The Strongest Hit.

Chapter 6: Broken Pieces

Justin's POV:
I was completely consumed in fear as I drove to O'Malley's gym.
A new feeling for me.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking against the steering wheel.
Not knowing if she was ok.
My mind kept taking me back to her ripped dress.
The bile rising again in my chest.
My thoughts were scattered and dark.
I have always embraced the pain.
Took it and used it as fuel against my enemies.
But this was about her.
A perfect fucking stranger.
My heart was beating erratically.
For her.
I pulled into the gym's back parking lot and jumped out of my car.
I reached for the door handle, but took a step back.
The fear of what I'd find inside...
It made me hesitate.
I fisted my hair, pulling hard.
My body bent over, hands on my knees.
Fucking breathe.
Get your shit together and find her.
Breathe.
I reached for the door handle again.
Locked.
I took the key that was dangling around my neck and unlocked the door.
It was pitch black inside as I propelled my body up the stairs and to the third floor.
With only the gym's dim backlights to guide my footing, I kept stumbling.
My damn legs felt like lead by the time I reached her childhood bedroom.
What if she was in there?
But what if she wasn't?
I didn't know which I wanted to be true.
But I knew standing here, I wasn't going to get an answer...
I opened the door to darkness.
Deep breath in and out.
I fumbled over to her bedside table and turned her Eiffel Tower lamp on.
I scanned the small room for any sign of her.
Nothing.
Her Unicorn bedding was back on the bed in pristine condition.
The only other person to have entered, was Charlie.
Of course he would make her fucking bed...
He was still living in the past, still living with her ghost.
While her flesh and blood was edging closer to oblivion.
As I slumped to the ground, my back hitting the side of her bed...
I blamed him for not fighting for her.
You can't walk around wishing for the past, while the present slips away.
I would know, because I've lived with the ghosts of my past since I was 6 years old.
The fear I was feeling for Kennedy now began to mix with my memories of that time.
And all I could do was sit here...
And let it take me under.
Until she came in.
My eyes snapped up the second her body was visible.
And my fucking heart shattered.
She stumbled back at my presence.
Her eyes were missing the fiery spark from last night.
Instead they held fear and shame.
I held my hands up gently, trying to let her know I wouldn't hurt her.
She leaned her head down and away from my searching eyes.
Using her hair as a shield against me.
I could still make out the dark bruises that littered her face.
The swelling to her right cheekbone was pushing into her eye.
The dried blood on the corner of her  bottom lip...
Evidence of him.
Her body looked so small as she curled in on herself.
She was wearing baggy gray sweat pants and a large black hoodie.
I took in a sharp breath.
She was wearing my black hoodie.
And somehow it made this whole thing that much more real to me.
My body was shaking with anxiety as I finally spoke.

"Did he.....
Did he ........."

I couldn't even get the rest out.
My hands gripped into my scalp.
I didn't even recognize my own voice.
I'd kill him.
I'd fucking murder him,
If he did.

"I went looking for you.
To your place.
I...
I saw your dress.
If he did what I...
What I think....
Please tell me he didn't.
Tell me I'm wrong Kennedy.
Lie to me."

I was having a real life panic attack as I watched her fighting the invisible demons in her mind.
We were drowning together.

"He didn't.
He wanted to.
But stopped.
I'm ok."

She was anything but ok.
And an instinct to protect her came over me.
I wanted to make her feel safe.
But how?