Accidents

Chapter 59

Damon's P.O.V

Every small swing to his face feeds my adrenaline. The rushing inside of me is gassing up to explode in thin air.

I can feel the sweat damped into my hair and the targets jaw I keep colliding my boxer glove to.

He looks pretty fucked up as I am right now. The blood dripping down just from the corner of my brow is revealing from the side of my eye and I can taste metal in my mouth.

My feet take steady small bounces on the ring to get closer to the other opponent that I'm boxing with. Each hit dissolves my anger that is still left in me from last night.

Last night was the most escalated and fucked up thing that happened in my life and will forever taunt my life.

I never felt this guilty killing someone. I shouldn't even be killing people in the first place, but  growing up in a fucked up house full of gangs changes the thought of that and it comes to the point where it isn't a choice to carry a gun everywhere you go now. The only people I've killed were already criminals or just bad people who wanted to fuck around in my life.

Was Blake a bad person? I don't know that for sure. I haven't seen him since he's been dicking around with Chaz. After Chaz he's been different, unlike himself, and I out of all people should know that because I've been in his place, it's a fucked up world when you have to live it with Chaz. I don't even see Chaz anymore and his actions still haunt me till this day because it still effects me.

I wonder if Chaz even knows Blake is dead.

Chaz...that fucking name itself pisses the fuck out of me.

"Damon," The voice comes out as a blur.

Next thing I know I'm on top of my practice opponent and beating his face till it's turning purple, but I don't budge myself to get off because I...like it. I like the vex feeling my adrenaline is taking over. I need more of it.

"Damon! It's done, you got him on the ground!" the couch yells at me.

Flashes of Blake and I pop in my mind. When we were little kids growing up, days were always spent with just the two of us. Everyday. The different adventures we'd do together.

"This is your own fault," Blake told me. It is. Everything I do and everyone I surround myself with gets hurt, it is my fault.

My punches get harder and more passive aggressive with no fucking stop to it. My hands feel heavy and robotic that my mind is shutting off and my hands keep going. I can feel the knuckles scabs, scrape beneath the fabric of my boxer gloves at this point.

I feel arms grip around me to get me off of the guy that I beat the living shit out of. His face is already swollen and bruises take over his skin.

My coach leads me further away from my opponent that is still laying in the ring.

"Hey! You two! Go get him some ice and get him off the ring," the coach tells the other two guys practicing. One of the guys I know is Christian, he's a douche who thinks he's all that, but he helps me around with practicing so I gotta be nice to the kid once in awhile.

They both oblige and help carry the man out of the ring.

"Holy shit," the other guy with Christian says, amused by the injured opponents face that I caused.

"Jheez Landers, you don't know when to stop huh?" Christian says snickering out a laugh.

"Both of you girls shut the fuck up and take Alberto out of the ring and get him some fucking ice," the coach shouts at both of them which makes their smiles dissolve into fear. They scurry out of he ring, helping Alberto out.

"You could've fucking killed him!" My couch yells at me once they leave.

I bite the fabric off the velcro that is holding my boxer glove in place around my wrist. I drop it down once the velcro is untied and untie the other glove with my bare hand. I drop my boxer glove off on the ring, ignoring my coach who is furious at me.

"Did you here me?"

"Won't happen again coach," I tell him walking away out of the ring.

"You bet you're ass it won't," he shouts back once again.