SONG(s) FOR CHAPTER: 

♬ Once In A Lifetime by One Direction ♬ 

♬ The Fighter by Gym Class Heroes ft. Ryan Tedder ♬  

CHAPTER 2

♕ HARRY STYLES ♕

        "GOT ANY SEVENS?" 

        "Go fish. Got any queens?"

        "Nope, go fish. Got any twos?"

        "Go fish. Jacks?"

        "Nope. Got any queens?"

        Jacob's jaw dropped, eyes narrowing on me. "You cheater! I already asked you if you had queens and you said no!"

        "I just drew it, I swear!" I held my hands up in defense, stifling a chuckle.

        He groaned, tossing his cards down. "I'm tired of this game. You always find a way to cheat, you sneaky little brat."

        I licked my lips, smirking as I drew all the cards back into a pile, shuffling them while Jacob got up to get a drink. "Well, it was Go Fish or that redundant vampire show you watch."

        He poked his head out from behind the fridge, glaring at me. "It is not redundant. Okay, maybe sometimes, but it's still very intense."

        I shrugged before setting the deck of cards down and glancing at the clock. Nearly three in the afternoon, about time to meet Josh down the street to train for tomorrow night's fight. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, standing to shrug on my jacket. My eyes caught on the picture sitting idly on the table by the door. I stared at it only a moment before placing it face down.

        I'm not sure why I did that. I always ended up feeling guilty and setting it upright again. But it was hard to see those chocolate brown eyes and know I was the reason I'd never see them again. At least that's what Jacob told me. He said she had told him about the fight and apparently, I was the one who finally called it quits. I didn't remember much from that night, too overwhelmed by the darkening mood that had settled over me.

        I cleared my throat, looking up to see Jacob already looking at me, sympathy glinting across his bright eyes. "I better get going. Don't skip class again."

        He rolled his eyes. "My classes would be like my vampire show through your eyes - redundant," he said. I smiled a little but my eyes drifted back to the face-down photo. Jacob gave a little sigh. "Harry-"

        "I'm good," I told him, grabbing my keys. I stopped with my hand on the knob, my back to him and I didn't dare turn to look him in the eye. I swallowed. "Have you... have you heard from her?" My voice was too quiet, but Jacob still seemed to hear it.

        "Not since she called about her new internship last week," he said in a low tone, matching mine.

        I chewed the inside of my cheek. "Oh" was all I could say. Before Jacob could go on about how it's nearly been two years and I should try to move on, I bid him goodbye and exited the apartment.

        Somehow, Jacob and I were the last left clueless when everyone else went off to college after graduation. I guess finding some place to split the rent seemed the most reasonable, but it was definitely nice to have someone still around. Now he's going to a community college for psychology, his heart set on becoming a therapist for other kids like him who were shunned by their parents.

        Me? To say the least, I fell down a path I never thought I'd be on and then I couldn't find a way out, so I'm still traveling in the dark.

        I tried to keep my promise to Jacob as I drove down the semi-filled highway, keeping all thoughts away from her. But I always broke that promise, just never told him. I don't know why. I guess because she was the only way to ever break down the cement walls I put up. The only one to show me there's always room for second chances and happiness.

        Groaning, I turned on the radio to try and block out the repetitive self-pity. Though I wasn't listening to it completely, I still tried to focus on the lyrics of a song I didn't even like. Maybe focusing my hatred on that instead of myself would help, but to no avail.

        Needless to say, I was relieved when I could finally get out of the car. I continued the habit of looking down at the back of my hands, busted knuckles still vaguely healing from the last opponent I was up against. Josh says I should consider them lucky battle scars considering they're permanently on my hands and not my face.

        "Hey, there he is!" called Josh from across the training room, taking a swig of his beer before setting it down. "Ready to kick some ass?"

        I rolled my eyes at the alcoholic, though couldn't stop a little smile from stretching on my lips. Because of her, they've became easier, more effortless, but still not as wide - and never will be - as they were when she was here.

        "Just trying to keep it from being the other way around," I told him and grab the tape he already had sitting near by. I began to wrap it around my hands.

        "Well, people keep saying this 'Mason Peters' is some type of god, but really he's just full of himself," said Josh as he tossed his empty beer bottle in the recycling bin in the corner. He leaned on the edge of the ring, giving me a look. "I do my research, Styles. You know that. And if you keep yourself focused, this fight shouldn't take any longer than two minutes and thirty-three seconds."

        "I appreciate the - more or less - pinpoint accuracy," I told him jokingly, but I truthfully was grateful. Josh may be a drunk, but he did know what he was doing and that was all I needed. A little guidance would always be beneficial.

        As training began with Josh holding up his hands with the pads on them, I couldn't keep my mind from reeling, per usual. I hated myself for hurting everyone around me when I wasn't even aware I was doing so. Jacob had kept me from teetering on the edge of that high cliff I tended to balance on, but he couldn't stop the regret. The knowing that I had failed everyone.

        Either way, I would always punch harder, supposedly, when I thought about things. Josh would stop me because his hands would be aching, even with the gear on. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I'm not sure what happened to me. I don't like it.

        I guess I was thinking too hard again because Josh took a step back, holding a hand up to halt me as he wiped sweat from his brow. "Damn, boy." He shook his head, letting out a small chuckle. "Let out that anger for the fight, not me."

        "Sorry," I muttered, running a taped hand through my hair. 

        He nodded, taking a swig from the water fountain before holding his hands up again. "I'm used to it by now. Let's keep going."

        And so we did, until a couple of hours later, I nearly collapsed from overexertion and Josh yelled at me to settle down before I hurt myself.

     Later that night, I was in the spare room in the apartment lifting weights. I felt mentally exhausted, yearning to keep my mind off of the things that troubled me so much. Physically straining myself was more preferable than living with horrendous thoughts and guilt. 

        But Jacob came in and told me I needed to sleep, that exhausting myself was going to get me nowhere and that it wasn't healthy to deprive myself of sleep and food. My only defense was that I had a banana for lunch, and he simply shook his head with a worried look in his eyes before telling me to go to sleep for the second time.

        The next morning, bright and early, we were on a plane to Baltimore for the fight later tonight, and I slept the whole way there because I could hardly keep my eyes open.

        The last thing I heard before I dozed off was Jacob and Josh talking in hushed, anxious voices about me.

☆ ★ ☆ ★

        Unsurprisingly, I thought about her when we landed. She was in the same state as me me, so close but so far. It felt like there was a part of her still in this airport, and if I only searched hard enough, I would reach out and grab her hand and tell her all my apologies of leaving her behind.

        But she was not here, and I was still without her.

        Jacob patted my shoulder, but I couldn't stop myself from asking. "Do you think she'll come tonight?" My voice was hoarse, like I hadn't used it in a while, but really I had just woken up from sleeping the entire three hours. I never took naps. Ever.

        He pursed his lips. "Maybe. Just don't get your hopes up, okay?"

        I sighed, knowing he was only looking out for my well-being, but a little encouragement wouldn't have hurt. I needed it right now. Especially with the airport security guards informing us of a crowd outside. I really was in no mood for a bunch of flashes to blind me. 

        Ignoring catcalls and dodging rumored questions was easier than it usual was. I felt like I could take another long nap, my arms aching just the slightest, but pushed the thought aside as we boarded the SUV that would take us to the hotel. Why were being that severely injured other people celebrities? The logic still made no sense to me.

        I asked Josh that very question once, and he had laughed and said, "It's not what you do that gets people's attention - it's how well you do it."

        I guess I should've taken it as a compliment, but I really only wanted silence and privacy.

        The rest of the day included minimum training so I could salvage my energy, and lounging around the hotel before five o'clock struck and I was due at the arena to get ready. Josh and Jacob both began their motivational speeches on the ride there. They never said anything different. It was really the same message over and over.

        "Focus and you'll slay." Jacob.

        "Predict their next move, and beat them to it. You got this." Josh.

        Meanwhile I laid my head on the window and simply nodded along. I knew what to do. They never let me forget. I was ready and energized. I had eaten an apple earlier when Josh and Jacob both yelled at me that I needed more food. So of course, they practically shoved a cheeseburger down my throat that was far too greasy for my liking. I only ate half of it and almost all the fries.

        "Remember," Josh said, "this one always goes for a right hook first. So keep an eye out for that. He also likes roundhouses and..." 

        I listened intently to everything Josh said, I did. I always listened when he told me what to look out for the and opponent's apparent weakness. When Josh says he does he research, he means it. He watches all recent fights the opponent was in, examining each move carefully, does online research, and even tries to befriend the opponent's trainer, in some cases. Which made Josh even more of an incredible coach.

        In the locker room, Josh determined the proper gloves before tossing them to me, my finger poking out the holes as normal. I informed him they fit since I had to get new ones after my last pair began to rip. Jacob had laughed when I told him and said to remind him to never get on my bad side. I had also laughed.

        I slipped into my shorts and a t-shirt before wrapping a cool towel around my neck. Josh ran me through training briefly, air punches and kicks and such. I was bouncing on the balls of my feet when it was time to meet out in the arena. I was ready - I always was.

        The arena was already packed, loud and raging for excitement. I placed my mouth guard in as the announcer introduced Mason Peters before calling my name. Josh patted me on the back as the signal to go and we jogged out. I kept my mind off of the enormous crowd like I usual do, more focused on trying not to get my face smashed in, but it almost sounded they cheered a bit louder for me. Or perhaps it was my hopes that they were.

        Once in our corners, I examined Mason. Slightly buffer than me, buzz cut, looking more like an army sergeant than a UFC fighter. Josh was continuing to say motivational thing as I slipped off my shirt at the refree's warning that there was only a few moments left before the fight began. All in all, Mason was older, more experienced, and appearing to be quite the jerk.

        Proving my assumptions, he called across the arena, "You're going down, pretty boy!", in the tone where men try to sound tougher than they are. I tried to let that thought comfort me.

        Needless to say, most competitors did not like me. Why? Because I was younger, not as buff as I probably should be, and presumably overrated. I didn't trash talk, that wasn't my thing. But if I did, I'd most likely remind them that I was still undefeated for nearly two years now. And I've faced tougher men than Mason appeared to be.

        My eyes scanned the crowd, naturally like they always did. I guess I was searching for her, more hopeful this time since we were in the same area, but her face was still not to be seen.

        "Just remember kid," said Josh behind me, dragging me from my thoughts, "everyone's got a weakness. You find it, and the fight is yours. If you can't find it, back control would be plan B."

        I shook my arms a bit, feeling the soreness in them from over-working them yesterday, but paid no mind to the little fatigue. This happened every fight. I would nearly wear myself out but the adrenaline would be in my favor in the end.

        The bell sounded. Mason and I bumped fists. The fight began.

        I kept Josh's advice in the back of my mind, him proving himself correct when he said Mason always tried to strike first. And he did, with a mere right hook, also like Josh had told me he would. It was easy to dodge. Too easy and I grew a little more confidence.

        I heard Jacob and Josh cheering from my corner, Mason's two friends and his trainer in the other. I heard the roar of the crowd as I blocked another one of Mason's punches, and then everything intensified when I landed my fist hard on his jaw. He stumbled only a little, but it was enough for me to notice his weakness.        

        He was limping on his right leg.

        Blocking out what an awful person I felt like I was, I swung my foot into his injured leg and he cried out, muffled by the mouthpiece. I took that chance to land another punch on his face, his body falling to the ground and I kicked his right leg again. It was enough of a chance to get on top of him, get a couple punches in, and then have the ref pull me away to give Mason his few minute chance to tap out or say he could keep going.

        Just when I thought he'd give up, he stood at the last moment. 

        He seemed angrier, of course, but his limp was more noticeable. I wondered what he did to hurt his leg, and that brief moment got me a scrape of his knuckles on my jaw. Enough to pull me back to reality, but not to phase me. He was weaker, and I had the advantage.

        This was why trash talk was so humorous to me. You portrayed more confidence than you had only for it to be smashed to pieces. You could never be able to predict someone else's moves when you didn't even know your own. Taunting the opponent only made you seem like a coward and a fool, and Mason was all of that right now.

        I had him on the ground again, but I started feeling a little dizzy for some reason. I shook my head just the slightest, wanting to get this over sooner than later. It was the second round, and oddly enough, I was straining myself. I could feel my muscles tighten.

        So I went for the back control while he was down, flipping him onto his stomach with a kick to his side. When he sat up, I got on his back, wrapped my legs around his torso and buried my heels in his inner thighs. I wrapped an arm around his throat, leaning my head back to miss his attempts to get me off. As predicted, within seconds he tapped twice on the ground.

        The referee pulled me off, the arena grew impossibly loud, and Josh and Jacob were cheering. But I stumbled to my corner, my vision fading in and out. I blinked multiple times, spitting my mouth piece out and Jacob and Josh were quickly hovering over me.

        "Harry? Harry, keep your eyes open," Josh was saying.

        "I think he's dehydrated or malnourished," someone said - I think it might have been the physician off on the side.

        I placed my forearms on the ropes, my breathing coming in pants and my stomach twisting with nausea. The dizziness grew more intense, feeling like the world was spinning, and it grew to be too much. I fell to my knees, trying to get the spots out of my vision.

        "I told you to eat more than a banana!" I think Jacob yelled that, sounding worried.

        But I couldn't be sure because I quickly fell over onto my side, eyes falling closed and darkness taking over.

(for those of you who don't know UFC, it's a little more intense than boxing, I would say. You can kick and in boxing you can't. there is a lot of rules in UFC though, and if you want a good example to look up, George St. Pierre is the best. he's my bae, tbh, don't judge me.

okay, no more rambling, but thank you all so much for reading. the sequel has already sparked a lot of reads and I could not be more thankful. love you all x)