Sweetbitter-Bad Boy's First Love #SAMPLE

Chapter 7

Lyric's P.O.V

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping and a thin ray of bright light falling onto my face.

What the hell? Who opened the windows this early in the morning? The servants know I hate to wake up like this! Angrily, I brought my hand up to cover my face and winced as a sharp pain pierced through my chest.

"What the-?" I jerked awake at the pain and found myself in completely unfamiliar surroundings. "What the hell?"

I sat up on the couch that was hardly big enough to fit all of me in it and looked around at the tiny apartment I was currently in. My head felt heavy and as I wiped t my eyes to chase away the last few clouds of sleep, memories from last night came to my mind as the fog cleared.

I was in Lydia's apartment. And she had seen me at my weakest last night when I'd been beaten up during the match. Damnit! The only reason I'd lost the match in the first place had been because of her. Why did I have to think of her during such a crucial time? And what the fuck was this chick trying to prove by bringing me here in the first place? Did she take pictures of me while I was all beat up and exhausted? Was she going to use those against me to get something?

The sound of a door opening snapped me out of my thoughts and I whipped around to come face to face with the culprit. I tried hard to control my temper but I couldn't help it when I yelled at her, "Why the hell did you bring me here last night?"

For an instant, I thought she looked startled but it must have been my mistake because her face had that same expressionlessness as I'd seen her since we first met. "My bad," she said just as expressionlessly. "I should've just left you on the streets so a stray dog could shit on you."

A little startled by her reply, I remembered her taking care of me last night without demanding anything in return and immediately my temper cooled off, leaving me feeling guilty. "I should get going." I told her as I got off the couch, wincing when my chest protested. The pain was still there but it wasn't that severe.

"Wait," she said and I turned to face her in confusion as she went back inside her room once again, only to return with my shirt, this time all washed and cleaned. "Here" She said as she handed me my shirt. "I'm not sure everyone will be pleased with the display." She pointed to the bruising on my chest.

"Thanks," I told her unwillingly. "Your meds worked their magic. I'm feeling a lot better."

"Good." She said and we stared awkwardly at each other for a few seconds before I pulled on my shirt and turned towards the door.

"See you a school." I told her over my shoulder as I opened the door and then I was out of her tiny little apartment and back on my way to my mansion. My mind however, stayed with her all the way as I walked home.

"Derek?" I frowned as I saw him sitting on his wheelchair in my living room. "Why are you here?"

"I see you got patched up," Derek motioned towards the bandages around my knuckles. "Nice work. Very feminine. How's the rib?"

"Bruised." I told him and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. The maids usually keep it ready for me and save it in a flask so it's easy to fetch. I take two cups out of the cabinet and pour the coffee and milk in them and add a cube of sugar to each. Coming back into the living room, I handed Derek the cup and took a seat on the couch next to him.

There wasn't really much of a similarity between Derek and me, not in our facial features or in our personalities. Derek looks more like our mother while I have taken up after our dad. Derek had been the planned one while I had been the unplanned surprise. And given our age difference, I had never been really close to him, not until his accident and his leg amputation. He looked a lot different now too; he had grown out his short military cut hair into ponytail and was now sprouting a beard. But one thing that hadn't changed about him was his strict, take no prisoners attitude.

"Served you right," Derek said now while taking a sip of his coffee. "You should never lose focus on the battle field."

"Jesus, Derek!" I snapped. "It was a stupid match! I'm not on the battle field! I wasn't fighting off terrorists; I was being pounded to the ground by a 500 pound asshole while you were getting turned on watching me lose."

"Watch your language, you ungrateful son of a bitch!" Derek snapped back. "You should've never lost focus in the first place! I watched your eyes haze over just before you went down. Your head was nowhere near the arena!"

"My head was in the game just fine." I drank all my coffee in one go, hissing as the hot liquid burned its way down my throat. "Stop being such a dick about it!"

"That's it," he slammed his coffee cup down on the table beside mine. "You're not going back tonight."

"Like hell I am! You're not cancelling my match on any account." I yelled at my brother, hands fisted by my side. "I'm going inside that ring tonight and I'm beating that shithead into the ground."

"Fine." Derek smirked. "It's your funeral. Just a warning though, that 'shithead' has been a professional boxer for most of his life."

With that, Derek wheeled away in his wheelchair and was out of my house, leaving me shell-shocked and frustrated at the same time. "Fuck that bitch!"

Perfect! Just perfect! Why did my brother not give me a prior warning before he let me get into that ring? Now I have to beat that shithead to the ground. It'll be a new record for me and after last night's match, I'm sure the cash will pour in like water.

I smirked to myself. "Just you wait, big brother. I'm going to win tonight's match. There's no way I'd lose now."