fight club ★ h.s.

ch. 2

Harry knew the streets of New York like the back of his hand. He liked to think that his veins paralleled them - running straight and strong carrying life and secrets.

Stella knew the land her house sat on better than she knew herself. Knew that the acres of trees and grass felt like it went on till the end of the earth if she spent the day outside.

Harry had seen most of England in his childhood, even traveled to Italy and Ireland, but he had spent the last seven years in New York and hadn't looked back. Hadn't gone back and hadn't gone anywhere else.

Stella knew upstate New York. Her little corner of the world, the acreage she lived on and the parks that were north of the city. She had been to New York only a handful of time  to see Broadway plays and shop in expensive stores, but she loved the excitement of the city and lived to see the lights again.

Harry had a job to do nearly every night and he did it well. He would never admit it, but he loved the attention it brought to him, that successful people saw something in him, even if it was just physical.

Stella was enrolled in NYU online, she had wanted to live in the city and go in person, a dream her and her mother had shared for her, but much like everything else, her father deemed it unsafe.

Harry rarely woke up anywhere other than his own bed. It was a choice that he valued greatly and an option he took even if it meant calling an Uber at 2 in the morning. It was also rare that Harry lost fights, he hated when it happened. He despised the looks of disappointment and mocking glances he received. But mostly hated feeling and looking weak.

Stella didn't take for granted the bed, the room or the home she had. She too, rarely woke up anywhere other than her own bed, it was the only one she had ever really known. this had become a habit, something she didn't think much about. One greatly enforced by her father. Even sleepovers, when she was younger were always at her house, she never really paid much mind and her friends loved all the room for tag and hide and seek. But some nights she wished for hotel beds and friends' couches and unfamiliar walls to match landscaped she didn't know.

Stella woke up to same white ceiling and grey walls as usual, only the first thought to cross her mind was the night before. She wanted to run downstairs and pull answers and explanations from her father, but he hated when she ran and thudded down the stairs and she worried that he would yell at her. Calmly, her feet met the floor and padded over to the dresser to pull on socks and put her hair up into a ponytail.

Stella made her way to the kitchen, high hopes of talking with her father. When she entered, he had a cup of black coffee and the morning newspaper in his hands. The crease between his brows seemed deeper than usual, but the black suit he wore was typical.

"Good morning Stella," he said. His voice was rough and held emotion. "I'll be in the city today and won't be back until tomorrow. Don't go wandering."

With that, he kissed the top of her head, grabbed his suitcase and keys before making his way towards the door. Stella stood in the same place in the kitchen doorway watching him walk away, her voice caught in her throat. Though her father seemed to have no trouble ignoring the past night's events, but Stella couldn't stop thinking of the crowd and her father in the middle of it all and the curly haired man with green eyes.

Everything replayed in her head bringing all of the questions back. What was happening? Why? Who were the two bloodied men? Were they okay? Who was the brown-haired man? Why was her father there?

Stella didn't know how she was going to get answers, but taking a look in the basement would be a start. Her father had said no wandering, but she didn't plan on wandering too far away. There was no yelling coming from behind the door like the night prior, but the uneasiness in her stomach returned. The familiar smell of bleach met her halfway down the stairs and when her eyes surveyed the large room it seemed as though it had all been a dream.

It was spotless, not a single drop of blood or shoe print or man was in the room, just Stella's reflection staring back at her in the mirror. She was somewhat bewildered and began to search the floor, the walls, any surface she could find for proof that it was not a dream. She remembered it too clearly and the green stood out too much. A part of her hated that it did, wished she could forget all the colors and believe it was a dream. But another part of her clung to the idea that it was all real. Still, it both scared and thrilled Stella that the outside world could suddenly came into hers, then leave just as quick.

The hallway adjacent to the open room, was the only other place to search for proof of her memory. There were a handful of rooms that lined the hallway, all kept shut. Stella knew one was a full bath while the other five or so were bedrooms. Maids, butlers and nannies would stay here if caught in weather during the winter or if parties had gone too late, but it had been years since any person besides Stella and her father had slept in the house.
She couldn't remember the last time she had been down that hallway and didn't even think she had seen inside the bedrooms, she had through before to do so, but didn't like not knowing where the light switches were or what was around the corner. This time she ventured further from the main room, down the hallway and to the doors.

It was silent aside from Stella's footsteps and light breaths, it was a strange comfort to think she was alone. The hallway light was flicked on before she made her way to the first door. It was dark aside from the hallway light, but it felt familiar and was completely empty. The second, third and fourth were all the same, each smelling musty and letting out a cool draft. The bathroom matched the scent from the main room, but was also empty.

Stella's memories of the night before began to feel more like a dream, something from a documentary or book she had read some time ago, when she moved to open the last door. The room was dark and the musty smell still surrounded her, Stella's first glance was so quick she almost missed it, but she froze when her eyes caught the lump on the bed.

From what Stella could see there was still tape on the lump's hands and blood on his face, though his curls covered most of it. Aside from him, a stack of twenties on the bedside table was the only foreign thing to the room. But there was always money, even if it wasn't on the bedside table in that particular bedroom and even if Stella didn't know about it. Mr. Montgomery knew how to play his hand and knew that even through his fighter was strong, it was safe to bet against while still betting for. He had bet five times as much for the fighter than against him, he always did, but betting that he would lose, helped cushion the blow just a tad when he actually did and still gave his fighter money in his pocket.

When the fighter shifted his position, Stella's hand yanked the door handle towards her, she spun around and ran back down the hallway, heard the bedroom door slam, continued through the basement's main room and up the stairs, then up another to the second floor, before her legs began to feel heavy. She went around a door frame and tried to still her breathing so she listen. The silence from before continued, but her breathing and her heart pounded.

word count: 1403
hope you like it!