stained hands
It was the butterfly effect she found so fascinating that played with every part of oneâs life, every decision made and every step taken. It made her excited, a deep fascination for how easily her life couldâve been different based on a small choice she made, years ago, how turning left or right couldâve kept her from maybe losing her apartmentâs keys two days ago and how she wouldâve never hit a guy in the head with a bottle if she had decided to skip her route that night. How she would never have stopped that fight and then she wouldâve probably seen the guyâs picture on the deceased page or even the front one; however, even though she didnât want the details, whatever he did to piss them off, whoever the boss he talked about was, she sure as hell hoped he wasnât going to get jumped again. Sure, he was a stranger, but she didnât want to see anyone hurt â whether they were her best friends or someone she saw crossing the street in a very dangerous way. It was going to get her hurt, frustrated and sad more often than some people but she couldnât control it.
Kayla didnât know what had caused the fight between the three men and, honestly, she didnât care either, not after thinking well about it â she wanted it to stop, not know the details behind every thrown punch between the three fighters. And she had managed to make it stop by doing something she never thought sheâd do, never in a million years, especially to save someone that apparently didnât want to be saved, not by the way he had both talked and looked at her. The brunetteâs mind reminded her that she could probably have cut herself while holding the broken bottle and quickly, her movements sharp and fast, she looked at her hands, the palm and the back, to make sure that no crimson liquid that belonged to her was on it or on her wrists.Â
When she heard his words, her eyebrow cocked up. âYeah, and whoâs going to do that?â She rhetorically asked, looking around at the alley, at the two men on the floor and then at the boy, finally seeing his face clearly and for the first time. Then, she looked at his wounds, noticing the blood, the cuts and his swelling eye under the dim light that made the asphalt on the alley seem less dark than it actually was. Opening her bag, she took out a tissue and a bottle of water and then offered it to him. âDrink. Or clean it up a bit before we go.â Kayla said, not even giving him the choice of not coming with her back to her apartment.
Of course this girl had an attitude. She would have to in order to confront those two men like that. Well, that was just fantastic. Icing on the cake of this shitty night, really. Heâd stuff it in her face if he could. Only because she was pointing out the obvious. No police were going to get called. There had been a reason why they had chosen to attack him in that alleyway. He had wanted her to turn tail and run. But, as always, things didnât go Zekeâs way. He always had to fight for what he wanted. It was second nature in him by now to do so. When all he had wanted was something as basic as food and shelter, heâd had to learn to fight for it. He found his calling in a questionable place, yes, but it was all he knew. Few could understand how being a fighter like him was actually comfortable for him. Far more comfortable than human interaction that didnât involve him putting his fist in someoneâs face. Another reason why this girl left him on edge. She had seen him fight, witnessed herself the violence that he was a part of. Of course, she had no clue the depth of his violence. How deep he was involved in it. So deep he believe he was stuck, but he was mobile enough in his pit that he was fine with it. Wished for nothing else. Heâd learned wishing was for chums, anyway.Â
He imagined this girl was one of those chums. Looking her over, he tried to picture what her life had to be like. She was clearly somewhat shaken from what happened. Acted more out of impulse than anything. So she had a spark, but it was nothing compared to the fire that was Zeke Lockhart. And he let his own flames consume him. Turn him to ash. This girl may have a spark, but she was still soft. From a different world than him. And yet she was standing there, toe to toe with him, attempting to get her way. For all his thoughts, all he did was wordlessly grab the water bottle that he was handed, opening it and splashing it on his face.Â
âYou must have a brain cell missing, kid.â Another habit. He called everyone that he looked down upon âkid.â They didnât belong in this world, so they were children. Didnât matter what age they were. âAnd why the fuck should I go anywhere with you anyway?â It was a crass way of also him wondering why would you want me to? She confused him with her actions. He didnât like it. Not one bit.Â

















