Page 33 of Sticks & Serpents

Some part of me knew this wasn’t healthy—knew that these moments would only ever be temporary fixes for wounds too deep to heal—but it didn’t matter now. All I craved was to unleash all that pent-up fury swirling inside me—my mother and everything she had done to me, even the remnants of yesterday’s confrontation and those memories of Holly looking at Logan.

The first opponent stepped up—a guy named Cole who had been waiting for his chance to prove himself against me. We circled each other in silence before he lunged forward, throwing punches like he was trying to drown out his own pain.

I let loose then, every hit echoing through me like thunder rolling across an open sky—my fists finding their mark with each calculated blow. It felt good; it felt right.

As each round wore on, I lost track of time, existing solely in this brutal reality where nothing else mattered except chaos and pain—the only things that had ever truly felt like freedom to me.

I losttrack of time in that ring, the sweat and blood mixing with adrenaline until the only thing I felt was the satisfying throb of my knuckles against flesh. Hours passed like seconds, and one by one, bodies fell away, leaving me alone in the quiet chaos of my own making. Each punch sent ripples through me—a release I desperately craved.

Finally, when the last guy slipped out, too battered to stick around for another round, I peeled off my gloves and flexed my sore hands. The pain flared up but faded into nothing compared to the rush of satisfaction coursing through me. I hit harder than ever before, each strike a reminder of who I was—and who I wouldn’t let anyone forget.

After showering away the grime and sweat, I dressed quickly and stepped outside. The summer sun beat down on me, but it barely registered. My focus remained fixed on Holly. I knew her schedule by heart—memorized it like a lifeline that kept pulling me closer to her.

Gym first; then committee work for that charity game. Summer sessions meant no classes for her. Predictable as always when she was trying to keep her life from unraveling. But predictability was weakness.

I parked near the event office and settled into a spot where shadows could shield me from view. The hours dragged on as I waited, my thoughts running wild. I imagined Holly at her desk, tapping away on her laptop, probably trying to ignore whatever tension lingered between us after yesterday’s encounter.

I waited outside the rink, leaning against the cool metal railing, letting the chaos inside fade to a dull roar. When Holly stepped out, her expression shifted from relief to something closer to dread as she spotted me.

I straightened up, blocking her path. Not aggressive, just calm and calculated. I felt the weight of my presence settle between us like a storm.

“What do you want, Damien?” she asked, tension threading through her voice.

“You know what I want,” I replied, a smirk creeping onto my face.

Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I’m not doing this.”

I stepped closer, closing the distance until the air between us thickened with unspoken words and unresolved tension. She backed up until her spine hit the cold brick wall behind her, but I could see the way her breath quickened—she was feeling it too.

“Aren’t you tired of pretending?” I asked, lowering my voice to a dangerous whisper.

Her breath hitched at that, and in that moment, I knew I’d struck a nerve. The flicker of vulnerability crossed her features like lightning illuminating the night sky. It felt exhilarating to watch.

Leaning in closer, close enough that she could feel my breath on her neck, I said, “You liked it when you were mine. Don’t fucking lie to me, Holly.”

Her jaw tightened; she didn’t move away from me. For a second, everything else faded—the noise from inside the rink, the sunlight pouring down around us—it was just me and her in that tight space. The weight of my words hung there like an unacknowledged truth we both knew but refused to speak aloud.

The world could crumble around us; all that mattered was this moment and how it pulsed with unacknowledged desires that threatened to break free at any second.

I brushed my thumb along her jaw, the touch gentle yet firm. It was a warning wrapped in something that felt like tenderness. I could crush her, make her remember what I was capable of, but not yet. Not until I had all the pieces in place.

“Logan was nothing,” I murmured, letting the words hang in the air between us like smoke. “You know that. You knew what would happen when you smiled at him like that.”

Her eyes flashed with a mix of anger, fear, and something darker—desire simmering just beneath the surface. It was beautifully fucked up, watching her emotions dance across her face. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips, and it thrilled me.

“Don’t act like you care,” she shot back, trying to regain control. But we both knew it was an act; I could see through her confidence like glass.

“Care?” I scoffed, tilting my head slightly as if considering her words. “That’s rich coming from you. You think I don’t see how you look at me? How you can’t help yourself?”

She bit down on her lip to suppress a reaction, but it didn’t escape me. The way her breath hitched told me everything—I still had that hold over her. Even after all this time apart, even after the chaos of yesterday's violence and fear.

I leaned closer, our faces mere inches apart now. The air crackled with unspoken tension.

“I won’t let anyone else touch you,” I said softly but firmly, letting each word seep into the space between us. “Not again.”

She flinched slightly at the intensity of my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability flashed across her features before she masked it again with defiance.

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” she challenged.

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