Throwing all my faith into how much I mean to him, I let him go, run around the side of the two of them
and push in between as soon as he reels back to take another punch. I close my eyes tight and brace
myself for the impact of at least one hit, because of how quickly I have managed to get between the
two bodies. Freezing when I do so, inhaling sharply as I prepare for a smack, but nothing happens.
I open one eye, and then the other slowly, relieved to see him staring at me, fist poised in mid-air and
breathing so hard that he’s panting. His eyes are on mine, a look of confusion and rage mingled
together, and I literally cross myself and make a little ‘thank you’ sign to the gods above, even though
I’m not religious. That could have been goddamn nasty.
I reach out, grabbing his wrist and pull it down to me, cradling his bunched fist in my two hands and pull
him with me, tugging him in the direction of the door. Too many onlookers are fussing over the semi-
dead man on the floor, and I can already see he’s out cold. I have no idea which hit put him there,
maybe he was only semi-alert from the first blow, but all I can think is ‘You deserve it, you scumbag’.
Treating Arrick like a child victim, I lead him away, walking backwards hurriedly. Banging into people,
keeping my eyes on his and urging him to come with me. Managing to get far enough away from the
man he left mangled on the floor, and no one seems to be looking our way. In all the confusion and
drunkenness of people here, I doubt anyone really knows what went down as it all happened so fast. I
manage to turn and haul ass, pulling him as he speeds up to follow me out of the dancing area and to
the quieter outer lobby. Turning back on him just as he snaps out of that fight rage he goes into. Arrick
back from planet cuckoo, where his head goes during battle.
“Sophs?” His face softens, his jaw slackens, pupils dilate and then he’s all over me. Hands around my
face and throat, pulling me so we’re nose to nose and breathing against me like he has lost all control.
That broad chest heaving with the effort. “Tell me you’re okay; tell me he didn’t hurt you.” He seems
overwhelmed, emotion going crazy as he keeps pulling my face to his, too close for this to be innocent.
His forehead against mine, his hands in my hair and around my throat gently, checking me for wounds,
checking that I’m breathing. He’s uncontrolled, losing all normal Arry restraint and still wired.
It’s a fight to try and rein him in, cool is hands on me and the way he keeps bringing my mouth close to
his to share air, his nose pressed into my face as though he needs my face against his to calm down.
His hands burying themselves in the underside of my hair over my ears, crouching slightly so I’m in
between his thighs. Pelvis to pelvis, so he’s at my height as he assures himself that I’m not damaged.
It’s intimate, even with his frantic behavior.
If I wasn’t still stuck in the bristling mode of ‘don’t touch me’ from what just happened I would be
enjoying this a little too much, but I ‘m just being suffocated. Stuck in defensive mode and not wanting
anyone to touch me, even him.
I try to control him, bring him some calm. He just keeps bringing me back again and again, hands
roaming all over me, his mouth so close he almost grazes my lips more than once. He’s in emotional
turmoil, senses overwhelmed, keeping me with him and pulled to his body, no matter what I do. He’s
intent on bringing our faces together, so he can hold me. His eyes ravaging me with obsessive need to
keep checking for injury.
Something inside me keeps telling me to untangle him, like a sixth sense, that he shouldn’t be touching
me like this even if I wasn’t feeling this way. When I catch a glimpse of Natasha from the corner of my
eye coming towards us, I push him away hard. Putting a little distance between us and trying to signal
with facial gestures to calm the fuck down. Nothing in his behavior is innocent and there’s no way to
explain it away.
“I’m okay … I’m fine.” I snap coldly, pushing his hands back again as he tries to pull me back. I grab his
wrist instead and tug him to the side to alert him to her approaching figure. Facial messages are not
doing anything to reel in his hands-on behavior. Arrick’s too focused on me, missing the signal and
reaches out again to try and haul my body back to his. It’s like he’s stuck in overprotective mode of
checking for damage, only focused on touching me and reassuring himself that I really am unharmed.
It’s like he’s oblivious to her presence at all.
“Natasha.” I grind harshly, slapping down his hand, like scolding a child, turning to meet her with a
serious look on my face and breathing heavily. I’m still recovering from my own collapsing lungs and
need him to snap back to reality.
She’s wary, not sure what she’s walking into as we’re both acting cagey as shit, and I know this must
look dodgy as hell. The odd expression on her face has me feeling guilty, even though I’ve done
nothing wrong this time. I’ve no idea how much she saw, and I feel awkward, ashamed, which annoys
me, while Arrick is being unpredictable.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” Natasha’s sixth sense is firing on all cylinders, looking from him to
me and back again. Arrick completely disregards her presence and pulls me back into his arms, nose
to nose with a hand on each side of my face and looks me dead in the eye. Some sense of focus has
returned, yet he still seems scarily distant and not quite here.
“I want to fucking kill him.” He utters, still lost in his own head, showing just how drunk he is. Far worse
than when I was upstairs with them, and it dawns on me that this is half the problem. He’s a lot less
controlled when he’s drunk, and it explains how weird he’s being, the lack of inhibitions in front of his
‘maybe once again’ girlfriend. I push him off gently, eyeing him with a more speculative assessment
and see it far more noticeably, that he’s absolutely smashed, and turn to her pleadingly. So much for
not getting drunk tonight.
“Some guy tried it on. Forcefully.” I blurt out, praying she’s not as drunk as him and someone else,
besides me, has a little sense here. “Arrick hit him, a lot. He’s out cold, pretty fucked up. Arrick needs
to get upstairs and out of sight until it calms down.” I command at her, nerves hitting me, voice and
hands shaking wildly, and try to push him towards her. My brain in overload about how this could come
back to bite him in the ass, his career, his future, his reputation. Natasha blinks herself into sense and
widens big brown eyes in alarm, there’s a definite look of suspicion, but she blinks it away.
“You don’t fight in bars!” She blanches at him oddly, accusation, confusion, and a weird expression of
disbelief before she stares at him. Like she’s seeing a new side to him, despite the fact he’s a pro
fighter. A lip wobble suggests she’s hurt about this, and I want to shake her dense little head about how
important this is. I instead snap.
“Natasha! Take him upstairs, I can find my own way home. Now, Natasha! He needs to be up there with
friends who can back up that he was not down here when this went down. If there’s any comeback
from this it will fuck up his fight career.” I push him away again, his hands are back on me, this time on
my upper arms and he’s making me crazy, behaving like this in front of her. It’s like my normal calm and
controlled protector is so locked in his own head that he’s not even here and his hands keep roaming to
my body. I guess this is the drunk Arrick I missed when he was partying his youth away, and it’s more
than a little infuriating.
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