Page 73 of Almost Ravaged

The edges of my vision go red. This fucker doesn’t know when to quit.

“Wabbit?” Atty takes the bait, effectively changing the subject.

Tanvers barks out a laugh as he emerges from his shower stall and smacks Swayzee on the back. “Elmer Fudd here thinkswabbitis a clever alternative to puck bunny.”

Atty’s lip curls in disgust. “Dude. My sister’s not a wabbit.”

I shove past Swayzee, heading for the stall Tanvers just vacated. “Sawyer’s not a fucking puck bunny either,” I mumble as I shoulder-check the mouthy bastard.

His responding laugh echoes off the tile. “Is it weird that your buddy is more defensive of your sister than you are?”

I turn the water on with a little too much force and step into the hot spray. The pressure is intense and the water is scalding. It’s exactly what I need to clear my mind and soothe my sore muscles.

Jericho pipes up from the stall beside me. “If you think this is bad, you should hear the tangents on his podcast.”

Groans float out from just about every stall. That eases my irritation a fraction. At least I’m not the only one who seems put off by Swayzee’s shenanigans.

“In or out for Thursday, Davvalicious?” he asks as he steps into his own shower.

“Oh. I kind of like that,” a guy across the room chimes in.

Swayzee’s yapping doesn’t even slow. “If she’s your sister, then maybe she’s the one we should be calling Davvalicious.”

Fuck him.

Fuck this.

I can’t fucking listen to them talk about Sawyer.

I scrub at my skin, dragging the thin, sudsy washcloth with enough force to leave angry red marks beneath the dark hair on my torso.

When that doesn’t stop the anger from building in my chest, I chuck the washcloth against the tiles and brace both arms against the back wall, panting. Eyes squeezed shut, I force all the air from my lungs, then inhale slowly. Fuck, I have to chill the fuck out.

I can’t lash out. Can’t overreact.

I can’t ostracize myself before my teammates even have the chance to think of me as one of them.

As the hot water pounds against my neck and shoulders, I drop my head lower. Droplets of blood seep to the surface of the skin of my torso, evidence of my violent scrubbing, but they wash away as quickly as they appear.

“All right, all right,” Atty relents. “I’ll go out with you Thursday, but you have to leave my sister out of it. No nicknames for her,ever. And no wabbit weferences.”

The room erupts in laughter. No surprise there. The guy is easy to like. Once they’ve moved on to other topics, I go back to focusing on my breathing.

I give myself another ten seconds to let the darkness swirl inside me. To picture laying out Swayzee on the ice. Dragging him out of his shower stall. Forcing him to the frozen surface. Face down, his wet, bare skin sticking to the smooth ice to keep him locked in place.

I’d skate around him until he’d pissed himself and was crying so hard he hyperventilated. Only then would I drag my skates over his bare back. I’d tear through skin until I exposed the muscle and bone beneath the surface of his rotten personality. I’d dig in and twist with the edge of one blade, severing ligaments and tendons. I’d use my stick to prod at his flesh, peeling back the muscle and stripping the insides of his limbs.

The blood pooling beneath his body would freeze in layers, seeping out of him little by little. All because he ran his fucking mouth and disrespected my girl.

“Ty.”

The voice is close. Familiar. I snap up straight and find Atty staring at me, his sharp gaze looking right through the mask I wear for the rest of the world. He doesn’t know the depths of my darkness—no one fucking does—but he knows when I’m spiraling.

He swallows thickly, holding my gaze. “Arrêt,” he murmurs, using the French word forstopbefore switching back to English. That distinction is enough to snag my attention.

Atty continues. “Let it go. I put an end to it. He won’t say shit about her again.”

Lights dance in my periphery and my hearing comes in and out, like it always does when I’m on the verge of losing it.