Page 3 of Fight for Forever

There have been a lot of accidents where fighters have died. Fortunately, I’ve never experienced it, or known anyone who has.

It would fucking devastate me to know I’d ended someone’s life.

This is different. Sam’s right, I don’t know the full circumstances and I don’t have any right to step in.

What could I do anyway? Megan barely knows me, regardless of how I see her. Deep down, I know I should follow Sam’s advice. But…

If there is something I can do to help her, because she doesn’t deserve to be punished for this, then I am going to help her.

No one can stop me.

Chapter Two

My back is pressed up against the wall and my knees are drawn up to my chest. The nurse who last came in told me I should get back on the bed. I hate hospital rooms. I don’t want to get on the bed, now they’ve examined my injuries. I’ve suffered some serious cuts and bruises, but it’s nothing I’m not used to.

All I want to do is curl up into a ball and disappear. Or run away. The police officer standing guard at the door will not let that happen.

My brain is running on repeat. Over and over. Not him hitting me, no. As fucked up as that is, being beaten is an old friend. I keep seeing him pinning Jenna against the fridge, his hand around her throat. I was powerless to help my friend.

All I could think was,he’s going to kill her.

But Jenna isn’t dead. Michael is.

By my hand.

My eyes squeeze tight as I try to force the images from my head. A low keening sound comes from deep in my chest. Not even the many injuries I suffered tonight can take away this feeling inside of me.

After years of suffering Michael, I got away from him and started a new life. Six blissful months, free of the torment and fear. Then he found me.

I had to do something, had to tell someone, but whenever I tried, I got scared. Instead, I foolishly spent my days and nights hoping and praying he’d one day be in prison for the awful things he did. Now, he’s the one who got off Scott free.

I’m the one going to prison.

I drop my forehead and press it against my knees. It sends a stab of pain through my skull. I’ve had concussions before, I know that is what the pain is. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters anymore.

Although my throat is clogged and my nose burning, I haven’t cried. Not once. I’ve learned over the years that tears get me nowhere. I glance at my hand, finding it odd there is no blood, no cuts or bruises.

This is the hand I used to shoot the gun that killed my ex-boyfriend.

I killed him. I shouldn’t feel happy about it, I shouldn’t feel peace. All I should be feeling is terror for what this has done to my life, but deep down, beneath the fear and uncertainty, I’m glad he’s dead.

A commotion at the door has me lifting my head. A woman’s voice arguing with whoever is outside. I draw my knees up closer to my chest, wrapping my arms around them even tighter.

“I’m her lawyer and you cannot stop me going in there. So either get out of the way or I’ll call your superior and have you on desk duty so damn fast.”

The ajar door opens further and Brooke Hannon marches through. She shuts the door behind her despite the protests of the cop outside. Her eyes sweep the room, her brow creased, until she spots me sitting on the floor.

“Meg,” she breathes out and walks around the bed.

She tosses her bag onto a chair and, despite wearing what looks like a very expensive skirt and designer shoes, gets down on the floor beside me.

“It’s over,” she whispers and settles in next to me, not putting her arm around me, but her shoulder is pressed to mine. I appreciate that. I’m not sure I can accept hugs right now.

I never told her or Jenna what was going on at home. They suspected, they’re not stupid. Jenna tried a few times to get me to open up.

I’m scared by what she did tonight, but I’m glad she came to my apartment. I’m glad she cared enough to make sure I was alright. If she hadn’t, I’m pretty sure it would be me in the body bag.

Maybe not tonight, but eventually, he would have killed me.

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