Weak | S.R

Spencer

I step outside of the church, starting the long walk back to my car, and looking down at the piece of plastic in my hand. My thirty day chip.

Thirty days sober.

It doesn't compare to twelve years, but it's still something. I can't wait to show Allie. I just know she'll be proud of me. She's been so supportive for the last month as I've gotten clean.

We've been rebuilding our relationship, but I've been trying to give her space. I don't kiss her on the lips because I'm afraid that it'll bring back a bad memory for her. I only give her hugs and cheek kisses and cuddle her at night. In the back of my mind, I think cuddling also doubles as a way of protecting her. She's in my arms, so I know she's safe.

About a block away from my car, I see a familiar face. Not familiar in a good way, either. The guy who played Roger in Rent walks by himself, heading in my direction. Devin... that's his name.

"Hey! Devin, right?" I ask, gesturing to him in a friendly manner.

He looks at me, a bit confused. "Yeah. Have we met?"

I scoff and nod my head. "Briefly," I say quickly before using both of my hands to push him.

He stumbles a bit, but regains his balance easily. "What the fuck, man?" He yells before his fist is heading straight for me.

He clocks me in the eye and I let out a pained cry, my hands both covering my eye. He doesn't stop there, though. He hits me in the stomach, making me keel over, losing my breath for a few seconds.

Don't make more of a fight out of this, Spencer. I tell myself. He's got a warrant out for his arrest. Call the police, they'll do the rest.

No, they won't.

A white college kid... the most he'll get for it is probation or maybe six months in prison. He deserves to have his ass kicked. For what he did to Allie, for what he's done to other girls.

I get some sort of second wind, and even though I know that it's not a great idea to fight him... I can't help myself.

"Come on, old man? What? You all tuckered out after two hits?"

Pretending to still be gripping my stomach, I charge at him and knock him over. I straddle him and grab his wrists, holding them down above his head with my left hand.

"Is this how you held her down? Huh?" I ask quietly before connecting my fist to his jaw. He cries out in pain, but I'm not swayed by it. "Aw, does it hurt?" I taunt before hitting him once again. This time, he spits some blood out. I throw another punch, followed by another, and another...

Until I feel a sharp pain in my crotch.

"Fuck!" I groan, reaching for the area out of instinct.

The prick really kicked me there.

It's then that I realize i'm not holding his hands down anymore. Before I can do something about it, I get a solid right hook to my cheek. And another to my mouth. I lose count for a minute.

When the pain in my crotch isn't as terrible, I hit him back, right in the jaw, as hard as I can. This gives me a way to get the upper hand and use both of my fists.

I lose count of my own punches, watching blood coming from his nose and mouth. I could kill him right now. I should kill him. He deserves it. He fucking deserves it.

Another hit.

I'm gonna kill him.

Another hit.