Beside

50 - rift

"Fox, what happens when someone just disappears?"

"Like, runs away?"

"No, they're just gone. And no one knows where they went."

"I think they'd leave a clue. Something that only the people who know them would find."

"Like a secret map?"

"Yeah. So we'd know where to look if they ever wanted to come back. But Jellybean, please don't disappear."

"I won't, Fox. Cross my heart."

ᖴO᙭

I never learned how to not care. And nothing feels right.

I wrap my hands, pulling the tape until it bites into my skin. Fuck—haven't I been here before?

When I close my eyes, I see her. When I open them, I feel her. I couldn't give her what she wanted. Couldn't say what she needed to hear. So she took matters into her own hands.

She pushed me away like I was poison running through her veins, stopping me just before I got to her heart.

I don't remember losing friends hurting this much.

Around me, bodies move—grunts, thuds, smacks. Normally, this cacophony tunes me into the present. That was the point—my ex tangled my brain, so Cam brought me here to unravel the knot. But there's only so much she can do to help someone like me. And I'm sorry for it.

Then I see him.

Angel stands across the gym, a living mountain carved from stone and ink. He got here a few days ago, wanted to meet everyone. That meant me. He's all hard lines and shadows.

"He lost every single match when he first started," Cam says, leaning on the wall next to me, ankles crossed. "But as soon as he won, he didn't stop."

This isn't Onyx. This isn't even The Hunter.

Angel catches my gaze, eyes locking onto mine in a way that feels like a physical grip. Nothing radiates off him—not confidence, not fear, not fucking anything. There's no read, just the stats Cam won't stop shoving down my throat.

I tear my eyes away, jaw clenched. The tape around my hands is never tight enough, never painful enough.

Without Chris, nothing's enough.

I feel shredded by the rules I fucking made, the ones that were safe, the boundaries I tried to build, because here's the truth: I've lost the fucking thread of what we're even doing. What the fuck are we doing?

I haven't caught my breath in three days. She's just... I can't find the words. I'm not poetic. I'm not the writer. She's just... her. All I want is her. All I know is her.

I never thought this would happen to me again.

"You ready?" Cam asks.

"No." I can't push her aside like she did to me. I don't even want to try.

This is because Angel's presence looms. He's still watching, arms crossed, waiting for me to move. The battlefield's been drawn.

"Fuck you mean no? Get in the ring, Freckles. Now."

I listen to my coach, but the ring means nothing to me. I don't care about the ring. I don't think I ever did.

ｃｈｒｉｓ