Cassius

I thought she was kidding but, the longer she stays silent, the more it sinks in that she's not taking it back. I keep trying to buy time, but I can't keep it up much longer.

My thumb and forefinger rub over my throat, trying to loosen the muscles and keep the acid down. And then I chew on the tip of my thumb, trying to figure out what happened between last night and tonight to cause this.

Skylar flashes through my head. Everything she said I did wrong throughout our relationship, more specifically. I thought it was all bullshit, but now I'm doubting it. What if all her complaints were completely warranted? What if I really am just shitty at relationships?

"Um..." I start, trying to string some kind of sentence together. "I don't...can I ask why?"

"We just don't mesh."

Out of respect, I'm trying really hard not to think that's the dumbest thing I've heard in a long time. But it's really dumb. We don't mesh well?

She's stubborn. I'm patient. She's eccentric. I'm apparently kind of boring. She brought fun into my life, and I brought stability into hers. How much more balanced can you fucking get?

"Can you break that down for me, Quinn? Because it doesn't make sense."

She huffs and refuses to look at me, choosing to stare at the wall instead.

"I don't know how else to break it down. We just shouldn't be together."

I let that float around in my head for a minute, allow it to smash every ounce of hope I've been clinging on to. She's disappearing.

"You promised me, Quinn." I mutter, leaning against the counter for support as I zone out on the window across the room. The one I broke a while back. I feel like that damn window right now.

"What are you talking about?" She asks, annoyed.

"You made me a promise the night I asked you out." My calm tone is a stark contrast to the emotions wreaking havoc inside of me right now.

"Cassius, that didn't mean any –"

"You made a promise!" The thread of self-control snaps, the yell tearing out of me as I push off the wall, pointing my finger in her general direction. "Don't sit here and try to tell me that it didn't mean anything."

She scoots back into the couch and finally looks at me...like I'm a complete stranger. It nearly makes me break down, crumble to pieces in her tiny apartment.

"I'm not pushing you away. I just...don't want to be with you."

I'm either being split in two, or I'm hallucinating the pain. It is the most excruciating thing I have ever felt, and I can't even begin to figure out why it's happening or how to stop it.

"You're lying." I almost choke on the accusation, my throat constricting tighter by the second.

The deep breath she takes may as well finalize everything. I can't feel my legs but I'm praying to any deity that might exist that they're able to carry me out of here. This is it.

"Your past, Cassius...I can't get over it." I wish she'd stop using my fucking name. "You've got a violent history and you...you almost killed someone. And your job is too dangerous. I thought I could deal with that but I...I...I could never end up with someone like you long-term. I'm sorry, I thought I made that clear."

My chest caves in and, if I didn't have my pride, I'd stop holding back the vomit. But instead, I swallow the knot in my throat and try to keep fighting a losing battle.

"You don't mean that." The words buzz past my lips despite knowing it's too late to save this.

"I do." She strangles out over what sounds like a sob, clearing her throat. "I mean it. I don't want you."

The urge to cry kicks in. Sadness. I don't want to do sadness. Which means my body is already in the process of transforming that energy into anger instead.

"When you decide you want to stop pushing your insecurities and issues onto me, you know where I'll be. If you want to talk for real, I'll hear you out, but I won't wait around for you again, Quinn. If I leave here, we're done and I'm... moving on."

What does that really mean?

Don't let me leave. Come find me. Take it all back. Tell me the truth. Please don't do this.

Her eyes widen and I realize I've cut her deeper than I expected. And that's when I know for sure this whole thing was a show. But I can't keep drowning under her rejection and distance. It's not healthy. I won't go down this road again.

I will not lose myself again.

When she doesn't speak, I turn to leave but stop once I open the door.

"I'm pissed, Quinn. I'm furious with you right now. But what I told you still stands. If you ever get that low again, you fucking call me." I take a deep breath. "Do you understand?" My voice cracks.

I see her nod from the corner of my eye, so I let the door shut behind me.

As soon as the barrier closes between us, I hear the most heart wrenching cry come from inside her apartment. Placing my forehead against the wall, I try to inhale air that feels way too thick to pass through a set of lungs.

I should go back in. I could. But then I'd just be putting myself in the same position as before. I've been trying so hard to convince her she's worthy of love, but I deserve that too...right?

My hand hovers over the doorknob, but I force myself to go outside instead.

Once I'm situated in the driver's seat, I turn the key in the ignition and let out a turbulent exhale.

She promised me.

I knew it would be hard and I was aware of the risks. I just didn't think it would all come crashing down so soon. I thought I had more time to pull her out of the pile of shit she's been wading through.

The interior of the truck seems to be closing in on me and I lose the ability to breathe. My forehead pushes against the steering wheel, my fists clenching it as tight as I physically can. I need to control the emotion, but it's putting up a hell of a fight.

My fists want to slam into the wheel, the dash, the roof, anything within reach. But, instead, I continuously tap my palm against the leather wheel and bounce my legs. The entire truck shakes with my movements. When I can't physically handle it anymore, I grip the wheel again and scream so hard that my ass levitates out of the seat.

The only thing I can think of to relieve the aching in my chest is to fight. The only place that's safe to go is the gym. The only person who won't question my state of disarray is Micky. So that's where I end up.

As soon as I walk in, I grab a pair of gloves and toss them to the man who taught me everything about fighting. He's capable of destroying me in every way possible in the ring, and that's exactly what I want.

"Get in the ring!" I yell to Micky while haphazardly wrapping my hands.

He eyes me with disdain but doesn't deny my request. The first spin kick hits me in the side so hard that I hop through the ropes and hurl in the nearest trashcan. There's nothing of substance in my body, so it's all bile, burning as it travels up my throat.

As soon as I recover, I go back for more. Every single hit brings a feeling of quiet peace. The physical pain cancels out the mental. Micky won't tap out. He'll wait until I'm knocked out, no chance of getting back up any time soon.

I want him to break me.

I want scar tissue so fucking thick that I can't feel anything at all.

**********

The plan worked. When I woke up this morning, I still felt at ease. I can't fix emotions. A broken heart isn't a real physical injury that I can stitch up and throw some antibiotics at. But cuts and bruises and swollen limbs are manageable.

Mum texted me sometime last night while I was blacked out from pain on the couch, requesting my presence. I feel weird sitting on the couch when nobody else is here. Usually if I'm over for a visit, Warren is too. Not this time.

She brings me a glass of water and sits right next to me instead of on the other side of the couch. My first instinct is to scoot over to get some space, but she just follows.

"Whaaat?" I ask with a groan, knowing I'm about to get some kind of lecture.

Instead, she reveals a photo she had tucked under her leg beside her.

It's black and white, grainy, poor quality, but you can make it out if you know what you're looking at.

"You remember how I had cameras installed around the house when I was babysitting, so I always had proof if one of the kids ever get injured?"

I nod, my eyes burning and filling with liquid.

"I thought about it and realized this would be on there. I know it's kind of blurry, but I screenshotted it and had a copy printed for everyone."

"I..." One tear rolls down my face, but I quickly wipe it away with my shoulder. "It's nice, mum. Thanks."

The black and white image is a still shot from the night we were all passed out in the hallway and just seeing Quinn with her hand over mine, Julia tucked between her legs, makes me feel like my heart is being strangled to death.

"She broke up with me." I finally whisper after staring at the picture for way too long.

Mum stiffens and places her hand on my knee.

"What? When did that happen, sweetie?"

"Last night."

Her brows furrow and her head cocks to the side.

"That's...so strange. She came by yesterday and –"

"She came by?" I interrupt, surprised by this information.

"She did. She was in a bad place, Cassius. She told me so much and I didn't know how to help her. We talked for hours, and she seemed like she was finally settling down, but then when I came back from the kitchen, she was gone."

"Quinn has a lot of issues, mum. She's been hurt a lot and she doesn't know how to let someone love her. I thought I could help her with that. I thought I could be the person she lets in. But I couldn't. Nobody expects you to be able to, either."

Guilt and shame pour through me. I failed. Again. I always seem to fail.

Mum settles into the couch and angles her body so she's staring at me.

"You remember what your dad used to say about helping people?"

"Yeah, and it never made any fucking sense."

"Language, Cassius. I swear, someone else raised you and your brother. Anyway, your dad's advice was a lot like the bible. Half the stuff it says just seems like nonsense until it becomes relevant in your life." She looks up at the ceiling and mouths an apology, like she's directly communicating with the big man upstairs, and my father.

My parents didn't raise us to be religious, but I know mum's always been a big believer. She just wanted us to grow up and discover our own paths, no matter where they may have taken us.

"Say it out loud." She demands. I just glare at her. "Cassius, you better say it out loud right this second."

"Sometimes people need you more than you need yourself." I repeat the words he always said to me and Warren, annoyed with this whole pointless conversation. And then something in my stomach twists.

"Does it make sense now?"

I grumble under my breath and throw my head back into the couch. It makes sense, but now I just feel worse. Was I being selfish walking away from her yesterday? I thought I was protecting myself, but was I just giving up too easily?

Does she really need me to fight for her more than I need to feel stable and at peace?

Well, I've been a fighter since I was thirteen years old, so why the hell should I stop now?