The head chef storms through the silver doors, massaging the back of his neck while gazing down.

He whistles to grab our attention while leaning against a counter.

"I'm going to refund everyone who had dinner here tonight. And I'm going to write to each of them and apologize......"

He looks around the room,

"and apologize, because the fuckin' calamity that happened here tonight...was my responsibility. It's entirely my fault."

We had just been on the job for 30 minutes when we got a serious complaint from a wealthy fucker.

According to the old bastard, halibut had to be served well done.

And I know what I heard, he warned me that the Halibut should not be fully cooked.

Pope stood as my witness, reading the directive twice.

Tomato, tamato.

Big fucking deal.

Anyone would kill to eat Halibut alone, knowing that Halibut swam in Arctic waters.

That's what occurred when you dined at Michelin-starred restaurants.

Anything on an exorbitant platter was deemed "living the life."

But not here, in the upper east side of the city.

The stillness surrounding us was degrading, eyes darting about, attempting to reassure each other that we were still there for each other, even in this shithole.

But welcome to reality.

Shit will never go your way, so fucking keep going.

The ringing in my ears remained, gently exhaling, monitoring my breathing patterns.

His fingers glide against the surface, halting at the shredding tool as he pushes off the counter.

"I gave you something to use, right?" he claims, squinting.

He displays the shredder to JJ.

"Yes, chef," JJ nods, causing me to turn to him.

"Because each pommes slice must be two millimeters thick. Were you thinking it was a joke?" Slowly approaching JJ, he raises his tone and drags his feet with him.

"No, chef."

"Did you measure your tomato slices?"

"No, there was no time."

"You just must be aware. But you have no idea. I assumed you did. I apologize."

The sound of the shredder being tossed in the sink made us cringe.

"It's my fault." A jest directed at JJ.

He turns to face the assistant chef.

He assessed his gaze while keeping a distance of statement.

"Michel tu as permis
une portion de pétoncles
rester dans la casserole
pour une minute supplémentaire
parce que la garniture n'était pas prête
et puis vous l'avez servi.
Pourquoi fais-tu ça?
Nous reculions, chef.
Si je l'avais jeté,
tout le tableau...
Ensuite, vous le jetez."

("Michel, you left some scallops in the pan for an extra minute since the garnish wasn't finished, and then you served it.
What made you do that?

"Chef, we were assisting you.
If I had thrown the whole table away... Then you toss it away.")

French people like debating, and it can be frightening at times; friends turn on one other, they argue loudly, accusations are hurled... But it's all in good humor.

Debate is an integral aspect of the French way of life.

One may argue that humans are better at discussing views than acting on them, although that is open for discussion.

In this case, Michel was fucked.

"You toss it away if it isn't flawless. Regardless of the time."

I suppose that's how he got to the top.

Practice makes perfect, right?

But I disagree with wasting perfectly fine food.

Set it aside and return to the drawing board.

Erase your mistake and work around the issue.

Alternatively, embrace it.

Mix it with the watercolors and paint from a different perspective.

"You eat it."

He reaches out for the assistant chef's Caviar, hovering it over his eye level.

"Yes, chef."

He looks around the room after popping the Caviar into his mouth, ultimately returning his gaze to the chef to make a point.

"Now, spit it out before you die of "who gives a fuck" Caviar."

He spun around, and I avoided looking him in the eyes.

"I made an error with you. I had no idea you were hard of hearing."

His fingers make their way to his back pocket.

"I'm not deaf." I kept my head held high, apprehensive of being driven over the line by disobedience.

"How come I left you at the dining hall and then found you here?" His jaw twitches, his gaze piercing mine.

"Sir.." Michel tries to come to my defence.

"Shut your mouth kid!"

"How did you convert a gorgeous, fresh piece of Halibut into a colorless, lifeless Halibut fuck-all? How the fuck did you do that? Apologize to the Halibut since it died in vain."

I scoff, raising my brows to take in what he was having me do.

"I said apologize," he leans forward, his face near.

Pope is seen nodding in my direction from behind the chef.

"Halibut, I..." I sigh and look the chef in the eyes.

"No way. To the fish."

I bite my cheeks, my gaze fixed on the fish.

"Turbot, please accept my heartfelt apologies..." I pause before I finish, sniggering at the action.

"Do you ever take a chance in your life?"

I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or ridiculing me.

Because I had assessed his stare, the latter made sense

"Yes. I came to work for you." My lips forming a straight line.

"You have no right to respond. That was not a fucking question."

"Tonight's failure was due to a lack of leadership." I will not back down.

"You're a piece of shit. Yes, chef... anything you want, chef, right immediately, chef, and then you shut the fuck up!"

His voice increased decibels.

He snatches my uniform and scrunches up the collar with his fists.

"Do you realize you're a fucking poison?  You're a vile infection! Get out of my restaurant!"

Topper and JJ come to my defense, preventing me from breaking and beating the shit out of the man.

My blood pressure rose as the ringing decided now was the ideal moment to return.

"Don't ever fucking touch me again," I yank myself away from the boys.

"Chef, believe me. She's the real deal, and she manages the Wreck like if it were her own. Give her a second opportunity." Topper defends.

Topper extends his hand as a signal to the chef to calm down.

Looking between Topper and I, his chest heaves up and down.

"If you fuck this up even slightly, I'll report your ass; how would Hull like to hear that?"

I nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

He yells out as he walks towards the back.

"Get some fucking Potatoes and start again!"

JJ leans over to assure me by touching my shoulder, but I walk away.

"You want excellent potatoes? I'll give you fucking flawless potatoes, "I curse under my breath as I swing the door to the storage room open.

A cool breeze brushes against my skin in the storage room, and I am met by Rafe and a waitress who are sharing saliva.

"What the fuck?" Rafe expresses himself, pulling away from the girl and blinking as the bright lights fill the storage area.

"What the fuck are you doing standing in the doorway holding your dick? Bring on the potatoes!" From a distance, the chef screams at me.

Rafe's eyes flicker with mirth, his tongue slightly jutting out and caressing the side of his mouth as he glances at the Chef from behind me.

He rises up and looks at the potatoes he was sitting on.

His white uniform, with lipstick traces on his collarbone and around the collar of his shirt.

"Oh! Sorry, I kept it warm for you, here you go,"

He dumps the bag of potatoes on the floor, without looking at me as he pushes by, his shoulder grazing mine.

~

"You only have three minutes on that Halibut!"

The chef gestures to the halibut I was searing on the pan.

I don't glance up since I'm focused on perfecting the dish.

Tonight's shift was one of the busiest of the week.

September was prime time for the city's elites to visit on business, making sure to dine at Michelin-starred restaurants along the way.

"Get your ass out there!"

As his voice prepared to pop a vein in my head, I balanced the plate in my palm, decibels through the sky.

"GO! They're waiting for you, harsh reviewers! I want you guys to be on your A game!"

I push through the doors, tightening my grasp on the plate.

After walking out of the heated kitchen, a metaphorical blast of wind was blowing on my flesh.

A sit-down restaurant's formal setting significantly lightens the tone.

If you will, a finer menu than most eateries.

Fine dining establishments featuring wine lists and occasionally sommeliers to assist with meal and wine matching.

The steam from the Halibut made me sigh in relief, relishing the aroma that made me relax.

Exposed kitchen lighting became consistent with the quality of front-of-house lighting.

Acoustic parts of the piano vibrate, moving on the same spectrum as the dining room's atmosphere.

I set the gleaming plate on the table with care, politely smiling at the lady who requested the fish.

She grabs for the fork and digs in to take a mouthful.

She pauses munching and looks up at me as I place dishes on the table she has reserved.

I enjoyed working at the wreck because of our held gaze.

I wanted to make dishes that would cause people to stop eating.

That they would put down their fork and appreciate the vitality of cuisine.

She covers her lips with her palm as she chews

"You can place it right there, darling. My family will be arriving soon. I really wanted to have the Halibut ordered before the crowd started gathering."

I longed for a familiar voice to degrade my worries and guide me back to shore.

I bite my cheeks, a lump growing in my throat, and return her gestures with a slight bow.

"Of course, ma'am. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I take out a piece of paper and consider putting it on the house with whatever she requested.

Even with strangers, common courtesy went a long way, and I appreciated her humility.

"Juliana! It's great to see you!" My stomach drops as I meet his eyes.

He doesn't look at me as he takes a seat.

We didn't need to acknowledge each other to make our presence clear.

Hart finally looks me in the eyes as he pours chardonnay.

I observe his men sitting at various tables towards the front of the restaurant.

"Another bottle and red wine to go," he scrunches his face, pointing to his glass.

I take a step back, almost colliding with someone.

"Watch it," Rafe says with his back to me, but he doesn't turn around since he's taking orders from the elderly couple.

On my walk back to the kitchen, I hear JJ and Topper disputing about what they heard correctly.

"She expressly requested red wine, and you gave her white!" Topper claims, JJ dropping his head and squinting at him.

"I'm not sure about you, but I've been waiting for two years and I know what I've heard. This is your first time doing anything," He cuts Topper off.

I was relieved that Topper and JJ's exchange alerted me of Hart's order since I didn't want to fuck up as well.

I fix my uniform, eager to take it off.

I shove the doors open with my back, attempting to escape the frantic atmosphere of supervisors in the rear yelling at the other waitresses who failed to take orders.

Trampling each other to gain commands.

Every sizzling dish that came into touch with my outfit, I avoided.

The band performing by the lake was playing jazz music as I took the first order to a table.

The restaurant was located in Central Park on a tiny pond.

Being the city's only restaurant on a body of water.

After placing the plate down, I neatly arrange each utensil.

A three-piece Dixie land jazz band serenaded diners at the Boat House.

However, there was one banjo player who hit the bottle hard and became so intoxicated that he fell off his bar seat but continued to play with his feet in the air.

Tourists cheered him on, believing it was part of the performance.

I pour the wine into an old woman's glass while resting my hand behind my back.

I was softly chuckling at the drunken man.

"They've got their sights set on us. Each exit is being watched." Rafe's voice abruptly enters my bubble.

Glancing to the side, I noticed his back was to me.

Mirroring my service to our tables, as we pour wine for the guests.

I take my time pouring the wine; there was nowhere else we could have addressed our situation because all eyes were on us tonight.

"There's an exit in the storage room," I noted.

I look at the old lady, "Sorry, ma'am, this one's been in the vault, so you know it'll take a while."

"It's locked." He concludes.

I finish pouring the wine and hand it to her.

I grab another glass and finish the last of the wine.

"For good measure, ma'am." Giving the second glass to her spouse.

I grab the plates and stack them on top of one another.

"Can you get any louder than this?" He points out the plate collision.

"Quiet night around here, just warming up, putting on a front row show for these bastards."

I hold the plates in my arms, bending my knees owing to the small gravity it radiated.

Rafe's pace is in step with mine when I walk towards the guests, his demeanor shifting moderately.

He adjusts his weight while I check my next table to see whether they're still there.

"I'll get them, put them in the sink," he says, extending his hand and making a modest barrier from the restaurant's frontal view.

"Try telling the person who just spent $200 on a bottle of wine that you ran out of wine glasses," I joke, raising my brows slightly.

"I've got it, I've got it." I placed the dishes on a passing trolley.

"There will be no shitshow... promise." I make a surrender gesture with my hands.

"Kie.. the head chef needs you in there,"

I take a step to the side, "Rafe, move out of the way." I face him, my patience dwindling.

"Get the fuck out of my way," I sidestep to the side, advancing towards the guests, but he stops me raising his hand in a stop motion.

I move to his side.

A sickly sensation grips my throat.

Rafe has his back to the guests and his grasp on my arm is firm.

My mother sat at the same table with Hart in all her glory.

My opponent's arm is stretched over her chair as they exchange amorous glances.

"I'll handle it, go back to the kitchen," he assured me, his eyes darting in front of me as his hand remained still.

"And fucking do what? Watch my mother lock eyes with my- this dipshit?"

Scoffing, my focus never leaves the table.

My jaw tightened as I was at a lost for words and didn't know what to think.

I yanked myself free from his hands, enraged at him since he was blocking me from doing anything about it.

"Kie.." His voice was low

"Oh Kie what?" I mimic him. "This is a joke."

My fingers tap my thumb in thought.

"What the fuck would you do? I'm going to strangle this son of a bitch before he even thinks about laying a hand on me"

I exhale while clenching my fist.

"I'm not going to let that happen."

I turn to face him.

"What? Allow me to beat the shit out of him"

My heart is racing.

He softly turns my cheek away from my mother's presence to meet his gaze.

Cornflower flecks fade, giving way to a gentler tone.

My gaze falls to the scarlet lipstick smear on his uniform's collar.

"He's laid a hand on you?" His morality was tainted by curiosity.

"Hell no. He is unable to defend himself" I lie through my teeth.

"Stop fucking around, Table 7, and give the man what he requested!" As he passes me the wine bottle, the head chef whispers and swears at me.

I take the wine bottle, softly squeezing it, since it was the only thing I could use to vent.

As each stride swung, gravity became non-existent.

"Your wine, sir," I clear my throat.

He raises his head to grin at me.

A dangerous glimmer shredding his orbs.

His gaze darts back and forth between the glass and me.

"Please pour some for all of us."

I refocus my gaze to my mother, who was lost in her own world with the man.

Turning on my heel, I swiftly pour the wine.

"Kiara, you forgot hers," He calls out.

I exhale, closing my eyes.

I smiled sweetly as I prepared to face my mother.

Her lips were parted, her lipstick a red lustful hue of taken innocence of a picture you painted.

But it's not the same painting you laid your brush on.

Little white lies, now larger than a kaleidoscope of colors, strangling the life out of you.

I discreetly poured her wine into the glass.

"Kiara, has Mr. Hull assigned you here? I had no idea that I wished that

I cut her off, pouring the rest of the wine and setting the bottle down.

My opponent smirked, defying my existence.

I reciprocate his smirk, turning to face the kitchen.

He'd taste crimson tonight from my mother's now-destroyed painting.

"Place your order for table eight. For the girl. Her birthday is today." The head chef enters the kitchen and slaps the order on the magnetic board.

"I want a cake." He demands as he hands me the instructions.

"There will be no cake." I return the paper to him.

I was not going back to face my mother.

"You work as a cook. You know how to make cakes, right?" He makes fun of me.

"No. There is no cake. I have sorbet." I take the sorbet from the freezer.

"Okay, she wants a fucking birthday cake. Make a cake, then." He subsequently walks out of the kitchen.

~

On cassettes, a movie scene is portrayed.

Each patronizing stride softly reminded me of the need to separate imagination from reality.

The drunken waitstaff now makes perfect sense.

Of course, you'd never guess the guy in the tuxedo setting fruit on fire tableside was high since he was a seasoned veteran.

He may have chased his last customer down the street and chastised them for not leaving a large enough tip, but you're here to eat, not watch drama develop, right?

That belongs on reality television.

It seemed like my life was a shitshow.

Everyone else was watching reality television, but it never hit me in the face.

I brought the cake out, and placed it in front of Hart's daughter.

My mother stared at her with such fondness that I nearly had to catch myself from the coming weight of betrayal.

I examine the sight in front of me.

Hart's kid admired the cake as my mother assisted her in cutting it.

"Wait. We need to light it." Hart interrupts their moment.

The head chef behind me handed me a box of candles.

I grab the candle and poke it into the cake.

I lit one candle, but it doesn't light.

So I take it and try to light it.

Hart tripped me as I take a step back to move the candle out of the breeze from the dusk.

I tumble into JJ, lighting his uniform.

He drops the plates he was balancing and jumps in place, trying to extinguish the flames.

My eyes widen as I try to help him.

He notices the pond and looks at me before scaling the railing and diving into the water.

Blinking, my mouth forms an o.

A smile spreads, and I join him.

Turning around saluting the audience, I jump in.

I exhaled when I reached the surface.

JJ swims over to me, laughing.

"Hey! Only in New York!" JJ yells with a New York accent.

I point to the sky, my eyes crinkling with excitement.

We laugh together, and he engulfs me in his arms.

Topper, Kelce, Rafe, Pope, Colton, and a few tourists join us with a howl and a cheer.

Pope was first, with his canon ball.

~

"I fucking hate being in Manhattan," Isaiah confesses as he turns to face me.

We were booted out of the restaurant, but the tourists that joined us offered us towels.

"Why?"

The towel is wrapped across my shoulders.

We were walking around Manhattan at midnight.

"Because I live in Brooklyn, used to live in Brooklyn, and I don't leave Manhattan except for

I interrupted.

"You mean you don't come to Manhattan?" I remark.

"Oh, word, okay I didn't leave Brooklyn to come to Manhattan; the only reason I came was for the concert."

"And you might have had some business ventures, but you left your shit at home!" I chuckle.

As I tease Isaiah's Kooky antics, the boys snicker.

Pope pulls out a VHS tape camera and rushes ahead of us, recording us.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Rafe inquires as to what we were all thinking.

"Calm your tits, if Hull sees that we're getting along... with proof, you'll be thanking me later," He turns on the camera, and the green light illuminates.

"Now.. act natural, act like we all like each other, come on," he encourages.

I scoff, dashing in front of the boys and doing a ridiculous catwalk.

"Every morning I take the bus to school, clean my teeth, and my mother tells me to have fun at school, which I do." I'm speaking with an Australian accent.

"This girl does the best Australian accent I've ever heard in my life," JJ says as he walks alongside me, his gaze fixed on the camera.

"This is Chris Hemsworth," JJ says, impersonating Thor Odinson.

He taps my shoulder softly, diverting my attention to the camera.

"My name is Chris Hemsworth, and if it's 3 a.m., you know I'm on your TV." My thick Australian accent was failing.

Isaiah leads us to a neighboring basketball court for a pick-up game.

We play for a full hour, with JJ and Isaiah on my team and Rafe, Colton, and Pope on the opposite team.

The New York humidity helped us in drying faster.

We were on a boardwalk that overlooked a large body of water.

Colton and I decide to climb over the fence, where there is a secure platform on the other side.

I grip the railing and thrust my body out, my feet against the bottom of the railing.

"Woah, be careful," Colton warns as he peers over the edge.

A basketball flies over the pier, splashing into the water.

The boys rush up and stare over the railing.

JJ jumps over the fence, perilously close to the edge, as he reaches for the ball.

"JJ, JJ! JJ, it's not worth it!" I chastise him.

JJ pretends to approach the water, "It's under the pier!" He shouts, clutching the railing.

"You're going to make me drop my phone! Get over! Come back dude!" Isaiah swats JJ's hand away as JJ tries to drag Isaiah over the fence.

I give him a sympathetic hug, only for him to move to the side, a playful look on his face.

My mouth makes an o shape, feeling rejected so I run to give Pope a hug.

"Hugs for you!"

Earning a laugh from Pope and Rafe, making Pope spin the camera around to record JJ.

We climb over the fence and make our way to the tennis court.

We were drawn to the park's steep climbing wall by its presence.

We start climbing it while holding on to the rope for support.

"Yo you've got to get down!" Topper's hesitation propels us even higher.

We all leap down from the climbing wall at different times.

"I'm a documentarian, what can I say?" Pope says behind the camera, the flash in my face.

I scrunch my brows, giving him a deadpan look

"I'd do anything for you, Hull!" I blow a kiss at the camera and point at it.

I saw Colton in the distance walking towards the boys on the court.

Shushing, I pressed my finger to my lips.

I signal for Pope to capture this while telling him to follow me.

We creep behind Colton, keeping a safe distance.

"Come camera," I say, tiptoeing closer.

Rafe starts sprinting towards us before I can scare him, "Shh, shut the fuck up Rafe!" I whisper yell motioning with my hands for him to stop.

But he sprints towards us, making Colton glance back and backfire on the idea.

Rafe and Colton flaunt their acrobatic abilities, which appear to amuse them.

"Stand right there." Rafe leads the way, running beside Colton.

Rafe comes to a halt and then sprints towards Colton.

His head dives beneath Colton's legs in an instant, and he raises him up on his shoulders.

Colton sits on his shoulders, like a kid on their dad's shoulders.

He spins around, which causes Colton to spin around and he safely lands on his feet.

JJ was on the ground moments later, his stomach on the gravel, trying to rub his back.

"What made you do that?" Isaiah inquires.

JJ responds with a grunt.

"How about we give him a step massage? Do you want me to step on your back?" I suggest preparing to step on his back.

"NO, NO, NO, not with shoes!" JJ raises his head to address me.

Pope lowers the camera to JJ's level.

"Shit man, you look just like my friend Riley," Pope comments.

JJ squints at the camera flash.

"Really?" His tone was optimistic.

"Is he bad?"

The other boys ring their bike bells, causing us to gaze up at them.

They decided to grab the tourist bikes that were laying about in the parking lot next to us.

Topper climbs onto the back of Rafe's bike and attempts to steer by hanging onto his shoulders.

"Fuck man, get off!" Rafe swears as they almost collide with a tree.

JJ rises like Lazarus, leaping on the rear wheel of Colton's bike.

Pope passes me the camera, and I adjust the settings.

Going up to each boy, I ask, "If you could be one animal, what animal do you think is most like you?"

JJ pauses for a while to consider.

"A Frenchie, according to Pope," he says.

He looks at Pope, which causes me to pan the camera to him.

"A beaver," Pope proclaims, prompting JJ to chuckle.

I approached Colton and asked him the same question; his response was "a meerkat."

Rafe pokes his head into frame and says, "Um, I'd be a fucking zebra." Colton snorts, shaking his head.

JJ is lying on a swing, his arms extending at both ends.

"What's going on, cuzzo?" I ask, snorting at my attempt to be natural in front of the camera.

"JJ, how did you fall?" I bring the camera up close to him.

"Oh! I landed a lovely smooth five-o on the fattest quarter pipe. That shit had not been disconnected from the coakers" He expresses himself, his skateboard on the ground beside him.

"Yeah, Hull, google it if you want a translation of that," I add.

"It'll take a long time skateboarding lingo"

I shift the camera around to the other boys, who were skating on various ledges.

Isaiah lands one and falls on the ground.

As the humidity increased, all of the boys opted to skate shirtless.

I turn the camera over to Colton, who was bleeding from a wound on his chest.

He spreads the blood across his chest, holding up a peace sign.

We board the metro and make our way to the party.

Colton takes my phone and starts looking through it.

He shows me my home screen, his finger next to the Snapchat delete button.

I sigh.

"Hold up, I've got research to do," JJ says as he steals the phone from Colton.

I peek over his shoulder to see what he's typing.

"Is blue balls a real condition?"

I couldn't stop laughing.

Topper and Kelce are competing in a pull-up battle on the subway poles.

Pope presses the record button, and I grab the pole, hoping to outdo them in pull ups.

"Get out of the frame, bitch, you're ruining it," Pope scolds JJ.

"Your what? Their recruiting for Broadway downtown, fucking soap opera," JJ takes a grand bow.

~

We make a quick stop at a store before driving over to the party.

We piggybacked off of Isaiah's money because the 7/11 had a lot of snacks.

Pope tries to make a basic milkshake, so I film him.

"We just got milkshakes, you open it up, select your flavor, we've got a decent choice here, you stick it in here, you choose like thickness, the thing goes up, spins makes a milkshake, it's insane!"

He attempts to prevent the machine from exploding owing to the number of buttons he hit.

I transition the camera over to Colton, who was checking over sunscreen prices.

"Sunscreen for this pale ass," JJ hurls an insult.

"Yeah, JJ, the fucking pasty cunt," Colton smacks him on the back of the head.

"Colton, your tan is coming along pretty nicely," JJ says, pointing out Colton's tan from the summer.

Colton examines the label of the sunscreen he was looking at.

"This is sun tan oil," He finalizes, happy with his choice.

"Is that a spray tan?" JJ squints.

Colton looks at the label again.

"Oh no, it's sun spray sun spray" he chuckles nervously and puts the sunscreen back, his cheeks flushed.

"Fucking idiot, it's worse than saying He's going to Phuket instead of "Pu-ket"," I mock, giving him a toothy grin.

Rafe motions me over to inspect the beverages.

"What's the fucking difference? Nectar and nektar." He holds up the drinks for me to see.

"Just get both man, taste the difference between them.. to combine with the tequila," I decide, giving him the basket full of snacks.

We make our way to the checkout, waiting in line.

"I look like an alcoholic," He holds the basket in his arms, comparing his purchases to the variety of snacks available in the convenience store.

"Well, you are one," I smirk, tossing a bag of Doritos into the basket.

We leave the store and walk towards the residential towers.

Colton takes out his phone and shows the camera an image.

"Are any of you cool enough to have Gordon Ramsay share your zodiac sign, that's right GR is a scorpio like me," He lowers his skateboard and skates towards Union Square Park.

Pope looks at me, "Wait, if this is Union Square Park, why is it a circle?"

Isaiah opens the door and welcomes us all into his apartment.

"You forgot the sprinkles, dude, no deal no deal," Colton lectures JJ for forgetting.

Rafe enters the living room, holding a pan and a wine bottle.

"Look at this, I can't open this bitch," he attempts to open the wine bottle.

"This was a nonstick baking pan," he realizes.

"Who's fault is that?" I approach him and take the pan.

"Well, I thought it was," he acknowledges.

"JJ, try not to shatter a security door, you fuckhead!" Isaiah approaches him while JJ is fiddling with the security system.

"Shit, I was just trying to read your wifi password, that's all," JJ retaliates handing Colton his phone.

"Shout dick for password!" Kelce intervenes, taking out his phone.

"I just don't know how to open the metal part, imagine breaking my thumb trying to pop it open," Topper assumes, while we try to open the wine bottle but the cork is too tight.

"What if it explodes?" He questions his own strength.

Kelce takes the bottle from him and effortlessly pops it open.

"FINE I didn't do it deep enough, I'm sorry." cynically, he gestured.

"That's what she said." JJ mutters.

Kelce hands JJ the bottle.

"Pope is still in there, holy shit! He locked himself in the room, so the doorhandle is broken;  I warned him not to open or close that door, and now he's in there; what a fucking idiot." Isaiah groans, trying to turn the handle.

We eventually opened the door after approximately 5 minutes of all the guys attempting to break it down.

Isaiah runs his fingers through his hair.

"I'm never going back to the obx, it may be fucking contagious," he declares, simultaneously holding the door wide open for Pope.

"What could?" Pope is perplexed.

"Your fucking retardism."

~

Emotional repression makes its way into my consciousness, stopping by to choke my throat.

I knead the dough a bit more vigorously, feeling it between my fingers as I compress the soft ingredients.

My pupils dilated as my hands took possession of the unleavened bread.

A single tear falls down my face, and I hover over the counter, attempting to isolate my weakness.

I sniff a little, coughing briefly, not wanting to bring unwelcome attention to the overthinking of fears that comes with feeling worried about what other people would think.

What was my mother's connection to Hart?

Is this all a misconception, and everyone is out to get me?

Is she having an affair?

I rolled the rolling pin more coarsely, after a split second of imagining that my mother was having an affair.

"He steps before he punches."

I twist around to face Rafe, who jolts me out of my concentration.

He pours a glass of red wine into each of the wine glasses.

"Huh?" I tilt my head, scrunching my brows.

I wasn't sure who he was referring to.

"Carson," he discloses as he turns around and rests on the counter, his legs crossed.

I sigh and return to spreading out the dough.

"Are you sure? He's sluggish with his right hooks, but that's no problem." with confidence, I dismiss any potential obstacles.

I roll out the dough and wrap it with saranwrap.

"Neither is scheduled therapy," he deliberately observes my emotions interfering with the fight.

Not waiting for my answer he continues,

"Look, you can take it or leave it."

I adopt his posture, folding my arms and elevating my chin slightly.

"What?" I squint my eyes and tilt my head.

"Are you telling me you haven't stepped into the ring without that added adrenaline?"

I criticized his conclusions because he was bipolar.

Unimpressed, his lips formed a straight line.

"No, I use it beforehand to sift out the unwanted emotions." He extends his arms and rests them on either side of the counter.

"Let me guess, you're... what?" I thought to myself as I glance up at the ceiling.

"Oh and five?"   (0-5 in words/boxing slang, meaning he's won 5 fights)

"Higher."

I scoff, "Fucking amateur."

He slams his fist on the counter.

"Woah, settle down," I caution, my hands raised.

"Settle down? I'll fucking settle down when you take no for an answer."

His remarks were harsh.

"I'll keep that in mind," I contend, shaking my head.

Our posture straightens and we exchange glances.

"You know what, Kie?" He starts to speak.

Not waiting for my response.

"You're going to lose." He exhibited no malice in his expression.

"I doubt it," I scoff, folding my arms.

His eyes were penetrating, as if he was expecting my response.

"Well, maybe not in this case, maybe not in the next, but someday, you know, someday."

I slowly bite my cheeks, silence engulfing me as I rearrange myself on the counter, eager to hear what he was trying to say.

"I've seen it before with people like you."

His eyes give me a once-over, disappointment tinged with his underdeveloped sophistication.

"Do you want to know why?"

I squint, tilting my head to the side, intrigued.

"Why?"

"Because you cannot carry that much contempt without it becoming toxic," he states as we lock gazes.

The previous day's events had left dark bags under his eyes.

"Till you're all alone in a room full of darkness, and all you'll have are the memories of all those people's lives you've taken for granted."

I can't help but chuckle as I massage the back of my neck.

"That's a good story, Rafe."

"But it's just further proof of why you can't stop." He insists.

Dismissing his outlandish words, I push out the side of my mouth with my tongue and shake my head in disbelief.

"Because you may be right... but the fact is, I don't give a shit. I never have." I conclude.

A voice that does not belong to me remains in my ears.

Scoffing, his tongue slightly pokes out, brushing the side of his mouth.

His gaze darts between mine, and his chest gently heaves up and down.

His eyes flickered with emotions, but no words came out of his mouth.

The latter contradicting.

"You are the only one who can poison yourself.
Because of all the bullshit you put yourself through."

He then walks out of the kitchen, leaving me to be.

A voice in my head antagonized me telling me he was right.

~

In a match that had drama building up to the opening bell, there was little to shout about as the pair of counter-punches seldom participated in lively exchanges and left no one with the impression that one fighter was the dominant figure.

Similarly to the first meeting between Carson and I, the early half of the battle belonged to Carson, despite my apparent intent to press the action.

Carson dominated the opening four rounds, thanks to a far more effective jab than in our first fight in July.

Unlike the first battle, I won round 5, indicating a significantly early start than the first go-round.

Carson edged me again in round six.

From rounds 7 through 10, I was energized and cagey.

Effectively countering the champion, though rarely with combinations.

Round 11 was crucial in the battle for the judges.

My first bad habit that needed to be addressed, was letting my hand drop after my jab.

Carson won the round on all cards, scoring excellent combinations that had caught me off guard.

Round 12 was all mine, as Carson seemed exhausted and determined to finish the round.

I was able to throw and hit enough single punches to force Carson to repeatedly clinch without returning fire.

I stood tall, a 17-year-old rising star in the sport, and approached the ring certain that this battle represented correction rather than atonement.

I evidently believed, and will continue to think, that I had won in July.

Such is the path of a long-term champion—a champion who has battled through a few successful title defenses, various management issues, and a cast of underground promoters.

I believed that anything less than a crushing knockout was inadequate reason to dethrone my title.

Despite my unrivaled training regimen and physique, the amateur ahead of me was gaining ground.

I, like many boxing spectators tonight, were hesitant to acknowledge what will look clear in retrospect.

Giving up an underground fighter's status was a setback.

A setback I wasn't prepared for.

Falling and blacking out, I lost.

Hart's presence was convulsing my vision being the last thing I saw.

~

With my nose twitching and my brain sniffing, I detect faint odors of sizzling bacon wafting up from the kitchen.

My eyelids flicker open, my slumber fading as soon as my body swells with antagonizing discomfort, causing me to moan.

I close my eyes, longing to sleep again to take my mind off the unbearable pain.

I raise my head to find Rafe's bare back turned to me.

"What is this, hell?" I said muffledly despite the raspiness in my voice.

"Yeah, I suppose so. Well, the mercy of your enemy is a form of hell," he asserted, turning around with a spatula in his hand.

I sucked in a breath and dug my claws into the sofa in order to sit up.

"1..2..3.." With each number, I huff and heave myself up off the couch.

I clench my teeth together, groaning in pain.

"How did you find me?" My brows wrinkled as I inquire.

"Isaiah rang the doorbell at 4 with you in his arms. Apparently, he knows your trainer."

"Hmm."

I considered lying down again, but I knew I couldn't do that all day.

He turns around, raises the plate and sets it down on the island bar.

"Eat."

~

I relish the sun beaming down on my bare back.

I smiled as I nuzzled my head into my arms, enjoying the warmth of the rays.

The sun's rays aid in the breakdown of bilirubin in the bruise.

Making it become yellow, allowing it to heal faster.

The boys had to work an early shift at the Loeb Boathouse.

We were hoping to clear our names after the previous night's mayhem.

The sunscreen on my back was hardly dispersed, so I reached behind and tried to spread it out further.

I only stop myself from spreading it because I wince in agony.

"Incoming call: Mom," Siri remarked loudly as my phone began to ring.

I grunted, biting my cheeks as a knot swelled in my throat.

I had no choice but to respond.

Reaching over, I tried not to elevate my chest because I was bare and lying flat on a towel.

A hand softly touches my back, causing me to freeze.

I retract my hand, returning to the crouching posture I was in, my pelvis bent, my upper body lifted.

His circular motions over my back helped the sunscreen spread over the area it was designed to cover.

"You like this, don't you? I remember you saying that."

He turns my phone on silent.

"What are you talking about Rafe?"

"Being in the midst of chaos. This city. But still be able to unwind. You've always wanted to do it."

"Yeah.. I guess so." I lay my head on my arms, peering down on the city.

"Glad I could be the one to witness it."

~

Three masked men storm into the hotel room, forcing him to stand up with his hands in the air.

Rafe quickly grips the gun's slide, causing it to fire up.

The other men search the house for the girl.

Rafe kept his gaze fixed on the door, taking care not to draw the masked men's attention to her presence.

The man tries to pull the pistol up to Rafe's level, but he is unable to do so because Rafe was the first to get the upper hand.

They grunt and huff with each hit, hoping to catch each other off guard.

The guy pulls out his knife and swings it, grazing Rafe's torso.

He grips his side, preening the blood on his hands.

Instead, he takes advantage of his one and only opportunity to knock the man off his feet with a marble lamp stand.

As the man sought to grasp his face, he headlocks his head between his thighs.

Rafe snatches the lampstand and knocks the guy out.

Hastily he searches the suite for the men.

He then crawls towards the door, out of breath.

His heart beats out of his chest as he leans against the door, locking it.

Snatching a towel, he slides the door open, his attention fixed on the back of her head.

The blood began to saturate the shower tiles.

Draping the towel over her and sheltering her  with his arms, caging her in on either side of the stone wall.

She gasps, shutting off the water.

"Shhh, Hart's men are here,"

Only a fluffy towel separates their flesh as he tenderly cups her mouth.

The towel's fibers were too thin to conceal the beating of their hearts as goosebumps spread across her body.

As her life was in his hands, he trembled with every fiber in his body.

Suffocating him.

~