The crowd roars louder as we trade blows, time stretching into a blur. My vision tints red, and it takes me a second to realize it’s blood—mine.
Well, fuck me. Why the hell not?
Nikolai grins through a bloodied mouthguard, his fists battered, his bandaged knuckles smeared in red. We almost mirror each other, our blood dripping to the floor like some twisted art.
I wonder if I can add a few more strokes to it.
Listen, violence is the only way I can express myself, so the more of that the merrier.
Oh, and sex.
Violence and sex are the only way I can feel real.
Alive.
Something more than a mere incompetent tool in Dad’s life.
Since sex isn’t in the cards until tomorrow—no, the jerking-off sessions I indulge in after talking to Vaughn on the phone, picturing him whispering in my ear, don’t count—violence is the only coping mechanism in my arsenal.
“That all you got, motherfucker?” Nikolai swings, and I duck, then hit him in the side.
He jumps up in an instant, and I notice movement behind him and kind of stop, because I think I’ve lost my mind.
Or else Vaughn is standing beside Jeremy, wearing all black—pants, shirt, shoes—with a hand in his pocket, his brows drawn, his eyes darkened.
Glaringat me.
That looks too real to be a hallucination.
I’m not even taking drugs lately. Maybe I need to check with a doctor to see if I swallowed a Vaughn-shaped pill somehow and can conjure up a fucking real-life depiction of him.
A fist cracks against my face, slamming me to the ground with a thud as the crowd erupts in a collective “Ahhh.” My vision spins, my ear buzzing with the chaos around me.
I blink, and Cy comes into focus beside the ref, his mouth moving—calling my name, I think. Asking if I can hear him. The referee lifts Nikolai’s hand, and I spit out the mouthguard with a cough of blood, forcing myself upright.
The side of my face throbs where that brute landed the hit, swelling fast and already bruised to hell. But that’s the least of my worries, because I’m pretty sure I saw Vaughn’s eyes widen right before I went down, and even if it was a hallucination, I need to confirm it.
Nikolai, who’s been reeling the crowd, jumps through the ropes, and sure enough, Jeremy pats him on the back, but the illusion of Vaughn is staring at me, his brows still drawn, and I think his hand is balled into a fist in the pocket of his prim pants.
I jump out of the ring as Cy calls my name, but I ignore him, heading toward the three of them. No—toward the illusion, because I think I’ve missed him so much, I’ve started to imagine him.
My hand reaches toward him, and he pulls back as my fingertips brush his arm.
Wait. I cantouchhim?
“Hey!” Nikolai steps between us and shoves me away. “The fuck you think you’re doing? Couldn’t handle me, so you’re trying to fight Vaughn or something? I’ll fuck you up.”
“You can see him, too,” I whisper more to myself than anyone else as I lean sideways to get a view of Vaughn, who’s frowning in that adorable grumpy way.
“See who?” Nikolai mirrors me, blocking my view again, and then we’re just dancing around each other. “Fuck off, Yulian.”
I grin as I shove at Nikolai’s face. “Youpiss off. Stop ruining it.”
“Ruining what?” he barks against my hand, but I couldn’t give a fuck about him.
I grin at Vaughn, and mouth, “Hi, Mishka.”
His scowl deepens, and he moves from behind Nikolai, who’s trying to grab me in a headlock, and shouting, “I’ll beat you up again.”
