I left that house hurt and angry when really I have no right to be like that. I left so that Mia could have the life she has now and so Cade didn't have to deal with my fucked up head. But then, why do I hurt so much?
And the unwelcome thoughts of Cade keep coming back into my head again and again. The urge to just have a taste of his warm flesh on mine. The image hits me full force, making me hard, wanting to explore that dark desire I have inside me. Then I do what I always do when I need to get out of my head. I change into my gym shorts, strap up and spar with Damon.
"Fucking hell Kane, I'm not your goddamn opponent. Will you ease up?" Damon grunts as I hit him repeatedly, getting rid of the anger I feel and erasing the dirty thoughts that consume my mind. "I need this, D. You know you don't have to hold back on me. I can more than take it," I tell him, jumping from side to side and stretching my tense muscles. I hunch over as a whoosh of air leaves my lungs.
I look up at Damon and see him smirking. "What? you didn't think I would pass up on that offer, did you?" Shaking his head at me, "Kane, you should know me better than that." He goes in for another hit, but I side-step him and uppercut him under the jaw, sending him on his back. He gasps, struggling to catch his breath. I stand there, sweat dripping down my face, muscles loosening up now that I'm utilizing them, waiting for Damon to get back up so I can put him down again.
I love the adrenaline rush I get when I fight. It's the only time I can forget about everything other than my body causing pain to my opponents. "Right, that's it for today. I don't want to wear you out before your fight tonight," Damon says, getting up from the mats and rubbing his jaw. A snort escapes me. Damon would never admit defeat.
I spend the next hour packing, ready to leave tomorrow. Damon peeks his head into the bedroom. "I'm ordering some Chinese you want anything?"
"Just get a bit of everything we like."
"Sure, no problem," he looks at me like he wants to say something else but shakes his head and leaves.
We sit at the dining table, opening the egg rolls, satay chicken, beef with broccoli, fried rice, and chicken chow mein. Don't judge. We burn a lot of calories. Damon speaks as I'm dipping an egg roll into some sweet and sour sauce. "So, how come you never mentioned Mia and Cade before?"
"Daniel," I growl, narrowing my eyes at him.
"Yeah, yeah, just answer the question."
I stuff the whole damn egg roll into my mouth, giving me time to think of a reason. Apart from wanting to erase everything in my past to spare me the pain, there wasn't really a reason. I have a quick drink of my water to wash down the egg roll. Damon waits, food untouched, having no intention of eating until he gets some answers. "It was complicated.Iscomplicated," I tell him.
If I know Damon, he won't give up until he hears every little detail of my history with them. He would even go to the lengths of getting the information from them. Knowing their version of the story would make me look like a complete fucking asshole. I decide I'm going to tell him everything. He is the only one I ever told about my father beating me regularly, so he should understand why I did what I did.
"Fuck, man, So you just left them? They still don't know your Dad used to hit you?" Damon asks, eyes wide. His food is now cold and still untouched.
"It wasn't something you just blurt out, and it wasn't going to change my decision to leave, so what was the point?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe understanding? They would have understood why you needed to leave," Damon says, palms facing the ceiling and shrugging. I slam my hand on the table, making him jump from the sudden noise in the quiet kitchen. "Don't act like you fucking know them, D," I spit out, nostrils flaring. Baring his teeth at me, the anger apparent on his face, he shouts, "I just think you should have given them the chance to know the truth. Or even if you couldn't do that, you could have given them a goodbye!"
Pointing in his face, I grit out, "I did what I thought was right at the time. I was eighteen years old and scared. I am sick of being made out to be the bad guy." I push away from the table and storm into my bedroom, ignoring his calls to come back. I pace the floor, chest heaving, the heavy weight in my heart a constant reminder of the hurt I have caused.
I didn't want this.
To hurt them.
Fuck.
When the time came close to leaving for my fight with Braylon, I showered and threw on my shorts, a black t-shirt, and trainers.
I've heard rumors that Braylon is tough to beat, but I think I have enough pent-up anger and frustration to defeat him without even breaking a sweat.
Driving to Noxious, Damon gives me a lecture. "So I know your head is all over the place. You've had a lot to deal with, being back here." I look out my passenger side window, refusing to look at him, still pissed off that he would take their side over mine. Even if he was right to. He continues, "I just want to make sure you don't take this fight too far." I turn my head, scowling at him. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?Take it too far."He sighs, giving me the side eye, not wanting to take his eyes off the road, "I just mean, don't get too dirty out there. I've seen you when your head is elsewhere, and you've left a bloody path behind you."
I fold my arms over my chest taking offense. Angry that he thinks he needs to remind me. Does he know me at all? Even when I have been in my head and maybe got a bit carried away in a fight. I have always stayed in control of my actions. I'm not my father. "I can control myself, D. You don't have to worry." I hear him mumble a "hope not" under his breath that I choose to ignore.
I decided to forgo hanging around the bar and watching the other matches and instead stayed in the locker room, not in the mood to be out there with all those people. My hands have been strapped, and my earbuds are in blaring angry rock music, making the urge to fight that much more potent. Ignoring the few other fighters hanging around waiting for their match, I'm stretching when Damon comes in.
"You're up, man." He looks nervous, his red t-shirt straining against his toned chest. His biker boots sound heavy as he walks over to me. "Remember what I said to you, okay? Nice and clean." Stripping off my t-shirt, leaving me in just my loose fighting shorts, I Ignore his lecture, throwing my earbuds into my open gym bag and brushing past him.
Damon runs a hand through his soft, slicked-back hair and mutters, "fuck," under his breath. He knows I'm teetering on the edge.
When Damon first started training me, I was an angry kid. It took patience and a shit tonne of hours teaching me discipline and self-control. He's getting a glimpse of the old me and is worried. The shouting and talking from the excited crowd meet my ears, but as always, I tune it out. I don't fight for them.
I fight for myself.
Getting into the ring and looking out towards the crowd, I see most of the same faces as last night. People are sitting at the tables, facing the ring now, but most of the public are standing, gathered around, shuffling to get a closer view of the ring. Unorganized chaos, spectators anticipating a good fight, and lots of blood.
