player ♚ lrh

28 - mine

Luke's knuckles hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to the way his chest felt.

He didn't know what to do, much less what to think. And he didn't want to think, either. What he wanted to do was drink, a lot.

It would make it easier, a small part in the back of his mind told him, the cynical part—the one he often listened to. But he knew better. Even if he drowned glass after glass in a sorry attempt to forget whatever the hell just happened, it wouldn't do him any good.

It wouldn't dull the pain in his heart and the confusion in his head and the ache in his body. He knew that.

He felt like he had a right to be confused, and he felt like it was only fair to let the anger settle in his chest. If there was one thing Luke absolutely hated, it was being caught off guard. He couldn't stand it.

It made him feel weak, out of the control he desperately craved. And when it had something to do with Elise—it was that much fucking worse. The girl was already his weakness.

Just the thought of her was working him up again, in a very, very bad way. What was he supposed to think, after the words he'd knocked right from the kid's mouth had already settled somewhere deep in his gut, and after no amount of relentless striking has lessened their effect on him?

He had no fucking clue. And what was he supposed to do now, well after Ashton had ripped him away and the adrenaline started to wear off and the stinging of his bloodied knuckles returned as his best friend held him back? What could he do?

"Get—" he'd all but shouted as he shoved harshly at the boy restraining him. "—the fuck away from me!" Ashton didn't budge.

"Mate," he started firmly, voice lowered as to not attract any more onlookers from the small, curious group already watching the scene. "Calm down,"

Luke could feel the anger in his chest rising, forcing its way out in spite as his eyes burned darkly. "Don't you fucking tell me to calm down!" He spit. "Get out of my goddamn way—"

Ashton shoved him back. He didn't have a choice. He needed Luke to snap out of it, to think clearly despite the blind rage that stood behind his every calculated movement. "No," kept his hands firmly on the fighter's chest, which rose and fell rapidly in frustration. "He's had enough. You're done."

If his fists had an ounce more control over his actions, Luke was sure he would've laid Ashton out by then. He'd almost done it before, when the boy got too involved and stood between Luke and whatever fight he needed to finish.

And Ashton knew he was close to doing just that. But he had to step in. This wasn't a fight, this was a beating. And if the battered boy being lifted off the floor by a few standbys was any consolation, Luke had already done his job. And he'd done it well.

"Enough?" Luke had seethed, glancing quickly at Cade before glaring harshly at his friend. "You don't know shit! You have no fucking idea what he—"

"I do, okay?" Ashton cut him off quickly, voice stern. "I fucking heard him. I heard the whole thing,"

Ashton was pissed. He was more than pissed, having watched nearly the entire interaction unfold before he pushed his way through the small crowd, and then he overheard enough to make it absolutely clear what set Luke off.

He understood. Of course he did. Hell, if he'd heard that kid say what he did about that girl and Luke hadn't been there to hear it, Ashton would've had no problem being the one to rough him up.

It made him sick. Not as sick as Luke probably felt, but he didn't have an ounce of sympathy watching the little shit get the senseless beating he had coming.