Call Me A Liar [Book 1] (Justin Bieber Love Story / Fan Fiction)

43

Despite Justin's demands, I go to the fight.

It's not up for discussion.

The small compromise is that I sit with Michael again, which I don't mind, and I'm not in the stands. Instead, we're off to the side where we're not visible, along with a few other guys from the gym surrounding us as protection from any backlash.

One other stipulation is that I go to the locker room before the last round ends, if they even make it the whole way through the match. Justin doesn't want me out there whether he wins or loses, because he describes Dylan as a loose cannon.

RJ and Jake agree.

Michael escorted me to the locker room about thirty seconds into the final round. It leaves three minutes and thirty seconds unseen, so I'm forced to gauge the crowd's reactions that I can hear echoing down the hall.

In sweating hands, I tightly clutch Justin's gold chain. My knee bounces up and down restlessly as I sit on the very edge of the wooden bench.

Michael is no stranger to my anxiety. Especially not now. In fact, he partakes in it.

Last time Dylan fought Justin, he landed only one hit on him.

This fight is nothing like that one.

Hit after hit to Justin's face, his sides, and at one point Dylan strikes him dangerously close to his head. It's a dirty hit that forces the referee to step in and pull the two exhausted bodies apart.

Both of them appear more breathless and lethargic as each round passes. A small bit of blood trickles down the side of Justin's pretty face. A similar stream falls down Dylan's nose. While they're too premature to form, bruises will most definitely coat their skin as hours go by to remind them of the toll that's been taken on their bodies solely to make a living.

My stomach hurls forward at the thought of having to do something so intense just to eat and have a roof over my head.

"Sorry you have to miss the end," I force a nervous laugh. Talking seems like the only thing that will make the time pass.

Michael shrugs. "No worries. I'd rather help Justin out anyways."

I smile softly, nodding too.

"Kind of ugly out there, huh?"

My smile fades. "Yeah. Not like last time."

It's been hours since my heartbeat has slowed. I've been a panicked wreck since the clock struck midnight this morning, knowing today was the day that I've been dreading for weeks.

"Justin's got him," he says softly.

His quietness is unusual. Michael is always wound up, excitable and can talk a mile a minute.

I know he's worried.

I am too.

Just when I'm about to ask if they still plan on doing celebratory or not so celebratory drinks after the fight, I hear an unmistakeable sound: a collective gasp of horror. Then a thud.

It's a thud that sounds awfully similar to the one I heard weeks ago when Patrick hit the ground after being punched in the face. Only this sounds heavier and more forceful. Combined with the shrieks of worry, it feels like a knife wound to the back.

Michael and I stand to our feet at the same time, but neither of us move a muscle. Mouths ajar and hearts stopped because of the unknown as we take in these last few moments before being cursed with the knowledge of what happens next.

Tears prick at my eyes as I lock my gaze on the open doorway, praying to every god I can think of that Justin will walk through that door with a few bruises at the most.