Regretting You

by Beck, J. L.

  “No, I’m good. Thanks again,” I tell him as I brush by him and speed walk out the door.

  I remember seeing the industrial park on the map I studied when I first got here. It would probably take me a good hour to walk there, but calling an Uber or getting into the car with anyone who isn’t my parents is out of the question. Cars are a hard no for me. I’d rather walk three hours than get into a car and drive thirty minutes.

  I drop my backpack off at my apartment on the way, but I don’t even stay long enough to eat. Grabbing a jacket, I walk right back out and in the direction of the warehouse.

  It ends up taking me an hour and twenty minutes to get there. I wasn’t sure if I would even find the place, but when I saw a shit ton of cars pulling onto the road and turning a few blocks down, I knew I was in the right place.

  It takes me a little while to get to the door, but when I do, there is a line. The line moves impossibly slow, and by the time I reach the front, I find a big scary man blocking the entrance.

  “Ten dollars.” He extends his hand out, and I blink rapidly before reaching into my wallet and pulling out two fives. As soon as the money kisses the palm of his hand, he ushers me inside. Entering the warehouse is like being dipped in ice-cold water and tossed into a hot frying pan.

  It’s a complete shock to your body. The noise is astounding, and I nearly turn around and walk back outside. The only reason I don’t is this incessant need to protect Jackson, which outweighs the discomfort I’m feeling. Discomfort is a momentary thing, but losing Jackson if I don’t warn him, could be life-altering.

  Moving through the crowds, I follow the sound of skin slapping skin. I reach the front, shoving past some girl in a barely-there shirt, and find that Jackson is already in the ring. My stomach falls to my knees, and my heart collapses in my chest.

  Jackson is wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and sneakers. His muscular upper body is on full display, and if he wasn’t in so much danger right now, I might gawk at his physic. But as it is, he’s facing a monster of a man, who’s raining his fists down on him.

  Then his gaze collides with mine, and as if there is an invisible rope between us, I feel myself being drawn to him. I can see the anger filling his features. He doesn’t want me here, but I don’t care. Cringing, I watch as he barely misses taking another punch to the head.

  Come on, Jackson. Fight. I can’t lose you too.

  9

  Jackson

  My muscles are already burning, adrenaline courses through my veins. I need to do this to keep myself sane, to keep myself from losing my goddamn mind. It’s so loud in the warehouse tonight, I can’t even hear myself think.

  Franco delivered on getting the biggest, baddest, scariest, motherfucker he could find. Boris is, well, a tank. He looks like he eats people for breakfast, and though he seems big and bad, my fists are faster, and my stamina is top of the food chain.

  “Are you sure about this?” Talon yells over the roar of the crowd.

  “Dude, stop being a pussy,” I growl, tired of him always fucking with my good mood. He worries too much.

  “Whatever. It’s your death.” He rolls his eyes and tosses a water bottle at me. I catch it mid-air, twist the cap off, and chug the contents before crumpling the bottle. The cool liquid does little to ease the heat rolling off of my body. I’m ready to get this done and over with.

  “You asked, and we delivered. Welcome to the pits, everyone. Tonight we have the baddest, cockiest, motherfuckers I know going head to head. B-O-R-I-S! And J-A-C-K-S-O-N!” Franco drags out our names, and the crowd lets out a roar that’s deafening. I bounce on the heels of my feet, sizing up Boris, who looks as if he’s a brick shithouse.

  It’s going to take more than a couple punches to knock him on his ass. Especially when his fists are as big as my biceps.

  A tingle runs up my spine. I’m not sure why, but it swirls in the pit of my stomach. Shaking the feeling off, I focus on Boris, he’s big and bulky, which probably makes him also slow. He might be a giant, but that doesn’t mean he has speed or a good fighting instinct.

  My hands are wrapped in tape, but we don’t wear gloves. I check the wrap one more time before I put in my mouth guard and walk out of my corner. As soon as I step into the ring, I step out of the warehouse. Mentally, there is nothing here besides him and me inside this pit.

  It’s easy for me to drown out the people, the cheers, and the voices. I push everything away, fears, guilt, and worry… it’s all gone at this moment.

  This is how it is when I fight. It’s my one escape, the only time everything is quiet around me. My demons can’t reach me when I’m inside the pit.

  I don’t even hear Franco ring the bell, but I know the fight has started when Boris rushes toward me, fist raised. He takes a giant swing at me, air swooshes across my face, but as I suspected, he is slow. I can easily move out of the way in time for the right hook.

  What I didn’t expect him to do is follow it up with a left jab.

  His fist hits me above my left eye, and it hurts like a bitch. My head snaps back with the force, and I see stars. Jesus, fuck, he might be slow, but his fists pack a punch.

  Shaking off the pain, letting it fuel me, I take a step to the side, avoiding his next punch. I need to be smarter and faster than this guy if I’m going to win.

  Moving around him, I get in some good jabs here and there, but nothing seems to faze him. His pupils are blown out, completely black, which makes me think he’s on something. He swings again, and I duck down, coming up with a right hook, my fist slamming into his chin. It’s a hit that would have knocked most guys out on their ass.

  This guy just smiles. What the fuck?

  I’m so shocked that I’m momentarily distracted and don’t see the next punch coming. His fist clobbers me in the side of the head, and I swear it feels like I got hit with a fucking brick. Before I can recover, he hits me again, this punch landing in my gut, knocking the air from my lungs. Pain lances across my body like a lightning bolt.

  Trying to get away from him, I stumble back, but he continues his assault. Raining punches down on any part of my body he can get to. My head spins, and my stomach churns. I’ve never tapped out before, never had a reason to, or was afraid enough to, but I’m fucking close now. My pride can handle the hit. I’m stupid, but I don’t want to die.

  Boris swings and gets me again on the head. Pain erupts inside my skull as my head is forced to the side. My teeth rattle in my head, and my vision blurs, and for a moment, I think I’m knocked out. Darkness blankets my mind, but then I blink them open, and suddenly, I see her.

  Kennedy.

  Her eyes meet mine, and everything around me snaps back into place. The people, the warehouse, fucking Boris… and right there in the center of the crowd is Kennedy. Her eyes are wide with fear, her lips trembling, and all I can think is that she doesn’t belong here. I need to get her out of here.

  Another punch to the gut that sends whatever air is left in my lungs out on a gasp. It reminds me that I’m still fighting this monster. Deep-rooted anger rises up inside of me, filling my veins with newfound strength. I’m a volcano seconds from exploding.

  I don’t know why she is here and why it bothers me so much that she is, but I know I need to finish this fight, get to her and drag her the hell out of here.

  Boris swings, but this time I sense it and dodge it, moving my head, and making him miss by an inch. Rolling, I move away from under him just enough to barrel a right hook on the corner of his jaw. His fucking face is apparently made of steel, but at least I caught him off guard. He stumbles back, and I use that small window of opportunity to give him all I’ve got.

  My knuckles hurt, but I push it away and keep hitting him. Punch after punch, I strike him over and over again. Head, chest, gut, back, head. Anywhere I can hit him, refusing to let him get even one shot on me.

  All it takes is one last punch to the side of the head, and he slumps over, his body falling face-first into the ground. Shocke
d, I stare down at him while Franco counts to ten, giving the fucking beast a chance to get up and fight again.

  Thankfully, he stays down, completely unmoving. Sweat drips down my aching body, and all I want to do right now is get the fuck out of this ring, grab Kennedy, and leave.

  As soon as I’m announced as the winner, I climb out of the pit and head straight for her. The crowd erupts around me, threatening to swallow me whole, but I push through the masses to get to her. People rush past her to get to me, almost shoving her to the ground to congratulate me. Anger ignites deep in my gut, and when I reach her, I wrap a hand around her wrist and tug her to my chest.

  The way she’s looking at me, like a helpless little bug, it makes me want to save her and squish her at the same time. There is way too fucking much going on around us. I can’t think straight.

  Heading for the doors, I wrap an arm around Kennedy and drag her along beside me. Once outside, I can think, breathe, my mind becomes less foggy, and I drop my arm from Kennedy and instead take her wrist into my hand.

  Her small legs can barely keep up with me as I practically run across the parking lot toward my car, wondering how and why she came.

  “How the hell did you get here? Did you drive?” I ask. I’ve never seen her drive anywhere, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a car. The other option is that she came with someone, and if that’s the case, it better not have been a guy. Because if she came here with some dude, I’ll kill him.

  “I walked,” she announces. She walked? That’s, that’s like five miles.

  “You walked here? All the way from campus?”

  “Yes, took me a while, but I did.” She sounds almost proud.

  “Why? Why the fuck did you come here?” Better yet, how the fuck did she know where the pits were and that I was going to be here. Talon. Talon was spreading the word about the fight. She must’ve overheard someone talking about it. That still doesn’t really explain why she was here though.

  When she doesn’t answer, I speak a little slower, “Why-did-you-come-here?” I’m tempted to shake the answer out of her. I’m tired of her making stupid choices and putting herself in danger, a danger that she acts as if she doesn’t see.

  “I–I… well. I overheard someone talking in class, and they said you were in danger. So… I came here to warn you.”

  The words trickle slowly into my brain, almost like I’m having a hard time understanding them. “You’re fucking joking, right? What do you think this is?” I motion between us.

  “Nothing. I just… nothing.” Her face falls, and her eyes drop to the ground. “I shouldn’t have come here. This was a mistake.”

  “Damn right, you shouldn’t have, but now you’re here, and you’re coming with me,” I tell her, and unlock the SUV with my keypad on the door.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she replies, her voice stronger now, “and I’m definitely not getting into a car with you.”

  Of course, she isn’t. I roll my eyes and open the passenger side door with my other hand. “Get the fuck in, or I’ll put you in. I don’t care if you want to ride in a car with me. Your fears are not my fucking problem.”

  My patience is thin as fuck, and if she doesn’t decide in five seconds, I’m going to choose for her.

  “Please, Jackson…” she pleads, but like I said before, my patience is good as gone.

  Picking her up, I place her ass in the seat and strap her in with the buckle. She struggles for half a second before I pull back and slam the door.

  Walking around the car, I climb into the driver’s seat and grab the key from the center console. I start the vehicle, and the engine roars to life. Strangling the steering wheel, I throw the bitch into reverse and pull out of the parking spot. Tires spin and gravel flies as I shift to drive and rip out of the parking lot.

  Glancing over at her, I see her fear-stricken face. Her hands are in her lap, where she is nervously playing with the zipper on her jacket. I wish she would calm the hell down. She has nothing to be scared of, at least not while I’m driving.

  I’m not even sure why I give a fuck about her? She’s nothing but a means to an end, really. Revenge and nothing else. Yet, I saved her life the other day and had this intense need to protect her tonight. I don’t understand why I’m feeling this way, and it’s annoying as fuck. I want to hate Kennedy. Need to hate her. Wanting or feeling anything else is a betrayal to my sister.

  Halfway to my apartment, Kennedy speaks.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My place,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “What happens when we get there?” she asks, her voice meek.

  “What do you think happens?” I shoot back.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  She doesn’t know. Ha. What a fucking liar.

  I don’t reply, and instead, wait to say anything till we pull into the parking lot of my complex. Finding a spot, I put the car in park and kill the engine.

  “You’re coming inside with me,” I tell her. She’s coming inside willingly, or I’m forcing her. That’s the only choice she gets in the matter.

  “Why?” she asks as if she doesn’t already know.

  Leaning across the console, I inhale her sweet scent. She smells like flowers and fear, and fuck my cock is hard already.

  “You know why,” I say before forcing myself out of the vehicle.

  Kennedy takes a minute to get herself together but climbs out as well, walking around the car to meet me. It’s time for me to settle the score. It’s time for Kennedy to pay the piper.

  10

  Kennedy

  As I step into his apartment, all I can think of is what he said in the car.

  You know why.

  Yes, I know why he wants me to come in, but how am I going to get it into his head that it’s not happening? I’m not giving him a blow job. I can’t. I’ll do anything else, but not that.

  Walking closely behind me, Jackson closes the door once we’re both inside. His spacious living room suddenly seems smaller, like the walls are slowly moving toward us. The space is surprisingly clean for a college student.

  “I’m gonna take a shower, and when I come back, you’ll be on your knees ready to suck me off–”

  “No! I won’t. Either we have sex, or I’m walking home.” I shock myself saying the words out loud, but even more surprising is that I’m not scared. I’m not scared of sex with Jackson. I’d rather do that than anything else.

  I’ve never actually done it, but when I was younger, I thought about him being my first. I imagined him taking my virginity, even touching myself at the thought of it. So, I’m definitely not scared of sex, I’m more worried about him turning me down.

  When he doesn’t answer right away, I look back at him over my shoulder. I’m not really sure what I expected to find when I looked at him, but the shocked expression on his face is new. I guess he didn’t expect me to say that either.

  “You want me to fuck you?” he questions in disbelief.

  The tone of his voice changes. It’s lower, almost breathless, and it has some weird effect on me. I feel hot, like the temperature in the room has suddenly risen by ten degrees. There’s a tingling in my belly, and a heat creeps in that I’ve never felt before as I feel Jackson take a step closer. His scent surrounds me, and I feel a calmness wash over me. I can breathe, feel… the weight on my chest isn’t so heavy right now.

  “I asked you a question, bug. Is that what you want? Do you want me to fuck you?” he repeats, and all I can do is nod because the apple-sized knot in my throat won’t let a single word pass. Before I can change my mind and tell him no, he is on me. His muscled chest bumps into my back, and his fingers wrap around my upper arms as he shoves me forward and into the room.

  Oh, god, it’s really happening.

  “Fine, I’ll fuck you,” he growls venom in his words as he bends me over the back of the couch, pushing my face into a pillow. This isn’t how I imagined this would go the first time, but I’m
not about to try and stop him. Keeping one hand between my shoulder blades to hold me in place, he uses his free hand to pull down my yoga pants and panties in one go.

  Cool air hits my exposed center, and I realize that I’m already wet. My cheeks heat and a shiver runs down my spine as I anticipate what’s going to happen next.

  Is he really going to do it? Is it going to hurt? Will it feel good? I wonder if I’m wet enough or if he plans to touch me?

  All these questions swirling in my mind come to a stop when I feel his fingers between my thighs. Gently he strokes my folds, moving his fingers to my clit. Rubbing tiny circles against it, pleasure, like I’ve never experienced before, erupts from the tiny bundle of nerves, and I have to bite my lip to muffle a moan.

  “You’re already wet for me, bug,” he says, his voice is so low and soft, it’s barely recognizable.

  He never talks to me softly anymore. Everything about him now is harsh, domineering. Leaning in, he presses his chest against my back, molding us together, letting me feel his erection on my naked bottom. He’s still wearing his shorts, but the thin material doesn’t do much to hide how hard he is.

  “How long have you been thinking about me fucking you?” he questions. His voice is barely above a whisper now, but the words are enough to make more moisture form under his touch. The truth is, I’ve thought about this for a long time. Wanted it since before everything fell apart. It was always going to be Jackson, always. I wanted him to be the one to take my virginity. Jackson doesn’t wait for my reply.

  Maybe he knows I’m past words, or maybe he doesn’t care to hear my response. I don’t know. What I do know is he pulls away, his fingers between my legs disappear, and a moment later, they are replaced with the smooth tip of his cock.

  “Are you on birth control?” he hisses through his teeth, sounding as if he’s barely restraining himself.

  “Yes.” I sigh as he rubs his swollen tip through my arousal.

  Guiding himself back to my entrance, I force a ragged breath into my lungs. The mushroom head of his cock feels huge, bigger than I expected. I get the feeling this is going to hurt, but I embrace the pain, welcome it. It’s better than the sadness, the heartache. Anticipation clings to my bones, but I don’t have to wait long.