Some Scars Never Fade

*Chris’s Point of View*

It wasn’t smart to walk down the street in the middle of the night. Instinct told me there’d be trouble; too bad I never listen.

Rounding the corner to the next street, I heard a small noise behind me, just the slightest shuffle of footsteps. I froze, which wasn’t smart because it showed my follower that I’d heard him. Whirling around, I had just enough time to brace myself against the man jumping into me. He was a pretty good size; his weight pressed against me and slammed me hard into the ground.

The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs and my chest stung with the sharp breath I took. Kneeling my attacker in his stomach, I pushed him off of me and staggered to my feet. My back was aching from its collision with the ground, but I wasn’t leaving until I knew who attacked me without reason.

The man was already back on his feet and he was advancing towards me. I swung my right fist towards his head but he ducked and punched me in the stomach. I bent over in pain, but stepped backwards to avoid his next swing.

Aiming with my right again, I jabbed at his chest; he grabbed my hand in his left and I turned to elbow his ribs with my free arm.

When he staggered back, I brought my knee up into his stomach again but he maneuvered around my leg and jammed me against the wall of a vacant house. Hooking my foot around his ankle, I pulled his leg towards his other until he lost his balance, moving his foot to keep from falling. In the few seconds he wasn’t pressing me against the wall, I shoved against it to push my body weight into him, forcing him to stagger backwards again; he lost his footing and tripped, landing on the pavement with me on top of him.

Scurrying off of him, I checked his head for bleeding; it had made a nice cracking sound against the concrete. He only injury was a bump on his head and a possible concussion- the poor guy was knocked out cold.

I checked his pocket for identification and was appeased by his driver’s license.

Matthew Codrez. Codrez? Shit. I beat up a Codrez about a week ago. My age, around sixteen. What was his name? Roary. Roary Codrez. He called me a slut and I punched him in the face. This must be his brother. He looked like he was in his early twenties.

Sighing, I flipped open my phone and dialed Nathan’s number.

If it was anyone else, I’d leave him, but the poor guy was only making up for his brother’s broken nose, and he probably didn’t even want a fight until I started one; he was only going to threaten me.

“Hey Chris,” Nathan picked up and I could hear Jadyn laughing in the background. “Hey, I need a bit of help,” I admitted, “I knocked Codrez’s brother out cold and I don’t want to leave him here.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, didn’t mom ever tell you not to pick on bigger guys,” he teased, “Now don’t roll your eyes-” I was rolling my eyes- “Me and Jadyn are on the way.”

I hung up the phone and sat down. Nathan, one of my best friends, was a street fighter, like me. Actually, my circle of friends consisted of only street fighters. Nathan, Jadyn, Dylan, Haley and me.