Page 49 of The Fight

When his hands touch me, scanning my entire body like he’s assessing me, my breathing starts again. His fingers glide over the rope around my wrists lightly, working the knots and trying to free me. The familiar comfort of his touch makes my heart flip, and the slightest hint of relief washes over me.

For a moment, I let myself believe everything is going to be fine, but then, just as quickly as it came, it’s gone.

The door creaks again, and the sound is louder this time. It swings open with force, and I hear Blake’s voice.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Everything stops. My heart, Shay’s hands, the fucking world spinning. His eyes are locked on Shay, who turns slowly, like he’s trying not to make any sudden movements to scare the beast in front of us. But it doesn’t last long.

Without a word, Shay rushes forward, his body colliding with Blake’s in a sickening bang. Blake’s initial shock is brief, but he quickly retaliates and swings out his fist hard. Shay doesn’t move to try and block it. Instead, I notice the tick in his jaw as he grinds his teeth through the pain.

Suddenly, they’re nothing but a blur, and the room fills with the chaotic sounds of a fight—the crack of punches, the grunts, and the thud of bodies slamming into the walls.

I scream out. “Shay!”

But he doesn’t hear me.

I strain against the restraints still holding me, the rope burning into my skin with the friction of every pull or tug. I can’t just sit here. I can’t just watch.

“Shay!” I scream again, but my voice cracks and fades into an echo.

Shay lands another punch, but Blake manages to shove him backward, causing Shay to stumble into the corner. Blake advances, swinging out again, and connects his fist to Shay’s stomach. Shay doubles over, and I can see the determination on Blake’s face.

He’s enjoying this. He’s savoring every moment of this fight.

I hate him. I hate what he’s doing to Shay. And I hate that I can’t help.

My wrists throb painfully as I tug at the ropes again. Finally, they give way, and one of my hands slips free. My fingers feel numb, but I don’t stop. I yank on the second one, using my fingers from my free hand to tug at the knot at the same time, and finally get it loose enough to slip it out too.

The moment the ropes fall away, I scramble to my feet. My legs feel weak, and the world tilts, but I don’t hesitate. I spot a heavy piece of wood near the wall by the door, and without thinking, I grab it. My hands shake violently around it, but I clutch the makeshift weapon with both hands and let my feet move me toward the fight.

As I get closer, I raise the wood above my head. I swing it with every ounce of strength I have, and a crack sounds out in the room. It connects with Blake’s back and is enough to stun him. His hands leave Shay, and he staggers back, letting Shay move out of the corner.

Shay gasps for air as he takes a shaky step forward to follow Blake as he moves. His fists move up again, and his body surges forward. Before I can even register what happens, he lands abrutal punch to Blake’s jaw. The force sends Blake crashing to the floor.

My heart hammers in my chest as I stare at Shay. He’s bleeding, his lip split, shirt torn. But his eyes… They’re focused and determined. He’s not done.

Blake groans on the ground, rolling to his side to try and stand or gain some sort of composure, but Shay is on him before he can. Shay straddles Blake, clasping one of his shoulders to lay him flat on his back, then unleashes every ounce of rage inside him.

His fists fly in quick succession, all directed to his face. I can’t move—can’t breathe. I’m completely enthralled by his rage and can’t seem to bring myself to stop it. Blow after blow, Blake’s face becomes more and more unrecognizable, but Shay doesn’t stop.

Blood splatters across the room every time he rears it back, and eventually, Blake’s body stops twitching beneath him. Something about seeing him lying there—a literal bloody fucking mess—snaps me out of the haze. I step forward cautiously, almost scared to get too close, and grip Shay by his shoulder.

“Shay. It’s done,” I whisper, but he still doesn’t stop.

His chest is heaving, and his movements are coming slower and slower.

“Shay,” I try again, reaching further down to try and grip his forearm.

My palm slides across his skin with the blood, but something about the full contact has him halting. Slowly, his face turns to mine. Blood paints his face and trickles down his cheeks with the tears I’m sure he doesn’t even realize he’s crying.

“He hurt you.” His statement is simple and gruff.

Nodding, I squat down beside him and cup his face in my hands. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

He nods slowly, never breaking his eyes from mine, but he stays silent.

Police sirens wail in the distance, and eventually, flashing lights burst through the cracks of the wooden walls. I move my hands to Shay’s shoulders and urge him to stand with me, then walk him to the door.

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