. My muscles tense, and for a fleeting heartbeat, the world slows....Crack! My bat connects, sending a jolt of satisfaction up my arms, the sound echoing like thunder.
The ball arcs gracefully upward, climbing high toward the hilltop homes, finally landing just short of the peak. A brief, suspended silence hangs over us, then pure joy breaks free.
"Yes!" I shout, pumping my fists, stepping triumphantly from the box. My heart races with exhilaration, adrenaline surging through my veins. I've done it. I've actually done it.
Another ball whizzes dangerously close past my head.
I barely manage to duck in time as it crashes against the fence behind me with a metallic clang. Startled, I stumble backward, scraping my palms painfully on the dirt as I land roughly. Adrenaline surges again, this time with panic.
"Dad!" My voice comes out sharp, uneven as I push myself off the ground, wincing at the sting on my hands.
"Oh, shit!" He rushes to the machine, fumbling to shut it off. The motor falls silent, leaving us in sudden quiet. Concern darkens his eyes as he moves quickly toward me. "Leon, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, brushing dirt from my scraped palms, grimacing at the reddened skin. "Didn't get hit."
"Good reflexes," he breathes out, relief visible in every tense line of his face. "Your reaction time's perfect tonight."
"Better than yours," I joke, forcing a smirk despite the lingering shakiness in my voice. "I did beat you, after all."
He scoffs, folding his arms defensively. "My arm's just tired from work."
"Dad," I deadpan, raising an eyebrow, "you work in a lab."
"What? I had to carry a very heavy box today, genius," he retorts, checking the old watch on his wrist. "Come on, we better head back. It's 8 past 10."
I roll my eyes. "You could just say 10:08."
"You understood, didn't you?"
I sigh, shaking my head with exaggerated annoyance as we walk across the empty field toward the car.
We pull out of "Tennis Court..."Literally the entire street name, no "Street" or "Avenue" at the end, as if someone named it just to mess with people, and we head down Maytay street, and pass by all the street side shops and businesses that line maytay, till, eventually turning onto Reading Road. Dad's radio blasts his station playing oldies at maximum volume, his voice rising in enthusiastic off-key harmony. I sit beside him in stubborn silence, pretending I've forgotten how to speak because he won't let me switch stations. Sure, it's petty, but with everyone constantly reminding me that I have just one year left before adulthood officially kicks in, I'll gladly take these small acts of rebellion while I still can.
Turning onto Crescent Hill Road, my gaze drifts out the window toward the city lights shimmering gently in the darkness. The majestic Mancio Building towers above the skyline, glowing brilliantly like a giant sapphire. Its glass exterior catches the moonlight, bathing everything around it in an ethereal glow.
At its peak, the luminous logo, a massive letter "O," proudly embracing a striking "M" at its center casts blue-tinted reflections down its sleek façade. It looks almost magical with the mountains that surround our little town. In moments like these, my imagination comes alive, envisioning the incredible breakthroughs happening behind those illuminated walls, scientists tirelessly working to change the world. Maybe I'm biased because it's my dad's workplace, but the sight always fills me with pride and wonder.
Finally, we turn onto Owens Court, and the comforting sight of home greets me. The house stands softly illuminated by warm porch lights, its weathered beige siding hinting at a thousand memories embedded within its walls. The porch chairs sit worn from countless evenings beneath the stars. It's not grand or extravagant, but it's ours, a haven filled with warmth, familiarity, and the comforting scent of belonging. Stepping from the car, relief washes over me, easing away the day's tensions. Just as I close the car door, Mom steps onto the porch.
"It's nearly 10:40, and Leon has school tomorrow." Mom says this pointedly, eyes locked on Dad as he unloads the baseball gear from the car trunk. It's obvious she's talking to him, not me, and I can't help but smirk at how easily Dad becomes the target of her irritation.
"I missed you too, sweetie," Dad replies, tossing the equipment bag over his shoulder with a casual ease. "Glad you came out to greet me."
My head swivels between them, amused by their exchange and relieved I'm not the one catching heat tonight.
"You're a pain in my ass, and you're waking Leon up in the morning," Mom counters, her tone firm but affectionate as Dad steps closer for a quick kiss.
"I love you too," Dad chuckles as he walks into the house, shaking his head.
There's a brief pause before Mom turns to me, one eyebrow raised. "Are you gonna stand there smirking all night, or come inside?"
"Hey, I'm innocent here!" I protest, trying, and failing, to hide my smile as I step inside.
The warmth of home immediately surrounds me, the familiar scent of Mom's candles blending comfortingly with Dad's lingering cologne. The living room welcomes me with its cozy, muted glow; shadows dance gently on the worn couch and the armchair that bears the imprint of Dad's evenings spent reading. Framed family photos line the walls, moments of laughter and memories frozen in time. The kitchen feels inviting as always, traces of tonight's dinner still evident on the simple cloth draped across the dining table.
"So, no watch on your wrist tonight?" Mom calls out, a knowing tone creeping into her voice.
She's right, I am wearing a watch...But I duck my head and hurry toward my room rather than admit she's caught me again.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," she laughs gently, clearly enjoying her small victory.
Upstairs, my room greets me like a familiar friend. Posters of my favorite bands cover the walls, and my bookshelf stands proudly, crowded with a collection that's steadily outgrowing its shelves. Closing the door behind me, I let out a small laugh thinking about my parents' playful bickering.
My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. I grab it quickly, seeing Sophia's name on the screen.
Sophia: Wait... you didn't ask your dad yet?
I begin typing immediately.
Me: No, but don't worry, I still got time.
Sophia: What if you ask too late?
Me: Then we'll just get a cab or rent a limo.
Sophia: I swear to God, if you take me to prom in a taxi...
Me: I almost forgot my girlfriend is materialistic :P
Sophia: Oh shut it, you lol.
I glance up as I hear my parents close their bedroom door, the hallway light clicking off a second later.
Me: I'll ask him tomorrow after breakfast, k?
Sophia: Thanks, babe. See you soon?
Me: Nah, imma stay home.
Me: Jk, I'll see you soon.
Sophia: I hate you sometimes, lol.
Sophia: Ok, I'm leaving in 30 minutes, so I should be at the bus stop in 45 minutes. Can you sneak out by then?
I pause, listening carefully. The house is silent, reassuring me that my parents are probably already settling in for the night.
Me: Yeah, my parents just shut their bedroom door. Should be good to go.
Sophia: Perfect! Can't wait for the concert. Hope it's good.
Me: Didn't you say you've been before?
Sophia: Yea, but just because it was good then doesn't mean it'll be good now. I can't predict the future, dummy.
Me: ...Touche.
Sophia: Ok, I'll get ready. See you soon :)
Setting my phone down, I visualize tonight's plan, mentally checking off each step:
Sneak out quietly.
Meet Sophia at the bus stop.
Get to the bar hosting the concert.
Somehow avoid getting arrested for using our fake IDs.
Enjoy the show.
Drop her off safely.
Slip back inside before sunrise without waking my parents.
Easy, right?
I head to the bathroom connected to my room, stepping into the shower and letting the warm water wash away the tension of the day. Normally, I'd have music playing, something loud to match my excitement, but tonight the house feels fragile, like even a single note could wake everyone up. Instead, I shower quickly, my heart thrumming with a mix of anticipation and nerves. Turning off the water, I step out into the steam-filled room, grabbing a towel and quickly drying off.
I catch my reflection in the mirror above my dresser as I enter my bedroom again. My damp hair sticks up awkwardly, so I smooth some gel through it, carefully styling it into something more presentable. Satisfied, I turn to my closet, quickly pulling out clothes that strike the right balance, nice but casual enough for a concert. Once dressed, I pause to give myself another once-over in the mirror. Good enough
A glance at my phone, it shows it's been almost thirty minutes since Sophia's last text.
I need to hurry.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, ready to leave, when a thought stops me in my tracks. If I sneak back in later and my parents are awake, I'll need an alibi. My eyes land on my dresser...Pajamas! If I bring them, I can change before coming back inside and say I was just downstairs grabbing a late-night snack.
Quickly, I toss a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt into my bag, zipping it shut. One last glance around my room confirms everything looks normal.
Flicking off the light, I quietly ease the door open.
I peek through the narrow crack of my bedroom door, eyes straining against the thick darkness of the hallway beyond. It feels infinite. My pulse quickens, ears tuned sharply for any sound; a creak, a rustle, even the faintest breath that could warn me my parents are awake. The silence stretches out, dense and heavy, broken only by the muffled ticking of the old clock downstairs. Shadows dance menacingly along the walls, twisting into shapes my imagination conjures into lurking figures, heightening my unease.
Holding my breath, I nudge the door open just a bit wider, muscles tensed, ready to retreat at the slightest hint of noise. The muted, rhythmic sound of my parents' faint snores drifts from their room down the hall, reassuring me that they're asleep, at least for now. Each step forward feels precarious, like I'm crossing a frozen lake, every subtle creak of the wooden floorboards beneath my feet threatening to shatter the fragile peace.
I inch forward, fingertips lightly tracing the cool, smooth wall for guidance in the darkness, my heart hammering in my chest like a relentless drumbeat. Every movement feels impossibly loud, magnified by my fear of being caught. The shadows swirl and shift as I pass, fueling my anxiety. It's almost suffocating, the tension coiling tighter with every cautious footfall, until finally, after what feels like an eternity, my toes reach the top of the stairs.
I pause for a moment, steadying my breath, then carefully begin my descent, step by painstaking step, until I finally reach the bottom undetected. Relief washes over me, but I'm not free yet. I move toward the front door, my pulse racing again, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The brass doorknob feels cold and heavy in my trembling hand, and it creaks softly as I turn it, quiet, but loud enough to make my breath catch painfully in my throat. I freeze, listening desperately for signs I've woken anyone upstairs, but the house remains silent.
Heart still pounding, I inch the door open just enough to slip outside. The cool night air brushes my face, crisp and exhilarating, offering the first real sense of freedom tonight. Carefully, I close the door behind me, the soft thud echoing gently as I leave the safety of my home behind.
I start trudging up Maplewood Terrace toward the bus shelter Sophia and I agreed on, this time, at the top of the street, because I'm not about to repeat my "wrong-stop-waiting" disaster for the third time. My watch reads 11:15. The concert starts at midnight, and Sophia's bus is supposed to roll in by 11:30. Reaching the shelter...The right shelter, I sink down onto the worn bench and fire off a quick text: "Ok, I'm at the shelter."
I glance up, squinting through the faint glow of streetlights and distant car headlights, but there's still no sign of Sophia. My stomach twists with anxiety. What if I messed up again? Just as I'm about to compulsively check my phone, two hands clamp firmly onto my shoulders.
"Boo!" a familiar voice shouts, playfully.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I nearly topple off the bench. Sophia's laughter fills the air as I spin around, clutching my chest dramatically. Sophia stands in a white dress that hugs her waist before flowing out in a soft, airy skirt. The fabric is embroidered with delicate patterns, puffed sleeves resting gently on her shoulders and ruffles skimming her arms. Her blonde hair falls in loose, effortless waves, framing a face lit by a pair of bright blue eyes...eyes I could lose myself in for a lifetime. When she smiles, two dimples crease her cheeks, and it's impossible not to smile back.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I say, trying and failing to sound annoyed through my smile.
Sophia grins, eyes sparkling mischievously under the streetlamp. "Guess I gotta try harder next time."
"Just shoot me instead. It'll be quicker," I joke, breathing out a sigh of exaggerated relief.
She rolls her eyes, bumping me lightly with her shoulder.
"You're so dramatic. You should've taken drama class instead of art." I roll my eyes
"How was the cruise?" I ask, smiling as she pats her non-existent stomach.
"The food was amazing. I'm fat now," she declares, mock-serious.
As if, I think to myself, she looks exactly the same; slender and graceful as ever.
"Sure, you are," I tease, nudging her gently. "You couldn't gain weight if you tried."
She lets out a soft laugh and steps closer, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. "I missed you, Le-Le," she murmurs softly against my chest. "Le-Le"...A nickname she gave me shortly after we started dating. It used to embarrass me, but now it's become one of my favorite sounds.
I hug her tightly, resting my chin on top of her head proceeding to kiss her on the forehead. "I missed you too."
The bus screeches to a halt in front of us, brakes whining as the doors hiss open. We hop on, paying our fare and claiming our usual spot near the back. A slightly torn seat on the right, offering the best view of the city lights flying by and just enough privacy to joke around comfortably. Sophia slides toward the window, and I settle into the aisle seat beside her.
She nudges me gently with her elbow. "So, we're agreed, no cab for prom, right?"
I feel my lips twitch into a smirk, already picturing the expression she's giving me. "Actually, now that you mention it..." I tap a finger to my chin dramatically, pretending to ponder the idea.
Sophia punches my arm lightly, suppressing a smile. "That's it. I'm handing you over to the bus driver."
I glance toward the driver, an older man with a scruffy beard but neatly pressed clothes. "You think he'd prefer a cab for prom?"
Sophia bursts out laughing, covering her mouth to keep from being too loud. I can't help laughing with her.
"Wait, hold on," Sophia says still laughing slightly, reaching into her bag and pulling out her favorite pink Polaroid camera. I lean in instinctively, draping an arm comfortably around her shoulders. We both grin into the camera.
Snap! The flash goes off, momentarily brightening the bus interior. The photo whirs softly as it emerges. Sophia grabs it, eagerly watching as our smiling faces slowly appear. Her face lights up even brighter as she holds the finished photo out for me to see.
"This is definitely going on my wall," she announces proudly.
"You already have so many photos of us up there," I say, chuckling gently.
"Yeah, but this one's the centerpiece," she insists, sliding it carefully into her bag.
"Next stop: Virtus Road," the automated voice announces abruptly.
"Oh! That's us," Sophia exclaims, immediately reaching up and tugging the stop request string, something she's insisted on doing herself ever since that one time I annoyed the driver by pulling it at the last stop.
We step onto the sidewalk as the bus rolls away, its engine fading into the distance. The music from the bar pulses faintly through the night air, guiding us.
"It's this way," I say, pointing unnecessarily toward the sound.
Sophia stops, arches an eyebrow at me, and gives me a look that unmistakably says, No shit.
"Shut up," I mutter quickly, fighting back a grin as she shakes her head and laughs softly beside me.
Standing outside the dimly lit bar, the night around us feels electric. The muffled thump of music pulses through the worn brick walls, reverberating deep in my chest, pulling me forward. Neon lights flicker intermittently, bathing the graffiti-covered façade in shades of pink and blue, giving the place a sort of gritty charm. A burly bouncer in a black t-shirt guards the entrance, arms crossed as he eyes the crowd with practiced boredom.
Approaching him, nerves spike through me like lightning. My heart pounds louder with every step; the thought of being caught makes my breath hitch slightly.
"IDs, please," he drawls, his tone dull and indifferent.
I fumble for the fake ID in my pocket, handing it over with a forced air of calm. The seconds drag by painfully slow as he scrutinizes the card, glancing suspiciously between my face and the tiny, laminated rectangle. My pulse quickens, panic twisting my stomach into knots.
"Let me see your wrists," he says finally.
I freeze. "Why? What's wrong?" My voice shakes slightly, betraying me.
Sophia nudges my foot hard enough to snap me back to reality. "To get your wristband, dumbass," she whispers urgently, stifling a laugh.
"Oh... right, of course." Embarrassed, I hold out my hand as the bouncer wraps a purple band around my wrist and hands back my ID without further comment. Avoiding eye contact, I rush past him, cheeks burning hotly.
Sophia follows me inside, giggling softly. "You are TERRIBLE at lying," she says, shaking her head as we move through the crowded bar.
"Forgive me for not wanting to go to jail," I retort sarcastically, though a smile tugs at my lips.
She grins and gently bumps me with her shoulder. "Relax! We're here to have fun. Come on." Sophia expertly manoeuvrs through the sea of bodies toward the bar, confidently slipping between clusters of laughing, chatting strangers.
At the counter, she leans forward, speaking loudly over the pounding music. "Can we get four shots of gin and two cans of tonic?"
I lean in, trying to protest. "Wait! I can pay for mine!"
She waves me off, a playful smile dancing across her lips. "Let me be nice to you for once."
"And you aren't already?" I tease, giving her a mock-skeptical look.
The bartender returns, setting the drinks down, and Sophia quickly hands over cash before I can object further.
She slides two shot glasses my way. "Okay, take the shot, then immediately drink the tonic, got it?"
I grin, adrenaline mixing with nervousness. "Got it. Bottoms up!"
Taking a deep breath, I bring the glass to my lips. The fiery liquid burns harshly down my throat, making my eyes water. My throat feels hot and raw, but an exhilarated laugh escapes me.
"Oh my God, that tastes like hell!" I choke out, immediately reaching for the tonic.
Sophia laughs, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Suck it up! One more to go!"
We down the next shot, and I feel a warm buzz beginning to spread, eroding my nerves. Sophia grabs my hand, pulling me eagerly toward the dance floor as the music shifts, becoming louder, heavier. Neon lights pulse and flash above us, washing the crowd in vivid hues of red and blue.
The bass resonates in my chest, syncing my heartbeat to the music. Sophia spins gracefully, hair wild and free, laughter ringing clearly above the chaos. She's radiant, her smile bright enough to illuminate the entire club.
"You're actually dancing!" she shouts, surprised delight clear on her face as she pulls me closer, her arms looping effortlessly around my neck.
I smirk playfully. "Guess you're a good influence," I respond, my hands gently settling onto her waist. Despite the crowded space, it feels like we're entirely alone.
Her forehead touches mine softly, her breath warm on my cheek. My pulse quickens, and the music fades to a slower, intimate melody as "The Night We Met" begins to play. Couples around us pull closer, and Sophia moves instinctively against me, our bodies swaying gently in rhythm.
She gazes up at me, her eyes softening, reflecting an openness that makes my chest ache pleasantly. The lyrics wrap around us like a whispered promise:
I had all and then most of you, some, and now none of you...
Unable to resist, I lean in, brushing my lips softly against hers. A spark ignites within me, sending shivers down my spine. In that perfect moment, nothing exists outside the warmth of her embrace, the gentle movement of our bodies, and the sweet taste of her kiss.
She nestles closer, resting her head on my chest, voice barely above a whisper. "I never want this moment to end." Her words tremble with a sincerity that tugs deeply at my heart.
My hand softly strokes her hair, gently guiding us in a slow circle. "As long as we're together," I whisper tenderly into her ear, "you'll always have a safe place right here in my arms."
Sophia's arms tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer, and I feel her heartbeat against my chest, steady and comforting.
"I love you," she says softly, those three simple words filling me with a warmth more intoxicating than anything we've had tonight. They resonate deeply, as though hearing them for the very first time.
"I love you too," I reply, my voice barely audible but carrying every ounce of feeling I possess. A rush of joy and relief washes over me, intertwining our hearts in a moment that feels unbreakable.
The track slowly winds down, the melody fading seamlessly into an EDM beat that immediately pulls us out of our intimate reverie. Sophia tugs gently at my sweater, her eyes sparkling beautifully beneath the vibrant club lights, beckoning me closer with a sly grin.
"Wanna go out back and smoke?" she asks, holding up a small joint like it's our secret ticket to a private world.
I glance toward the side door, hesitation mixed with excitement. "First alcohol, now weed? How many firsts are you trying to get out of me tonight?" I shout, laughing to mask the hint of nervousness creeping into my voice.
Sophia peers up at me with those big blue eyes, leaning close enough that I feel her breath softly brush my ear. "All of them," she whispers playfully, giving me a mischievous smile before unexpectedly slapping my butt. "Now come on, let's go," she giggles, pulling me forward.
"Whoa, easy there!" I laugh, stumbling slightly. She's definitely tipsy, but honestly, so am I, and the buzz of excitement overrides any lingering caution.
Together, we weave our way through the dense crowd, a tangled mess of sweaty bodies and flashing lights. I mumble countless unheard apologies "Sorry," "Excuse me" as we bump and shuffle toward the back door. The air is thick, filled with the smell of alcohol and perfume, almost suffocating until we finally burst out into the night.
The sudden coolness hits me like a wave, refreshing and crisp. My ears are still ring softly from the pounding bass, everything sounding muffled like I'm underwater. We're in a secluded area enclosed by a chain-link fence, its sharp edges softened by tarps strung loosely across it, creating a makeshift sense of privacy.
A solitary dumpster sits off to one side, covered in layers of graffiti and stickers that silently narrate stories of countless nights like this; wild, reckless, and unforgettable. The stale scent of beer mixes with the sharp tang of cigarette smoke, the blend strangely comforting in its familiarity.
Sophia takes a deep breath and turns toward me, her eyes bright and excited. "You were right; this place is awesome! How'd you even find it?" I ask
She shrugs casually, smiling as she flicks her lighter to life. "Remember my ex? He used to drag me to spots like this."
"Oh right, the college guy," I say teasingly. "Guess I should thank him. Without him, I wouldn't have my own personal guide to the city's secret nightlife."
Sophia laughs, lightly punching my arm. "Shut up." Her smile softens a bit as she brings the joint to her lips, carefully lighting it and inhaling deeply. The tip glows a bright, cherry red, smoke curling upward into the darkness.
"Let's get high and head back in to vibe," she says, passing me the joint with an encouraging nod.
"I'm down," I reply, sounding more confident than I feel.
My fingers tremble slightly as I take it, hesitating for just a second before bringing it to my lips. I take a cautious pull, instantly regretting the decision as my throat ignites with a burning sensation. I burst into violent coughs, doubling over and desperately passing the joint back to Sophia as my eyes water.
Sophia's laughter fills the alley, warm and light-hearted. She says something teasingly about my innocence, but my own coughing drowns out her words. I lean heavily against the fence, trying to regain my composure.
"Holy shit!" I choke out, laughing through my coughs. "How are you not dying right now?"
She giggles again, clearly amused by my lack of experience. "Because I've done this before. You gotta let the smoke out slowly before you cough, it hurts less."
"Yeah, easy for you to say," I mutter, wiping tears from my eyes. "Let me try again."
Determined to redeem myself, I hold out my hand, and she hands me back the joint, watching with playful anticipation.
I inhale carefully, trying to pace myself. Almost immediately, my throat rebels, and I blow the smoke out in another fit of coughing, no less dramatic than before. I meet Sophia's amused gaze with an exaggerated grin, surrendering to my lack of skill.
"You're hopeless," she says affectionately, shaking her head with laughter. But the softness in her eyes reassures me that it's alright.
I lean back against the fence, feeling the music vibrating faintly through the wall behind us. My head spins pleasantly as the high mixes with the alcohol, a warm buzz spreading throughout my body.
Just then, the heavy metal door swings open, spilling harsh flashing light into the darkness. Three figures emerge, all dressed in causal clothing. Instantly, Sophia tenses beside me, her eyes widening in sudden fear. She turns to me, mouthing my nickname, her voice stolen by panic.
"Le-Le..."
Confused, I begin to ask, "Sophia, what's wr—"
"Oh?" One man interrupts, a mocking grin etched into his face, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Am I interrupting something?"
Sophia draws a shaky breath, clearly struggling to mask her anxiety. "Martin, I already told you. I'm done with you."
He scoffs, stepping closer. "Funny, I recall you saying you'd think about it."
"I thought you'd get the hint," Sophia fires back, though her voice trembles slightly, betraying her bravado.
Martin glances dismissively between us, gestureing sharply, almost disgusted. "What hint? This?" He points directly at me, his expression darkening. "This shouldn't even exist. It was supposed to be you and me."
I feel a cold anger rise, cutting through my intoxication like a blade. "Could you kindly fuck off?" I snap.
Martin barely acknowledges me, his eyes fixed disdainfully on Sophia. "Quiet, kid. Adults are speaking."
"We've been broken up for two years, Martin," Sophia pleads, desperation edging into her voice. "I've moved on. It's time you do the same."
"With him?" Martin finally looks at me fully, contempt clear in his expression. He shakes his head, sneering, "Bad choice."
"Oh wow, you actually acknowl—" Before I can finish my sentence, Martin violently shoves me back. I stumble, nearly losing balance as my head begins to pound, reality sharpened by adrenaline and rage.
"Man, fuck you!" I charge at him blindly, shoving him with enough force to make him stagger back slightly.
He smiles, a sinister glint in his eyes. "That's right. Fight back."
In an instant, he lunges forward, landing a punch squarely on my face. White-hot pain explodes through my skull, stars erupting across my vision. His fists rain down mercilessly, each blow heavy and precise, fueled by pure rage. Blood floods my mouth from my split lip, the metallic taste sickeningly bitter.
If only I hadn't smoked. If only I'd stayed sober, I could've defended myself better. My movements feel slow, clumsy, pathetically ineffective against his practiced brutality. Desperation tightens my chest as I swing wildly, hopelessly missing.
Martin's punches land relentlessly, one crashing into my jaw with a horrifying crack. Pain radiates through my entire body, and my legs buckle. I collapse heavily to the gritty pavement, struggling to catch a breath that refuses to come. My vision blurs, the world spinning around me, threatening to slip away entirely.
"Martin, stop!" Sophia's anguished voice cuts through my haze. "Please!"
Ignoring her plea, Martin straddles me roughly, grabbing my shirt collar and forcing my battered face upwards. Weakly, I turn my head toward Sophia. Tears streak her face, mascara tracing dark lines down her cheeks. The two men stand impassively beside her, my guess is to make sure she doesn't intervene. My gaze meets hers, my voice barely audible.
"Sophia..."
Martin leans in close, his words cold and venomous. "This could've been avoided."
Sophia's voice breaks, the pain and desperation evident as she cries out, defeated. "Okay! Fine! You want me back? I'll go with you. Just please! Stop hurting him!"
Satisfied, Martin releases my collar abruptly, my head hitting the pavement with a sickening thud. I lie there helpless, reaching weakly toward her retreating figure. "Sophia... please... don't..."
Martin turns swiftly, delivering one final, brutal kick to my stomach. Pain surges through me, stealing whatever breath I had left.
"Who the fuck asked you?!" he roars viciously.
Sophia tries desperately to step forward, but one of Martin's men places a firm hand on her shoulder, holding her back. Helplessly, she surrenders, eyes fixed on the ground in utter defeat. Martin strides toward her, brushing the back of his hand cruelly across her tear-streaked cheek.
"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" he sneers.
Sophia shuts her eyes tightly, a lone tear slipping silently down her face as Martin possessively wraps an arm around her shoulders. She glances back at me one last time, her eyes filled with anguish, apology, and a depth of sadness that burns itself into my memory.
Then they vanish through the back door, leaving me broken, bloodied, and utterly alone as I slip into unconsciousness.
