Page 65 of The Lies We Steal

“Harder!”

“Come on, man, I said harder! That’s all you’ve got? No fucking wonder you’re the spare.” His spit lands on my bare chest, the redness in his face is the color of a fire hydrant. From yelling, from the fighting.

My wrapped hands jab into his exposed stomach, my eyes can’t help but notice the deep lacerated scars that lay there and on his chest. I tuck my head into his shoulder, my left hooked around his neck to hold him still as I deliver punch after punch into his gut.

The spare.

I hate that godforsaken name.

I’d rather Thatcher call me Ali every day for the rest of my life than hear someone speak that word to me again.

It’s all they see me as, it’s all anyone has ever seen me as.

Sickly blows come from my fist, made to shatter bone. I don’t know many people who could handle hits like these. I’d guess after years of abuse, he’d gotten used to it. It was a warped sense of bonding between friends.

Old wounds I love to bury with explosive rage, unearth in this basement. They are split wide open, leaving me to bleed out all the reasons why I wish I were never born.

Whether on purpose or by accident, my parents had named me after the chief executioner and torturer from Hell. Before I was even able to cognitively think, I’d been given a name that predestined who’d I’d become.

Someone who brought pain to souls. A name given to evil spirits and foul tempered individuals.

It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Rook propels my temper with his words, just like I knew he would. Just like I need him to.

“You’re weak, Alistair.” He groans, even though I’m causing enough damage to break him, he still wants more.

My head thumps with all the blood rushing to it, “Shut the fuck up, Rook.”

This is where we transformed years of pain into moments of freedom, we were beating the torment from each other’s bones.

Using the arm around his neck, I pull his face down towards my chest, connecting my hands at the base of his head. Plunging my kneecap into the soft spot right below his rib cage. A receptive move that has my legs stinging from exhaustion. Welts begin to appear on his skin.

Our bodies stick together from the perspiration dripping from our bodies. Using each other as the outlets we never had as children.

Sweat, smoke, and the lingering scent of rubber from the mat plug my nose. Just not enough to forget that exotic floral aroma that stuck to my skin like leeches. It penetrated the chlorine, even after my shower, I could still smell it. I could still smell her.

The vigor I felt after leaving her there, soaked to the core, knowing how badly she throbbed for an orgasm. I could feel the heat, the juices that poured from her cunt, even in the water. Knowing I’d twisted her little mind into knots.

I’d showed her that she was no better than us. A dirty, gritty girl who enjoyed the things that crept in the night. Watching her pant and whimper in the arms of the guy she hates.

Chasing an orgasm on the thigh of the man who was going to be her demise. It was intoxicating. I’d never felt power like that before.

My head isn’t in the right space for this. It’s slipping further away from this fight by the second.

In my distracted state, I give Rook theopportunity to place his hands on my chest, shoving me backwards and away from his body. He throws a sloppy left hook into my jaw, enough power behind it to clip my bottom lip. I feel the blood begin to dribble down my chin.

We freeze for a second, both of us in shock. Rook’s eyes are opened slightly wider, and I raise my finger to my lip, pulling it away to inspect the bright red liquid left behind.

I’d never been struck before.

I’d never allowed anyone to hit me before.

I wasn’t sure who was in more shock, me or Rook. For the first time since we were young teenagers, he’d landed a punch that brought blood.

She was ruining fucking everything. Her smell, the pathetic moans, over eager hips and panting were ruining my concentration. Her existence was fucking up my life.

So consumed with her, with getting rid of her, with keeping her quiet that other women were a blur. All of them out of focus and hazy because my sights were so dialed into what she was doing, where she was, who she was talking to.