Arrick’s POV
~ Saving Sophie in the club ~
I wander around the crowd looking for Sophie; agitated, uptight and messed up royally. I told Natasha
we should start again, slowly, see how it goes. Back to dating and taking baby steps to see if we can
salvage what we used to have so, for right now, I’m still single technically but just that we now have to
start seeing one another romantically.
She agreed that we’ve become distant and stale and if we start with the small steps towards finding our
passion again, then maybe we can fix what we once had. It all sounded good at the time, to begin with,
but that clawing doubt and indecision was soon pushing me to down shots in a bid to get my shit
together. Head consumed with Sophie’s absence, and pain biting at me to go find her and kick shit out
of any guy that is occupying her down there.
On paper it would all look mature, hopeful, and right, yet here I am, fucked up, feeling like shit, and
searching for my best friend in this damn club. Because in all of this, and sitting up there, downing
booze like it was going out of fashion as I tried to secure future plans with my once again girlfriend, all I
could think about was Sophie down here and her threat of finding some random guy to amuse her. It
turned my brain inside out and fueled my fight mode into being a rash asshole.
Is this jealousy? Is this what I have ignored all these years when she was dating other guys?
I know she didn’t mean it, yet the more I sat there turning it over in my head, downing drinks in a bid to
numb all my emotion to nothing, all I kept thinking about was her past two years of living wild and
reckless and countless sleaze ball boyfriends. The threat no longer seemed empty, and when I couldn’t
handle it anymore, I told Tasha I needed to check on her.
I pretty much up and ran after my best friend, because I really could not handle the thought of her with
anyone who isn’t me. Now, here I am, like a crazed psycho, pushing through crowds to find her, and I
don’t even know what I will do if she has hooked up with someone. It’s already eating me inside out,
and now I wish I didn’t drink so much.
I’m such an asshole, all over again, not giving a shit that in one hand I was giving Natasha another
chance, then in the other, running down here fueled by my fear that Sophie might find someone else.
No further forward in choosing, no clue how the fuck to deal with this.
I catch sight of her dark hair through a gap in gyrating bodies and move forward from here, without
thinking this through. I can see the side of her hair, and that dress which has a lot to answer for. That
dress should be burned to ashes for all it’s capable of doing to me. I know I had urges for her before
tonight, but that dress seems to be the catalyst for all things and focusing hate on it is better than
hating what I’ve done to us.
As I push past a large group of drunk women, I get a full unaffected view of Sophie, yet she isn’t alone,
and it knocks my lungs to breathless and halts me in my tracks. Some guy has his hands on her,
around her and his mouth locked to hers in the most painful sight I have ever laid eyes on and it’s like I
get hit in the face with a massive electric bolt. My entire body is zapped with a lightening shock that
travels right to my chest, splicing pain across my heart at the sight and I get a reaction I never have in
my life.
Simultaneously, every organ seems to shut down as cruel biting pain shunts me speechless and I can’t
breathe, even with huge effort. Eyes unable to tear free of the sight of my girl in another guys arms and
I can’t tear myself from the object of my all-consuming pain and growing psycho anger, which rages up
inside of me in a whole body grabbing kind of way.
My instant urge is to beat this shithead to death, and it grips me wholly; rational thought dispersing and
I don’t care if she has a right to do this, if this is what I deserve. The rage and jealous pain is all that
controls me in this searing second and I stalk forward, vision red, no longer in control of anything but
this need to separate them, to get his filthy fucking hands from my fucking girl.
MY Sophie! She’s MINE, no one else’s, and I’ll be fucking damned if some asshole gets to fucking
touch her.
I’ll literally rip his head off his shoulders and use it as a fucking basketball before I let him touch her.
Even in my red haze, shoving people aggressively out of the way, I don’t tear my eyes off as I get
closer, despite the agony of witnessing this, of them lip to lip. It’s a pain like no other and it’s fueling my
hatred tenfold.
As I get nearer, something in the movement between them pulls me out of my fury. A slight struggle
and the way he turns, and I realize Sophies body language is off the chart’s rigid. She isn’t into what
he’s doing at all, she isn’t kissing him back, and she doesn’t seem to want his touch. I know my girl well
enough to read her, even at a distance, and this scumbag is doing this without her consent.
His fucking hands are on her throat, her skin pale from either lack of oxygen or fear. And I lose all
control. I snap at the sight of some letchy slimy fucker, hurting my baby.
I’m on them in seconds and rip her out of his hold like a bear, strength fueled by adrenalin, a need to
get him off her, as I pull her away and aside ungracefully. My temper through the roof raging, so I don’t
even know if I literally just dropped her on the floor while caught in a veil of mist. I can’t turn my
venomous glare away from him to check on her. My mind is set on complete annihilation and I can’t
stop myself.
He hurt her, he dared to fucking touch my girl and I won’t let the shithead get away with it. I zone into
red rage, blanked out mode.
For me this is a rare thing and never happens in the ring. My whole career relies on my focus and
control and every fight is handled with cool calculation as I watch my opponent’s movements. Not in
this…. My psycho kill switch is well and truly flicked.
I just see that bastard holding her throat in my mind’s eye, and start punching and kicking fluidly.
Feeling nothing of his return defense moves, or his attempts to fight back as my instincts kick in and go
into automatic maneuvers and skill. I want to pound him into the fucking ground, stamp his skull into a
thousand tiny pieces and paint the floor red with his fucking blood. No one in the universe has a right to
lay hands on her against her will, and even though this started as a jealous rage, it’s now an all-
consuming black hole of hatred for a guy who would hurt her. I’ve never felt this kind of longing for
sheer violence and fire inside of me, ever, and right now I actually want to kill the mother fucker.
I hear Sophie’s sweet torn voice nearby, cutting through the haze softly, but my arms and legs don’t
stop going, my onslaught of crazy assault is in full swing and even though he’s down on the ground, I
give no actual shits. My aim is not to disable this asshole, it’s to end him for ever laying a fucking hand
on Sophs.
I reel back, lifting my fist higher, to aim for a more direct blow to his face, already swelling and covered
in a mix of his blood and the cuts from my knuckles, from his teeth. I don’t feel it. Adrenalin fueling me
like a monster, and I will keep going until he doesn’t breathe anymore, and the floor is red with the
evidence of his demise. Nothing can dampen this fury and rage until he stops fucking living. I pull back
and get ready to give it all I got, seeing only that face on the ground and everything else phased out in
a mist of red blurriness. Another blow and I’m sure he will be out cold, or worse.
I freeze mid-air, body halting like a statue instinctively, that kill switch safe mode initiated as Sophies
face appears inches in front of me, cutting through the blur and focusing with clarity, even in this light
and everything in me halts automatically. Her face is a block I will never force through and she has the
uncanny ability to stop me mid tirade, almost magically. I would never lay a finger on her aggressively.
She closes her eyes and braces for my fist, readying herself, because she thinks I’m unstoppable, yet I
don’t move.
I would never physically hurt you, Sophs.
She’s like an icy bucket of water thrown on my fire and in a tiny second of seeing her, I’m rendered
immobile. Sense and calm flooding me as she opens her eyes slowly and blinks at me unsurely. She
makes a religious cross motion when she sees I haven’t moved, thanking god under her breath and
despite the craziness in this moment, I smirk.
Only Sophie would bring humor to this shit. Can’t ever break her down.
Sophie reaches up cautiously and cups my fist with her delicate hands, eyes on me warily, acting like
I’m some sort of pot that’s about to overspill or blow. It’s ridiculous; she should never fear me, and I
relax a little as she starts tugging me to follow her. Literally stuck inside my own head, deafened by the
rushing blood in my ears, adrenalin making my body vibrate as my lungs burn with intensity at my
exertion. Powerless to disobey that face though.
Sophie starts pulling me through the crowds, and she is all I can focus on as my breath starts to pace
more evenly and less erratically. That slender body leading me away from my rage, calming my jets
and guiding me to a calmer place. Powerless to do anything but follow, in my dream like state, where
my head is stuck on some sort of weird loop.
No guy will ever get to touch you, Sophs. I will always protect you, baby. I swore, didn’t I? I would
always protect you in life.
We end up in a cooler clearing between the dance rooms, so quickly that I wonder if I zoned out, by the
stairs and I blink, almost coming awake from my trance. Seeing her looking at me strangely and it’s like
I come to a little, out of a dream, yet not fully. I have no idea if this is alcohol or the red rage I seem to
have zoned into. I feel surreal as hell.
“Sophs?” I blink a few times more, as some of the mist clears and my hearing is less consumed with
pulsing blood and crazy rushing water sounds. The realization that maybe I only saw the tail end of
what that dick head was trying to do to her and maybe he hurt her a lot more in the time I was sitting
upstairs, oblivious to her need for me. I dart forward instinctively, hauling her to me as my mind swirls
on everything he could have done to her down here. Pulling her arms and hands to me, checking her
body for signs of marks, bruises, cuts, or tears in her dress, frantically.
I will go back and finish the job if that fucker has done more than force a kiss on her. I can barely
breathe with the panic consuming me that I left her down here alone, all this time in the hands of some
sadistic prick that thought he had a right to hurt my angel. “Tell me you’re okay; tell me he didn’t hurt
you.”
Not satisfied with the lack of obvious signs, I need to hear her say she is okay; pushing my forehead to
her to pull her close and wrap myself around her to shield her from everyone and everything. I failed to
protect her. I failed my girl, so caught up in a mess upstairs, failed to be her hero when she needed me
to be. I failed my baby on every level and it kills me inside knowing I left her down here to fend for
herself.
I push my hands into her hair and tug her close, needing to breathe her in and convince myself that she
is really okay. That he didn’t get further, that I got there in time to save her. I can’t bear to think of her
going through the same shit she did as a kid, it’s unthinkable. I love her to death, and the thought that
when I was up there hurting her, I left her to the wolves, and she didn’t even think I would care enough
to save her.
Sophie is trying to counteract my hands on her, trying to calm me, but this insane overwhelming build
up inside of me is relentless. I cannot calm down until I know for sure that she is really okay, that it got
no further than a forced kiss and his hands around her neck. Even for that alone I want to rip him apart.
She wriggles to break free and I can’t determine if she is caught in memory, like so many times in her
past and pushing me off because of that, or if she is angry at me for what happened upstairs. Either
way I’m not about to let her go, and nothing else matters to me right now, except her.
I bury my hands in her hair again, using it to get a grip on her, and pull her body between my knees as I
lower myself slightly to angle closer to her face. I need to be joined to her physically, to protect her
always. I should never let her out of my sight; life goes to shit anytime I do, and this is my punishment
for hurting her. This is what I get for ever letting her go. This is my fault.
She’s fighting me still, and I can start to tell, it’s her ‘don’t touch me’ mode from the past. She abhors
touch when something happens to trigger her memories and I should let her go and leave her be, but I
can’t. Right now, her skin, her smell, her presence, is all that is keeping me from going off the charts
and sprinting back to finish annihilating that fucker. I know I need to give her the space she needs, but
right now, my need to touch her is overwhelming me, and keeping me rooted here instead of
committing murder.
Seeing that guy kiss her, feeling that gut-wrenching pain, has me reassessing my decision to stay with
Tasha. I wanted to rip him apart for just kissing her, I felt like she was ripping my heart out and
betraying me, even though she wasn’t, and I can’t deny that in itself tells me more in one moment than
anything else. I do love her in the right way, I’m crazy about her and I can’t bear the thought of
someone else touching her.
“I’m okay... I’m fine.” Sophie barks at me, still pushing me off her, angry, trying to create distance and it
wounds me to the core. She looks upset but not overly so, avoiding my eyes and trying to contain me.
I chose wrong, Sophs, I want you in the right way. It’s you and me, baby, always.
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