Kitten

Chapter Five: Thunder And Lightning

The fight was what he lived for. The snap and snarl, the beating and breaking and getting back up. The rasp of the chain against the mat, the too-tight too-close, the blood and sweat.

Mox lived for it. Some deep dark little part of him craved it, an outlet for the violence that had been done to him when he was small and scared. Jon hated, oh he hated with a passion the way he still sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and panting for breath with his dad's name sour in his mouth.

"Violence breeds violence," Mox's mom had said bitterly the first time he came home with his knuckles scraped up. Jon had been terrified, the fight not even really a fight so much as him swinging his fists wildly at the larger boy who had tried to stuff him into a locker. Mox had knocked him onto his back and then...

Nothing was there except a blur, mental static. Jon had just slammed the kid's head with the locker door over and over, screaming wordlessly until the other boy had stopped struggling. When they called his mother, she laughed and hung up. Jon had jumped out the window of the principal's office and fled. The day had been gray to begin with and as he ran home the sky opened up, dumping torrents of rain and rumbling threateningly with thunder overhead. Mox didn't recall if he actually cried or if his face was just wet.

He ended up hiding in the crawlspace of an abandoned house, his hands over his ears and his knees pulled up against his chest. He remembered crying then, just bawling his eyes out as the dirt beneath him slowly sludged into mud from the pouring rain. He had always been leery of thunderstorms, and having the thick of it raging over him while he was in turmoil over what he'd done hadn't helped his fear one bit.

His dad whipped the piss out of him for that fight, for getting himself expelled, "after I worked this hard so you could go to school like I never did, you ungrateful shit!" Jon never fought back against his father, and that was probably his biggest regret to date. Taking beatings that he didn't deserve and keeping his mouth shut.

So I could grow up into a guy that fights for a living. A guy that 'had a lot of potential'. A guy that moms look at on the bus and tell their kids that's what they'll be like if they don't stay in school. Worst part is, they're right.

Mox shook his head and raised his fists, Callihan swatting him encouragingly on the shoulder. "You got this, man! Kick his ass!"

I've got this, I've got this. I'm strong and I've got this .

...

He was irritated the next morning when Kitten insisted on paying for breakfast, jokingly telling him "your money's no good here, Mox!" He knew he shouldn't be upset. She was nice, she did nice stuff all the time. But why did she have to be nice today. Jon's body fucking hurt from the blows he'd taken last night; he kind of just wanted to curl up and sleep for about ninety years. It was either the beating or maybe there was some weather moving in. Regardless, ninety years of napping. Call him Mox Van Winkle.

He knew he was acting like a child. They didn't get days off together that often. Usually he got to spend the morning of her days off with her before heading in to train and deal with whatever shitshow he'd be put through that night. So having a whole day with her to himself should have been amazing. But he was just sore and fucking grumpy and not in the mood and just let me pay for breakfast, damn it, I should be able to do that much!

After breakfast she wanted to 'see the foliage'. So now here they were, walking along a path in the local park like a couple of goddamn tourists. Jon had his hands shoved into his pockets, doing his best to pretend he was looking at the leaves instead of wishing desperately that she would just grab his hand and tell him to stop being such a little shit. Sometimes it was hard to snap himself out of a funk. Callihan usually managed well with a punch to the back of the head.