Trained (Completed)

Chapter 28: Attack

Clinton made it to the gym safely. He has to remind himself to message Mika, letting him knowing that he made a dent in the truck. Which he'll pay for. Speaking of messages, Palmer never responded. The guilt before she knew the truth, is nothing compared the guilt he feels currently.

Like a snake, Clinton shedded his clothes. In the shower, he tries with all might to wash away the pain. Nothing works. Not even when he accidentally gets soap in his eye. The mental pain still out weighs the physical. Clinton sits at the bottom of the shower. Letting the water wash the tears past his cheeks.

Clinton can't quite remember the last time he cried. Wait, when Palmer almost drowned in the Daytona ocean. He cries again because of her, but more like because of himself. Ruined yet another good thing. Wasting water, thankful Marlena isn't around to hear his wails.

Clash! Clinton holds the tears back. Silencing his cries, he turns the water off quickly. Waiting for the sound to be made once again. "Palm?" He whispers to himself. Abruptly standing, he slips, falling out of the tub. "Mother-." Mumbling the last part. The front door is locked, Clinton made sure after he entered.

There's no way Palmer is there. Christ, "Marlena?", he yells from the bathroom. "Don't come in here, I'm not dressed." Reaching for a towel, he covers the lower half of his body. Tying a knot so he can walk out without any worries of the material slipping. Out in the open, "Mars?"

Flicking the lights fully on. It's not Marlena. Clinton hurries to grab one of the dumbbells, remembering how bad it hurt when Palmer destroyed him with it. Two robed figures spread apart before him. They stand there with their arms inside the black cloth. As if they're not phased.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Not liking the reaction, swiftly they both levitate in front of Kline. Grabbing the barbell from his grasp. Clinton tries to attack, but they use the barbell to knock him out.

                                     <->

Hours must have gone by before Clinton wakes. Finding his neck all the way past his shoulder. Kinking, the pain from the hit reappears. Believing it was all a dream until he feels that his hands are tied. So are his feet. Tied down to a table. Attempting to remove himself, there's no way. Strapped tight.

"Clinton!", the whisper is a yell. Thrashing his head to the sound, ignoring the furious ache.

Palmer lays to the right of him, in the same position. "Aw baby." Shit! There's nothing he can do to save his girl.

"I'm scared." Her tears gut him apart. Especially since neither one of them can wipe the evidence of heartbreak away.

"Calm down sweetheart. I know. I'm going to get us out of here. How long have you been here?"

She tries her best to stop the pain. "Hours. I'm so thirsty. I didn't eat anything today."

Godammit. Clinton's guilt deepens. Instead of fucking her, he should have made her eat. "I'm so fucking sorry baby. This is all my fault." Palmer laughs and Clinton doesn't know why. "What?" Afraid she's going to curse and yell.

Lightening the mood, "It's your fault I didn't eat or drink anything? Thought it was mine. In that case, fuck you."

Clinton doesn't know if it's appropriate, but he laughs. "You always make me laugh. I love that about you."

Pain dwells in Palmer's stomach. Not from hunger, but butterflies. She should be mad at this bastard. "What are we going to do?"

Carrying the joke on is a bad idea, but the dumbass does it. "We're gonna get some fucking tacos babe."