FIGHT

Chapter 2

I let the scalding water cascade down around me, scrubbing my damp face with my newly calloused hands. My mind replays all of the events of the day.

After Holden decided to forego his "sweet" facade, I stormed out of the gym. Luckily for me, I happened to run into Josh in the parking lot. And what exactly was it that he wanted to talk about? Oh, right. Why I was so angry.

Why is that all people want to know about me?

I shrugged Josh off, mumbling Holden's name under my breath. Hopefully he got the hint and gave his little "professional boxer" a stern talking to.

Or a hard punch in the face.

Honestly, either one works perfectly fine for me. But, preferably, a hard punch in the face.

I run my hands through my wet hair, allowing the steam to relieve the stress and tension from my muscles. All that I can think about is his brown, unruly hair, those green eyes, and that cute little dimple. Though I hate to admit it, even a blind person would be able to tell how attractive he is.

Physically, anyway.

I'm not really the kind of girl who goes for the guys that expect every woman to swoon for them. They're otherwise known as egotistic, narcissistic bastards.

I reach behind me to shut the water off. The lasting droplets from my hair create a loud echo as they slam into the linoleum tub. I shove the curtain aside as I grab my towel, quickly stepping onto the mat placed in front of me.

I swipe my hand once, twice, three times across the thin veil of fog to take a peak at my reflection.

My dark hair somehow manages to look even darker, some singular strands clinging to my damp, lightly tanned skin. The heat within the room causes a natural flush in my cheeks, tinting them a rosy pink. If it weren't for my eyes, I would've considered myself pretty. Maybe even beautiful.

But the eyes that stare back at me, the ones matching my own — they're dead. Without the use of concealer, the dark circles under my eyes become enhanced; not just a basic feature, but an eye-catching aspect. The echo of my eyes looks haunted. Emotion completely concealed and the natural light gone. The light that only comes back when training, when pumping my adrenaline and anger out.

At least the bruise that had been prominent on my left temple is now gone.

I tuck the towel tight around my body as I push open the wooden door to my bedroom. The clothes nearest to me are just a pair of leggings and an old t-shirt, but I slip them on anyway. After my encounter with Mr. Professional Boxer, I just want nothing more than to crawl underneath my warm sheets and curl up in bed.

My body launches onto the thick mattress, basking in its comfortability. I blindly reach for my phone, slamming my hand down on my nightstand repeatedly until I feel my phone's smooth exterior beneath my fingertips. Squinting my eyes at the bright screen, I type in my passcode. Within the last hour, I've received seven texts and four calls from Luke.

Oh, shit. I'm definitely in trouble.

I click to the screen to call him back, but before I can press my thumb against the call button, a loud banging on my door startles me.

And then the yelling begins.

Faster than a cheetah, I shoot up out of my bed, on my feet in a millisecond. I haven't cleaned my apartment in over a week, causing me to scramble across my small living room to get to the door before the elderly couple next door calls the cops on Luke. Again.