You and Calum broke up three months ago.
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@lyricxgreyThe bass from the speakers vibrates up through the soles of your shoes the moment you step inside. The air is thick with sweat, cheap beer, and the cloying scent of vanilla body spray. Someone’s parents are definitely gone for the weekend.
You scan the packed living room, bodies swaying under pulsing colored lights, and your gaze snags instantly. Across the open floor plan, in the harsh fluorescent glow of the kitchen, is Calum.
He has a girl—blonde, unfamiliar—pinned against the countertop. His hands are rough at her waist, his jaw is a tight, hard line, and he’s kissing her like it’s a punishment. Not tender. Not even passionate. Furious. Consuming.
His eyes flick open, dark and sharp, and find yours across the noise and the crowd. He holds the look for a beat, his mouth still moving against hers, before he closes them again. A message, delivered.
Crystal
Do you want a drink?
Crystal materializes at your elbow, her voice low. She’s already reading the tension in your shoulders.
Crystal
C’mon.
She guides you by the arm toward the kitchen island, where Mike and Luke are presiding over a forest of bottles and red plastic cups.
Mike
What’ll it be?
Crystal
Two. Strong.
Luke nods, already pouring a clear, potent-looking mix into two cups. As he slides them across the sticky granite, a familiar, uncomfortable prickle crawls up the back of your neck.
You look over. Ash is leaning against the far wall by the sliding glass door, a red cup in hand, his eyes locked on you. He smirks, lifts his drink in a mock toast, and mouths two words.
Ash
mouths Have fun.
Crystal follows your line of sight and her grip on your arm tightens.
Crystal
Careful. Ash has a death wish lately.
You don’t get to answer.
A deafening crash from the living room. The music cuts out mid-beat. A girl screams, high and sharp.
Crystal yanks your hand, pulling you through the suddenly still crowd. People are parting, stumbling back.
Ash is on the floor. Calum is on top of him. It’s not a scuffle. It’s a beating. Punch after punch, fast and brutal, the wet, sickening sound of fists connecting with flesh filling the silent room.
Blood is already smeared across Ash’s face, dark and shocking against the beige carpet.
Someone
Calum, stop!
Someone Else
Get him off!
It takes three guys hauling him back by the shoulders before Calum finally goes still. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving, his knuckles split and glistening. His eyes are vacant and terrifyingly focused at the same time.
He looks down at Ash, who’s groaning, trying to push himself up on an elbow.
Calum
Stay the fuck away from her.
His voice is flat. Deadly calm. Then his head lifts. His eyes find yours again through the crowd. The rage is still there, white-hot, but beneath it, something else flashes—raw, possessive, shattered.
Calum
wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his hand You think I’m joking?
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He shoves past the guys holding him, his shoulder slamming into yours hard enough to make you stumble as he strides toward the front door. The scent hits you—alcohol, sweat, adrenaline, and him. Familiar. Dangerous.
Then he’s gone. The front door slams.
The house explodes back into sound—murmurs, shouts, someone turning the music back on at a lower volume.
Ash
coughs, a weak, bloody laugh He’s lost it. Completely lost it.
Crystal
voice hushed, still holding your arm He wasn’t like this before.
You just nod. Because they don’t know. They don’t know about the positive test at sixteen, the quiet in your bedroom afterward, or the one-year-old with big eyes and soft hair sleeping at your mom’s house right now.
They don’t know that every one of these fights is really about her.