Nick just stood there, the unspoken words I waited to tumble from his mouth never showing up.
“You never brought her to the funeral today. You took advantage of her. She was hurting, expecting you to be a friend and instead—”
“I was her friend. I’m still her friend,” Nick spouted back.
“No you’re not. You stay the hell away from her. You hear me?” I snarled as I moved closer to him, my finger pointed straight at his chest.
“What are you gonna do? Kick my ass? Go ahead, I’d like to see you try,” Nick roared as he threw his hands in the air. “If Wilson wants me or needs me, I’ll be there for her,” he continued as he gained confidence with his words and tapped his hand flat against his chest.
Is this asshole for real? Doesn’t he see that he’s already lost? That I have the girl?
“You’re not worth it,” I spat as I seized Wilson’s suitcase and walked toward the stairs. That’s when I felt his arms catch and lock around my neck. I stumbled. Wilson’s suitcase jetted forward and fell down the stairway. I managed to thrust my elbow into Nick’s gut before he fell on top of me. His knee pressed harshly into my back. His forearm tightened around my throat and he pulled up before dropping his face next to my ear. I reached back as far as I could but couldn’t get a good grip around his neck to get him off me as we teetered on the top step of the stair case.
“Fuck you, Max. Yeah I kissed her, and it was really good. She wanted me so bad. I pushed her up against the refrigerator and I could feel her heat against my chest. She liked it, like she couldn’t get enough of me. She tasted so fucking good. If Cindy didn’t walk in, I bet she would have let me take her right there in the kitchen.” Nick’s voice was raspy and low.
His words echoed in my head, something in my mind snapped, and before I knew it I had him flipped over. I was sitting on his chest with his arms pinned under my knees and my fists caved into his face. I was beating the shit out of him. It was as if every fucked-up moment surged through my fists and I had to make him to pay for ruining my life.
“Max! Stop it.” I heard someone scream. It was Cindy. She ran over shouting “Get off of him! Oh my God, I think you killed him!”
Suddenly the sound of the room tuned back in and I heard Nick moaning. I looked down at him. Blood was coming out of everywhere and my hands were covered in it. I felt my fingers burn deep in the joints as I opened and closed them. I could barely rotate my wrists; they were tight from the compression of my fist against his face. What in the hell did I just do?
I got up off Nick and stood over him. Cindy dropped next to him and cradled his head in her hands. It was a side of her I don’t think anyone has ever seen. The strong, pungent smell of metal from his blood mixed with my adrenalin and suddenly my stomach churned and I felt the urge to yak.
I looked at Nick’s face still gushing blood from his nose and a cut above his eye and knew I just had to get out of there. I glanced at Cindy without apology before I turned and went downstairs. I was still in shock that I could even punch someone so viciously without any desire to stop.
Wilson’s suitcase was lying on the floor. I scooped up the handle and noticed Nick’s blood, still covering my hands, transferring from my grip. The last thing I’d want to do was scare Wilson, so I headed to the bathroom just past the kitchen and washed my hands. The cool water stung like a son of a bitch in the cuts and scrapes on my knuckles until my skin began to numb from the chill of the water. I watched the blood—Nick’s blood—mix with the soap suds, coloring them a pale red as splashes of water imbued with blood tinted the white porcelain sink. It seemed like it took gallons of water and forever to get the blood off my hands. I splashed cold, refreshing water across my face, hoping to relieve the fire that seemed to scorch my skin. Instead, the water trailing down stung my neck. I examined myself in the mirror. My neck was covered in red marks from Nick trying to choke me out. I pulled on the collar of my jacket, wrapping it around my neck to hide the marks as best I could. Shit, how in the hell did I get a bloody nose? I grabbed a clump of toilet paper and got it to stop bleeding.
I didn’t want to stay in the Browlers’ cabin any longer than I had to so I tossed the blood-soaked toilet paper and looked back in the mirror; there was no leftover dried blood on my face. It’d been a hell of a long time since I’d had a bloody nose. Or shit, since I’d gotten into a fight that elevated to actual blows, for that matter. It was such a high school bullshit thing. Huh, high school. Wilson’s gonna go back to Wesley…without me. I’ve weighed all the consequences of not seeing her every day in class. When we get back to California, we’ll work it out. I know I did the right thing.