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[color=slategray][sub]Featuring: [color=a52521][b]Owen Lyon[/b][/color]
Location: The 365 Combat Club
Mentions: Marshall, Jamie, and Trixie in spirit [@Silent Observer], [@smarty0114], [@Lovely Complex] and a surprise at the end[/sub][/color][/center][hr][hr][indent][center][color=31ba9f][b][i]“...the best thing you could have done for her.”[/i][/b][/color][/center]

It is not easy to describe the emotions that were flowing through Owen Lyon at the moment that Jamie Callaghan left the gym. None of the emotions, though, were good. Raw, unbridled anger and hatred flowed through him. He should have hit the little bastard harder, should have kicked him while he was down. Should have stomped his face into the cement.

[center][color=31ba9f][b][i]“Cheating on Trix…”[/i][/b][/color][/center]

Jamie was sticking his nose somewhere it didn’t belong, and interfering in something that didn’t include him. Owen should have beat him senseless. He didn’t know what had happened, nobody did. Cheating on Trixie? Were they crazy? Owen had loved her with everything he had and then some — he [i]still did[/i]. She was ripped away from him; he hadn’t been given a chance. And Jamie Callaghan thought he was going to fix it? Jamie thought he’d be the reason Owen had a chance to say his side of the story.

Fuck that. Fuck him. If Owen saw him again, he’d fuck him up himself. Didn’t matter if Marshall liked him; Marshall didn’t like Owen anymore. Owen was now widely considered to hate the gays, because of [i]one thing[/i]. Five years during which Owen had been Marshall’s best friend, didn’t matter. It’d gone up in flames.

The truth was? Marshall had asked for it too. He’d tested him, tested Owen when he’d already been made volatile.


[center][color=997fdb][b][i]“How dare you say that…”[/i][/b][/color][/center]

Owen was his father’s son, and when confronted by Hailey, Ophelia, and the rest of them, Owen had reacted the same way Troy would have. Troy might even have been proud; Owen was ready to take on the whole crew, he’d looked at it as just a bigger piece of cake to chew hole through. Then that new asshole had stepped up, another person who had no place, interfering in something that didn’t involve them.

[center][color=a5a5a5][b][i]“You need to stop.”[/i][/b][/color][/center]

That kid was dead. He was dead as soon as Owen got his hands on him, it [i]didn’t[/i] matter that he was a Sterling, it [i]didn’t matter[/i] if the Sterlings were close to his family. None of it mattered. Jamie, Marshall, the new kid. He’d break them all. Backing down had been the mistake. The party had been his chance to knock them all out of the way and take Trixie back.

[center][color=15603a][b][i]“Kitty!”[/i][/b][/color][/center]

The stunning silence of the gym was broken suddenly as Owen screamed, at the top of his lungs, staring at the ceiling. He stomped toward the door, as if he was going to walk out of it and chase after Jamie to deal with the problem now, but instead he put his head against the grey, cement wall. Owen put his left fist against the wall and pushed, pushing with his head. Control? Where was his control? He’d lost it.

[center][color=15603a][b][i]“Please don’t hurt him.”[/i][/b][/color][/center]

Owen felt the burn of angry tears begin to flood down his face. He pulled his fist back, cocked it, and drove it into the cement wall. Then he did it again. And again. On the fourth hit, blood was left on the wall. Owen lifted his head up and looked down at his left hand, the one that had been punching the wall. Inherently, he knew the knuckles were probably broken.

Why did Trixie talk to him? Why did she hold the words of others so highly? Why did Marshall do the same? This was Ophelia’s fault — it had to be. She’d learned from the best on how to manipulate and turn people to her view. Why did she do it? They were supposed to be family, weren’t they?

So many why’s. All Owen had was questions. Questions that would never be answered it felt.

[center][color=15603a][b][i]“Please…"[/i][/b][/color][/center]

Owen’s greatest regret was leaving Trixie in that state. He’d lost control then, just like he’d lost control now. If he was able to keep a level head, maybe things would be different. But he couldn’t. He had too much pent up emotion, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get rid of it all. He wasn’t happy anymore. Ophelia and Hailey stole his smile.

[center][color=997fdb][b][i]“Apologize, now.”[/i][/b][/color][/center]

His mind circled back to Marshall, who was the biggest offender as far as Owen was concerned. Marshall had been his best friend, and Owen had confided in him many times, but Marshall too had allowed himself to be blinded by lies and outrage. He hadn’t given Owen a chance to defend himself.

Owen had to stop hitting the wall. He’d do more and more damage to himself; already he had blood dripping from his fist and onto the ground beside him. But, that didn’t mean he had to stop hitting things. He was too angry to stop, too furious to give up.

It all kept replaying in his mind. He’d bottled emotions up for too long, and now it was exploding. He stepped away from the wall and grabbed a wooden chair that was there for people to sit in to rest, and spun with it in his hands, hurling it against the cement wall. It shattered into a million pieces, and he felt a bit better. But only a bit.

Owen stepped over to one of the weight racks, where a heavy bar sat. He hefted it in one hand and walked across the room to the vending machine. Staring at the glass window to the drinks, Owen pretended it was Marshall’s head. He swung the forty-five pound bar with all his might, moving it as if it were a baseball bat, and the glass shattered.

Owen roared again, and thought about how good it felt. He took a few steps back, and looked at the snack machine. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, he pretended it was Jamie’s face in the reflection, rather than his own. He took both hands and hurled the bar like a spear, and it flew through the air and pierced the glass, causing it to explode.

Glass was working.

He picked up a dumbbell, and walked to the manager's office, throwing it through the window he chose to believe was that blonde kid’s face. Owen felt like a great weight was being lifted off of his shoulders, and he looked around the gym for more things he could break. The receptionist desk was his next target, and he broke it with a plate, slammed down through the center of it.

Owen spent the next thirty minutes trashing the place.

It wasn’t until he ran out of things to break, and again punched the wall, that the adrenaline faded, and he realized very suddenly that he was in pain. He walked to the manager’s office again, carefully stepping over all the glass, and pulled out the first aid kit. He wrapped his hand, broken, bleeding knuckles and all with gauze, and looked around at the carnage of the gym.

[color=a52521][b]“Fuck.”[/b][/color]

Owen stepped out of the office, carefully flexing his fingers to see how it felt. The answer was not good. He noticed how sweaty he was, and he carefully surveyed the damage… He had lost himself in a blood rage, and the end result was catastrophic. The vending machines, the receptionist’s desk, the manager’s office, the glass door, and even the window looking outside, were all broken. Shatting glass worked, but the temporary relieved feeling that Owen had was washed over by a huge wave of regret.

He wanted to puke.

And then the bell signaling someone had walked in jingled, and Owen assumed it was Jamie, probably with back up. He spun on his heel, ready to fight to his death…

And then he realized who it actually was.

[color=a52521][b]“Oh. It’s just you. Madi, the sign says closed.”[/b][/color]

Not that it mattered — there was almost no door left.[/indent]