The lock clicked open and I entered the house. Someone was typically home, so I halted my footsteps to listen for any noise that would indicate the presence of family members and found none. It was eerily quiet, which was somewhat strange, but I welcomed the silence; recent events weighing heavily on my mind.

Avoiding my father took top priority, before I could actually clean up. If he had seen me in this condition, I would have been facing a long, torturous lecture; punishment notwithstanding. He never worried about my physical health and well-being, but his frustrations and disappointments usually stemmed from knowing and understanding his son. My passionate stubbornness, youthful recklessness and lack of respect for the consequences of my actions in certain situations, would often cause him grief. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand the situations I found myself in. I simply chose to blaze my own path, regardless of the possibilities of doom.

This fight would be one of those kinds of situations.

Sliding my shoes off, I padded through the wooden hallways in my socks, checking the commonly used rooms and found no one around. Sorting through a quick checklist in mind, I looked at my clothes and realized that I needed to hide the evidence. Recalling that I had laundry to do, I bound up the stairs to my room and stripped off my shirt.

“Shit, there’s blood on it,” I muttered to myself. “Guess this is going into the wash too.”

Grabbing my dirty clothes, I headed back downstairs to the laundry room. It would take a few minutes to fill the washer, so I took the time to put together a story if someone questioned me about my injuries. As the tale formed in my mind, images and actions of the fight flashed through it as well. Poring over the frames locked inside, I knew that I had hurt him pretty badly. A pang of sadness and guilt came along with those images, as the power of my father’s words echoed through the core of my soul.

“Your skill in martial arts is exceptional. You’ve been trained since you were very young to hone those talents, but to also temper them with discipline and patience. What I’m afraid of is that you end up losing control or you act recklessly and end up severely hurting someone else, possibly even killing them. There are things in this world that time and money can’t heal. Try to keep that in mind.”

Those words, words I had heard time and time again, but had disregarded as the words of a worrisome parent, sank into my gut. It was the kind of gut check I wasn’t prepared for, nor welcomed. My vision overflowed with guilt as the consequences of my actions steadily became real to me.

What if I had snapped his neck? At one point, he did go limp in my arms and those were metal lockers. What if I had damaged his head or face so badly that I disrupted parts of his nervous system? It wasn’t impossible, having seen such an event during a tournament some years ago. My actions could have done permanent damage and I would forever reap the repercussions of such a calamity.

Listening to the sound of rushing water, I hung my head as those torrential feelings swept over me. The introspective lesson that I learned hurt more than any lecture my father could ever give me. My shoulders shook, as a chill ran up my spine and I put my face in my hands.

“I really need to make better choices, at least make decisions when I’m calm and collected,” I said to myself.

Sighing, I grabbed the laundry basket to head back upstairs. I knew that I couldn’t tell my family what happened, lest I felt like facing the wrath of my father. I had lost Jess, lost my heart and now lost my head. I couldn’t turn to my family, and my friends probably wouldn’t understand the burden that I carried. Some day someone would, but until then, I put it aside, filing it away in a memory archive.

Turning the corner, I trudged through the house, feeling dejected and utterly alone.

Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22.

Dropping back on my right foot, his body slammed into mine, knocking me back a few steps before I regained my balance. He attempted to push me over, but I held my precarious balance by shifting my weight to match his pushing.

I wasn’t used to close quarters combat, but being bigger than most guys our age, I generally wasn’t very worried. His arms were locked around my chest, head down, trying to bowl me over. When it didn’t succeed, he flailed wildly; a fist catching me once in the shoulder and another connected with my face. A jolt of pain registered inside my head, igniting the angry fuel I had let build up inside and I retaliated. All I could see was the back of his head, so I started pounding on it like an out-of-control jackhammer.

Peering over my shoulder to get my bearings, I spied a dull-grey tint of metal coming from the row of lockers behind me. Glancing down, his head was pressed up against my ribs, right underneath my left arm. Wrapping an arm around his neck, I half-fell and half-yanked him toward me, slamming into the metal lockers, my back arching with the jarring impact.

Holding onto his head by his neck and chin, I kept ramming his head and face into the lockers, totally unaware that with each resounding impact, I was hurting myself as well. Anger and hate motivated me now and it only increased my animosity toward him. It became an endless loop. The pain I felt, only fanned the flames of destruction in my heart.

What did I do to deserve this? My situation with Jessica and now this. I didn’t start this mayhem, but was going to put a stop to it once and for all. I didn’t want this to continue. My pain, her pain and now his. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sadness, pain and sorrow; I could understand those things, but this was stupid on a whole different level.

“Stop! Please, stop!” she screamed.

My head jerked up and looked into the tear-streaked face of hysteria. She must have seen the wild look in my eyes as our eyes met. Momentarily frozen in place by her cries, my chest heaved and my lungs gasped for breath. I finally felt the arms of friends holding onto me, trying to separate us. Snapping my head back and forth, I met each face with a look and growled,”Get the fuck away from me or you’re next.”

She stepped forward and approached me, as the others backed away.

“Please, let him go.” She was crying and shaking.

“Dude, come on, it’s over. You’ve won, just let him go,” Eugene said, holding my arm.

Looking first at Jess, then at Eugene, the options tumbled through the dark recesses of my mind. I had known Eugene since we were in elementary school and was one of the very few people who I trusted, implicitly. Letting out a long exasperated breath, I looked down at Andrew, still locked in my grip, finally realizing that he was quietly sobbing. “Fine, you can have him,” I bit out with such hate and anger that she backed up a step.

I let go of his neck and shoved him away from me, all the adrenaline drained from my body. Backing up, I collapsed against a wall and looked over at her, tasting blood. Gingerly touching my lip, I put my jaw in my hand and rocked it back and forth, causing my friend, Pain, to reintroduce himself. Reaching back, I felt the bumps and bruises that were already starting to form on my back.

Jess leaned over him, holding his head, dabbing his face with wet paper towels. Others gathered around, encircling them to gawk and check on his injuries. She covered his bloodied face with some damp towels, one side was already puffy from the swelling.

“Here, man, take this,” Eugene said, handing me a stack of paper towels, half of them wet.

“You’ve got a fat lip and you’re still bleeding a bit,” he stated, examining me with curious eyes.

“Thanks,” I muttered, unconsciously reaching out to shake his hand. “You’re a real friend, G, unlike some people.”

“Don’t worry ’bout it. I was just afraid you had completely lost it and I’d have to try and take you down.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You fucken kicked his ass, but scared the shit out of everyone.”

We both turned to my left, to see a gap in the circle and I found her face red and streaked with tears, confused eyes, mixed in with sadness. They didn’t hold any anger or malice, just regret. A few seconds passed and I turned away.

Slamming my fist into one of the lockers, I dented the locker and felt a fresh spasm of pain as my skin tore away. Leaning my head against the cool metal surface, my anger slowly abated. Spinning around, I started toward the circle where Jess still sat. Feeling his hand on my shoulder, I turned to see him standing there, questions and concern in his eyes.

“Just let it go, man. It’s over.”

“Nothing is gonna happen,” I said, shrugging off his loose grip.

Covering my bleeding fist with a paper towel, I slowly made my way over to where they were. Looking straight at her, my face, impassive and stoic, I unloaded.

“I didn’t start this fight, but I sure as hell ended it. If you want to blame me for it, then go ahead, I don’t care anymore. Andrew’s a moron and he deserved what he got. After all of this, you know what I realized? I care for you, more than you can possibly know, but it isn’t worth this kind of anguish. I’m in love with a girl who doesn’t deserve my love. You don’t even deserve his love, but if he still wants you, fine. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

The silent tears flowed without interruption. The devastation in her gaze cut deeper than any bleeding wound. Turning my back on her, I walked away. The first few steps were the hardest, my heart throbbed with pain, my back wincing quietly in unison. Agonizing over my choice, I wanted to turn around and go back to her, to somehow comfort her, but I’d simply be hanging myself with a noose tied by my own hands.

A sigh escaped my lips, footfalls echoing off the walls while the distance grew. It was simply too late.

Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22.