Get It Straight, Or Say Good Night

Volatile

Louise was flung backwards to the ground landing hard on her backside, the momentum so sudden she had to shake herself from the confusion. Instantly she turned her head toward sounds that were muted thuds to her left. She realised quickly that the tattooed man had been knocked clear off his feet as well and was currently being punched about his torso and face wildly.

John.

John was punching him about the head and chest.

John's fists meeting flesh over and over again, hard, sure and full of long pent up rage.

He continued on and drove his anger into the nameless man on the ground.

John had launched from his darkened post like a man possessed. Having shadowed an upset Louise for many blocks, not strong or indeed brave enough to show his face to her after being so quick to decide her motives, so nasty and blind to her tears at the Grapes.

He did what he did best in the shifty streets of Liverpool. Where it wasn't uncommon for ted gang to wander the footpaths. Rival gangs could linger on either side of a carriageway, they would circulate so close yet with hatred always there, waiting. With razor blades sewn into coat collars in-case an enemy grabbed from behind or switch blade knives shoved up cuffs for ease of use, sharpened belt buckles another weapon of choice. Liverpool was, and is a mean, tough city.

John didn't think Lou silly at the time, he knew he was what drove her, he knew who she was searching for and even in knowing that he still let her walk alone, albeit with himself loitering in the shadows as they made their way towards Mendips. Having stayed secreted behind her, he just accepted he was there and ready to protect her.

No thought of consequences or worry for his person....

As if a locked door had opened, a feral rage was allowed to flow.....

John now attacked like a madman.

Not for a year or more had this sort of pent up ire been allowed to flow through his veins and out his knuckles. Usually he would have a counterweight of reasoning beside him, Paul usually, to ebb the wildness and settle John's volatile and quick to ignite anger, down. The settling of John's anger required to protect both the victim from Johns pounding, and John from the inevitable trip to a police watch-house.

Louise clumsily got to her feet, after shaking her head free of the mists of confusion once more she moved a few metres more, steps taken backwards til she hit a low brick wall, she wouldn't even dare to try and come between John's fists and the horrid man now lying prostrate on the road. Lou called out shakily, John heard the shakey tremour in her voice and stopped momentarily, earning one heavy blow to his cheek and another to his chin.

Louise stepped forward now worried her interruption had made John the target but he was gone. Turned once more to continue on and on, and lay more hard angry blows into the now unmoving, battered body on the ground.

In the end he stood, fists at his sides, lungs burning, sides heaving.
He was exhausted from pounding the assailant senseless.
Breathing heavily, he kicked the broken man in the side twice for the good measure before charging over to Louise, bloodied face, swollen lip, bare knuckles and wild eyes full of dying yet palatable rage.

Lou's fingers laced around his slowly, warily, drawing him to her. The tension she felt, melding and shifting with Johns. She held on for dear life, she held on for all her fears and she held on to him because she didn't want to hold anybody else.

Their footsteps hastened as they made their way down the road, faster and faster as they fled her fears. Putting a protective arm around each other they never looked back, just vanished into the night to find somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. Somewhere together.