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Tiger's Stripes

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TW: Mentions of Sexual Abuse, Depictions of Domestic Abuse, and Self-harm. Mark is a troubled kid, a street fighter by trade, and an all around cynical bastard who comes from an abusive household. His father is a drunkard and his mother is absent. Priscilla is a loving person who works at her parents clinic but she's struggling on her own, alone in the deep end, the only thing keeping her grounded in reality is her feelings for a boy she knows from high-school and her addiction which is getting the better of her.

Romance / Drama
5.0 1 review
Age Rating:


I started fighting to punish myself and get my rage out. I punish myself by “accidentally” letting my guard down too early getting my fingers and arms broken. I let out my rage on those who fight me on the bad days, mistaking me for a pushover they barely try and I break their jaws. The funny thing is, a betrayal was all it took to end my fun. As I lay on the concrete with my ears bleeding, my head ringing, my vision fading into an eternal black, but most importantly, my friend standing over me. I always trusted him like a brother, me and Austin vs. the world, I just wish he felt the same. I felt like I was dying as he stomped on my chest breaking my ribs.

“That’s what you get for not paying me back” he laughed. “I should’ve known you were trouble, but don’t worry, this isn’t personal,” his laugh turning to a cackle as he stomped full force on my good hand crushing it. He then walked away leaving me sprawled on the cold cement.

“Is this really where I’ll die, I’m not ready yet.” As the thought pounded in my skull I stood up and walked to the clinic a few blocks away. I collapsed in front of the building and the doors opened “oh my god- are you okay!?” A beautiful woman stepped out of the clinic, her long black hair contrasted with her paper-white skin, and she was definitely gifted in her assets. I let out a breathless chuckle. “Yeah lady, just peak condition.” As I said this, she looked at me with concern but some relief.

“Oh praise god, you’re still alive.”

I felt the urge to ask her name but figured that I’d rather live to remember it so I just rolled over and asked, “Could you maybe help? Just check my wallet that should pay off the bills.” She nodded and called over help and the relief hit me “I’m actually going to live...” and I shut my eyes hoping to survive.

“That’s all I remember up to now, sir.” The man in front of me is so annoying, I’ve always hated cops ever since I was a kid now look at me, I wake up and some pig is in front of me questioning me, if I knew any of this would be happening I would’ve rather died on the street. The woman who I’m assuming got me in here walked in.

“Excuse me, Officer Nolan, I would like to speak to him now.” as she said this the cop nodded and stepped out, glaring at me as he walked out. She looked me in the eyes somberly.

“So, Mark, I know you’re very popular in the underground fighting scene but, these injuries are debilitating, I don’t think you’ll be able to fight again.”

I laughed holding back tears. “So what you’re telling me is my only income source, and my only outlet is just gone. Like that?” She nodded and I laughed more. “Well then, guess I don’t really have a reason to live anymore huh, it was the only thing I really had anymore.” As I was saying that she grabbed my arm and I winced.

“Don’t say that Mark, you still can go to school! You can make a better life for yourself!” I averted my eyes from the woman.

“Why do you even care, and how do you even know my name?” As the words escaped my mouth she looked heartbroken.

“Mark don’t you remember me, I’m Priscilla, from school.” I looked again and recognized her now. Priscilla, the cutest girl at school, and by far the kindest, no matter who you were or where on the hierarchy you were treated like you were her best friend.

“So, uh Priscilla, why are you working here, you’re only a Junior.”

She smiled warmly. “My parents run this clinic, you’re lucky I know you. They usually want nothing to do with criminals of any kind, not even street fighters.” I tried to let out a chuckle but I was sitting in a weird position and my ribs felt like they were stabbing my lungs when I tried. She grabbed my hand and held it tight in hers.

“I care about you, Mark.” Her eyes were somber, I never noticed but her eyes were as beautiful as the rest of her, a deep brown.

“You care about everyone” I pulled my hand away half in disgust, half in a rejection to pity.

“I don’t want to be pitied,” I stated to her, looking into her eyes. She leaned close and gently hugged me, I was shocked. It’s been years since I’ve ever been shown affection, especially from someone like her. I looked her in the eyes again and asked, “Why do you care about me?"

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