My feet carryme halfway across the room before I puzzle out what’s happening. I barely see Joseph at all, my entire vision is filled with Esme.
Her face contorting with fear. Her flinch a moment before the blow lands.
The way she sags on the second punch, her legs turning to liquid as her body slides down the wall.
Then I’m on him, stomping his knee, so hard I feel the tear of bone from tendon. My hand aches where it’s already punched him in the back of the head, as it punches him again on the side, then my arm is slung around his neck, hauling backward as his body sags, putting a knee into his back for leverage.
Once he’s struggling to get my arm off his collapsing windpipe, I let go of my wrist to bash his head again. This time into his face, busting his nose, spraying blood from split lips, a split eyebrow, smashing his ear when an instinct for self-preservation makes him turn.
Someone’s beating on me. Maybe several someones, I don’t have enough presence of mind to tell.
A roar comes out of my throat and keeps coming. My senses are overwhelmed and shut down one by one, leaving me with the rush of blood in my ears and a tightening circle of vision.
That’s all I need. Just enough to see any part of Joseph that’s open and send my fist flying that way.
“Dude, get off!” Gareth shouts, tugging at my arm while the pink and cream complexion of Esme’s ex-lover and general failure of a man turns an alarming shade of purple, tinges of crimson where my knuckles have bust him open.
It’s not enough.
I tug my hand free of G’s grasp to throw my fist into the side of Joseph’s head again, hearing the crunch of bone and not knowing if it’s him or me.
“Seriously, get off. They’ll yank your scholarship.”
The last word makes it through the haze of rage, anger, violent fury that’s consuming my mind like wildfire. I loosen my hold, backing away from the collapsing boy and moving to Esme’s side.
She’s out. Slumped to her side against the wall and I feel a monstrous stab of guilt that I chose beating the shit out of her ex-lover over running to her aid.
I put my shaking fingers to her neck, suddenly terrified that his punch did more than wind her, did more than overwhelm her with pain.
The steady beat under my fingertips reassures me. I pat the side of her cheek, watching her eyelids flutter as she comes around, watch the moment her brain comes awake enough to register the pain.
“We should get out of here,” I whisper, trying to help her straighten.
She struggles, fighting against me. I know the reaction launches straight from her agony, from her fear. I know half of it’s deserved, my behaviour during the long months I bullied her probably immortalised far clearer in her memory than my recent change of heart.
“Please let me help you,” I beg, trying to gather her in my arms while she jerks and twists, hitting out at me.
She sobs, draws in a breath, then half faints again as her abdomen contracts.
I scoop her into my arms, holding her as tight as I can to limit her movement. Staggering the first couple of steps until my balance adjusts to carrying her.
Her body gives one more jerk, trying to fight, then she comes fully round, curling her fingers into the neck of my tee shirt, asking a tearful, “What’s happening?”
“I’m getting you to safety,” I whisper, moving towards the lobby, my mind so far ahead it’s already formulating the relevant information to give to the triage nurse at the clinic.
Behind me I hear Gareth say, “Don’t come at me, man.” A brief sideways glance captures him facing off with one of Joseph’s supporters, toe to toe. “I’m just stopping your mate from attacking the girl he sucker-punched.”
“The slut deserved it.”
My head boils over again, so much I crave the ability to be in two places at once. To beat the shit out of the new guy until he understands what size difference means.
But holding onto her is more important. Then she groans, a guttural sound rising from some broken place deep inside, and I forget everyone else exists.
“Where are we going?”
My stride becomes longer once we’re through the entrance doors, faintly jiggling her until I have to weigh up speed against pain. “I’m taking you to the clinic. Someone needs to check you over.”
“The clinic’s where this mess started,” she mutters darkly, making me laugh.
