Page 10 of Hurt

“It’s not my fault he—”

“What did I tell you?” she hissed. It was more frightening than if she had been yelling.

“…not to hit the customers.”

“I told you not to hit the customers. Where was my bouncer?” She scanned the room until she found her brother cowering behind a table. “Where the hell were you while my bartender was beating a customer unconscious?”

“I was over here,” Sid answered simply.

Molly stared at him until her right eye started twitching. “Sid, for the love…take this guy in the back. Grab my med kit.”

Sid scurried to do his sister's bidding, head low as he effortlessly scooped up the grown man and gently carried him into the back room. Kurt watched them disappear into the room and felt his throat constrict. His face still ached. The bruise wasn’t terribly noticeable, and he had certainly had worse. The pain from the bruise was nothing compared to the way he could still feel Ezra’s hands on him.

“Willow,” Molly snapped attention back to the two siblings, “what are you doing here?”

“I came for the show,” Willow answered with an easy smile.

“Go get dressed and get up on stage. You better be dancing around that pole in the next fifteen minutes if you don’t want to be skewered on it.”

“Kinky.”

She dodged her swat and scampered backstage.

Molly looked back at Kurt. She stared up at him for a long moment. There was something in her large chocolate eyes, a sense. Like she knew. She could read Kurt like a book.

“Drunk assholes have never bothered you before,” she pointed out.

Kurt didn’t answer. He felt stupid. Being lectured by someone half his size while he stood in the middle of the bar holding a rag of ice on his battered knuckles.

“You’re fraying at the edges, Kurt,” she said, not unkindly.

He looked away, unable to meet her knowing stare. He didn’t want to think about how right she was. He was doing fine. He could handle it. He had to.

“How’s your hand?” Her demeanor shifted to a medical professional.

“Hurts.”

“Good.” She sniffed and stalked back to the storage room to deal with their customer.

Kurt returned to the bar. He hadn’t noticed the reactions of the other patrons in the bar—he didn’t care. The majority of them had only watched long enough to see a good fight before returning to whatever conversation they had been having previously.

He rubbed his knuckles and debated sticking his entire hand in the ice machine but figured that wouldn’t be hygienic. Instead, he grabbed a shot glass and splashed some vodka in it. Downing the clear liquid, he winced, choking back a cough as the burn inflamed his throat and lungs.

Kurt had a complicated relationship with vodka. Right after he dropped out of high school, the only work he could get was fighting in the underground fights. He had his nephew to support. The payouts were good but not good enough to afford actual medical attention. Vodka was a cure-all—disinfectant, anesthesia, and pain reliever. Now every time he tasted the caustic stuff, he was reminded of his late teens. Of screaming crowds and dark rooms. Of blood, sweat, and the rhythmic sounds of flesh hitting flesh. The memories hit him like a kaleidoscope of colors—harsh flares that stung his eyes. Feelings he wished he could forget as he pushed himself past the brink of pain.

That’s where Ezra had found him.

Putting the vodka away, he tossed the rag and melted ice into the sink and closed his eyes. The room began to spin. He wasn’t sure if it was the drink or the adrenalin.

The bell above the door tinkled, and he opened his eyes in time to see the Weavers walk in. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw that they were right on time—it was 7:58.

Roland made his way to his usual spot, stepping over the puddle of blood on the floor without looking at it. Elijah came to the bar, taking a stool and leaning on it.

He looked different today. Put together, but he was missing his usual tie and jacket. His shirt didn’t completely match his pants, and Kurt could see what looked like blood stained on the skin of his hands.

“Peroxide,” Kurt said, sliding his usual can of soda to him. “It’ll get the blood stain off your skin.”

Elijah blinked once before smiling shyly. “Thanks. I usually get to it before it can set, but…”