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CHAPTER ONE
“Come at me, bitch.” He says, raising his fists.
Likewise, I raise mine. I never really expected the party to end up like this—sure, I was expecting there to be a fistfight between two drunk people, but I never imagined there would be one that I was in, let alone while sober. It’s a little absurd, if I do say so myself.
Anyways, you might be wondering why exactly I’m in the fight. Yes, I’m talking to you, and yes, I’m technically breaking the fourth wall. So what? Deadpool does it all the time, and nobody questions him. Maybe because Marvel is just awesome. Who knows?
But I’m pretty sure the reason that I ended up in a fight in the first place was because I insulted his girlfriend. And you can’t blame me, she did her makeup horribly. I’m not one to put down people, but it genuinely made her look like an emo teenager who was going through their cliche ‘the world is depressing and I’m a broken soul that nobody can fix’ kind of phase, which isn’t necessarily bad, but it just really didn’t suit her personality. She looked like a mix between Bucky Barnes (only less hot) and a raccoon that lived in the bottom of the dumpster behind a two-star restaurant.
But now I had to face the oh, so terrifying wrath of her weak ass boyfriend, who said he would apparently end me. Speaking of which—
I dodge the punch that he swung at me, which was incredibly off course. I retaliate by kicking him in the knee and as his leg buckles, I watch him crumple to the ground, screaming. The knees are probably one of the most vulnerable points, which is why I absolutely despise being hit there. But it’s still fun to kick other people in the knee.
1
I stand there and stare at him for a moment. “…Dumbass,” I say, crossing my arms, “You’re terrible at fighting. A toddler could do better than you.”
He looked on the verge of tears. Maybe I kicked him too hard. Oh well.
I glance around at the few half-sober people who had been watching. Some of them were cheering, some were looking at me in wonder, but at this point most of them had moved off to go find someone else to hook up with.
I shrug and turn away from the guy and his girlfriend, who was now crouched next to him and freaking out, and walk towards the front door to leave this party. It was getting boring, what with no other drama. Whispers of what just occurred followed in my wake, and some people started speculating that I was a secret spy (which I have no complaints against), and that was how I learnt to fight.
But in all honesty, I’m just good at everything. Especially bragging about myself.
As I was leaving the house and walking to my car, I heard even more cheering. I arch a not-so-perfectly manicured eyebrow and wander over to where I assumed the cheering was coming from—down the street at one of the accompanying houses.
As I get closer, I see people surrounding something—probably two drunk people—and holding out their phones to record and take pictures. The flashes on their phones were like stars in the night sky, but uglier and more blurred. I push through the crowds and stand on my tiptoes, trying to peer over the sea of heads and see what was in the middle.
A sickening crack sounds and some of the crowd gasps. I pushed through a few more people while they were distracted and now, I could finally see whoever was in the middle.
I was correct about my assumptions—there were two drunk guys having a fistfight. The cracking noise was when one broke the other’s nose. There was now blood running down one of their faces, and probably blinding him. Yeah, it was definitely blinding him. He was stumbling around and trying to find his opponent, while also trying to wipe his eyes, and also failing miserably and getting beaten up. So it wasn’t going very well for him. UNTIL, after about a minute of struggling, broken-nose-guy finally manages to land a punch on the other guy’s face.
It wasn’t in the exact middle of his face, so there was no broken nose or anything.
2
A little bit of blood came from his mouth. I imagine it would be because he bit his tongue or something.
Now the fight was getting good.
Broken-nose-guy gains some of his vision back and desperately kicks bleeding-mouth-guy in the groin, to which bleeding-mouth-guy doubles over and groans audibly. It was a wonder that no actually responsible adults showed up—and I don’t blame them. I feel like it wouldn’t be a very good idea to make an attempt to break up the fight.
Nonetheless, I was getting bored again.
I manouvre through the growing crowd so that I was now placed behind broken-nose-guy. I wait for a moment, to determine whether or not I should follow through with my plan, before shrugging off my doubts and stepping through the last row of people that separated me and broken-nose-guy.
I take another step closer, a voice in the back of my head telling me to ‘back the fuck away from the fight, dumbass’. I obviously didn’t listen to it. I grab broken-nose-guy's arms and yank him back from the fight, helping him narrowly avoid bleeding-mouth-guy's fist. I pin his arms behind his back and drag him away as he kept reaching for bleeding-mouth-guy. Why he still wanted to fight was above me.
As I dragged broken-nose-guy away from the duel, half the crowd started boo-ing (which was fair enough. It was the only exciting thing that happened that night), and the other half breathed a sigh of relief. I ignore the majority of them, only paying attention to the ones who were in my way. I just nudged through them.
Eventually, I reach my car and shove broken-nose-guy into the back seat. He kicks the door and attempts to break the window. I get into the driver’s seat and turn around to stare intensely at him. “I’ll hit you in the head with a metal pole if you break the window. And then you’d be paying for a new one.” I was obviously lying. Well, only partly. But he still stopped, so I put that on my list of ‘threats that actually work’.
I put the car into drive and start going down the street. “Where do you live?” I ask broken-nose-guy, not looking back at him and keeping my eyes on the road.
“Why should I tell you?” He sneers, spitting out some blood on the seat.
I glance back at him, annoyed. “Do you know how long it takes to get the blood out?”
He ignores me and goes back to broodingly stare out the window.
3
I roll my eyes and look back out of the windscreen to keep driving.
“If you’re not gonna tell me where you live, we’re going to the doctors,” I say, and he groans. “Or I could leave you on the side of the road?” Thankfully, he shuts up after that. “What were you fighting about, anyways? You and that other guy.”
“He was being a bastard,” Broken-nose-guy grumbles. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for a further explanation. “…He took my phone and then took a bunch of pictures.”
I glance back at him incredulously. “So you started fighting him? Instead of deleting the photos? Dumbass. Are you drunk? Actually, don’t answer that, you’re obviously drunk.” I roll my eyes and look back at the road.
“I am not drunk.” He says defensively. His words were a little slurred, and he literally got into a fight over pictures.
“I beg to differ.” I retort, tapping the steering wheel with my fingers.
“Shut it. I’m not drunk.”
“Are so.”
“Am not.”
The bickering continues for a few minutes, before he starts kicking the window again. I pull over on the side of the road and unlock the doors. “Out.”
“Fine.” He opens the door and falls out of the car, into the dirt and pebbles that made up the ground. He stands up and dusts himself off, before slamming the door and giving me the finger.
I return the favour and pull away from him, back on the road and driving to my house. The silence was uncomfortable.