Into The Ring (Phenomenal: 2)

6 ~ Demons

Almost a week later found Damien sat at home, draped across the sofa in his pyjama bottoms, gazing blankly at the TV as Jeremy Kyle wound up two more victims. God he hated this show, he could feel his brain rotting – even the dogs had gone to hide in their room.

But the remote was two feet out of reach and moving just wasn't happening at the moment.

For most of the apartment complex, university had started up again; lectures were back in full force, many students already preparing for Easter exams. Dante spent a lot of his time at the university library. Clarissa spent most of her time at the computer labs.

He knew she could do most of her work at home but she wasn't home much.

He had a sneaking suspicion – that was about as sneaky as an elephant walking on balloons – that she might have been avoiding him until his temper simmered down.

And to be fair to her, it hadn't really simmered down.

He was pissed off.

He was pissed off because he couldn't fights.

He couldn't win.

He couldn't get past whatever was stopping him.

He couldn't return to the champion he had once been.

And they were right.

He hated that most of all. His brothers, the doctors, Clarissa, they were all right.

He couldn't keep fighting the way he was but he didn't have the means to fight any other way. He didn't have the money needed to sponsor himself back into the big leagues.

His old sponsors didn't trust him enough to back him in a big fight.

How was he supposed to get his title back if he couldn't even get into the ring?

How could he get it back if he couldn't even win?

The doorbell going off drew his attention away from his own mind and he looked back over the sofa towards the corner the front door was located around.

There were a few beats of silence then another ring.

"Mr. O'Catháin, I know you are home," came a voice through the door, "I'll have you open the door now."

Damien frowned then pushed himself off the sofa, grimacing slightly at his still bruised torso before he headed for the door.

He pulled it open and stopped.

A man stood on the other side, older then him but still striking with brown eyes that were so dark they were near black and chocolate hair neatly swept back from his face. He was dressed in a tailored suit, his coat neatly hung over one arm.

They looked at each other for a moment then Damien frowned.

"Hello?" he said, confused by the unknown visitor.

"Hmm, you look worse then expected," the stranger said and Damien glared at him.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked, folding his arms and adjusting his body so it blocked entrance to his flat, "This is a secure complex, how did you get in here?"

"Well when your friend is the owner and your daughter is a resident, getting access is far from difficult."

"Daughter?" Damien said, blinking as the man looked at his watch, stepped forwards and the next second he was crossing the threshold and Damien hadn't even noticed he'd got out of the men's way until he was passed.

Deacon stuck his head out of the bedroom and the man glanced at the Doberman as if it were a poodle.

"Hello Deacon," he said simply, walking past and dropping his things on the back of the sofa, shrugging out of his jacket and smooth his fitted waistcoat.