That’s all the invitation I need. I charge her, not caring about her never-strike-first rule or how she might’ve been expecting that from me. I just want to give her a solid punch to the face.
She sidesteps—of course—and I spin around to face her as soon as my punch misses, but she’s ready. She swings at my head. I duck and her knee comes up to my face, but I block it with a cupped hand and aim a fist at her exposed stomach.
She jumps back and I follow. She tries another kick, but this time when I duck, she whips around for a punch. I deflect it off the side of my arm and try to aim my fist at her chest, but she slips away before it can connect.
It’s a game of cat and mouse for a while. We both lunge and evade, but I can tell she gets tired of that real fast—just like me. Our swings become heavier and less controlled, and even though I know I’m flagging, I can’t make myself focus enough to recover. Get your shit together, Al. You’re going to lose if you keep this up.
And I would rather face an army of rebels alone than lose to Lai right now.
“You really care that much if you lose to me?” Lai asks as she blocks another of my punches. “It didn’t used to matter which of us won or lost.”
“That was before I wanted to beat the shit out of you.”
She falters and my next hit does land, sending her stumbling back across the rough stone floor.
If it was the normal Lai, the girl who could keep her cool in a fight and was never so easily pushed off balance, it wouldn’t have made any difference. But this angry, tired, reckless Lai? I’m able to land a fist to her stomach before she can recover.
I hear all the air leave her lungs in a rush as she gasps, trying to breathe. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that,” I snarl as I land a kick on her ribcage, sending her staggering back. “How much I’ve wanted to wipe that conceited look off your face for the last three weeks. You always think you’re right—that you know best, that whoever’s trust you step on along the way is simply collateral damage. You never think about anyone but yourself.”
She doesn’t fall, just stands there clutching her stomach. Her dark eyes burn into me with a fire that’s been smothered for a long, long time. Longer than we’ve known each other.
“You don’t know anything,” she hisses. Even though she’s still struggling to catch her breath, she rushes at me with a series of quick punches. I block them, but they keep coming. “You think just because we’ve been friends for a couple months, I should trust you with everything about me? Even the things that could put the people I care about in danger? If you really trusted me like you say you did, you would’ve waited until I was ready to tell you about everything and been understanding—you would’ve been a real friend.”
Now I falter. Her fist catches my jaw and sends me reeling back, but she follows after with a kick to my stomach before I can recover, similar to how I nailed her.
“Maybe if our whole friendship hadn’t started with you blackmailing me and reading my every thought,” I say, but the words come out as a wheeze. Pain rips through my stomach, but I ignore it as Lai keeps coming.
I throw my arms up to block her next hit as she says, “Funny how the blackmailing didn’t bother you as much before you found out I learned your secret by using my gift. We weren’t even friends then—why should I have held back? You use your gift to your advantage all the time—why shouldn’t I?” There’s no obvious opening in her hits. They keep coming faster, but also messier. “Why should I be judged for using my gift when other Nytes use theirs to help themselves all the time? What gives you the right to be angry at me for doing the same thing you do? I’m sorry my gift and methods aren’t as noble as yours—”
Her voice cracks, and in the same instant, her next punch misses. I grab her arm and swing her around, letting go as I fling her at the ground. She throws an arm out to catch herself before she hits the floor, but I’m right behind her.
“You think this is just about your gift?” I aim an uppercut at her jaw, but she dodges. I keep pushing forward. “Your gift doesn’t explain all your secrets—and you know what, fine, yeah, you didn’t have to tell me everything up front, but after I opened up to you? After I told you everything? You couldn’t even tell me a part of the truth?” I kick at her ankles in frustration, but she just jumps over my foot and aims a punch at my face. “What part of our friendship was real, Lai? Was any of it?”
“If it wasn’t real, I wouldn’t have been so afraid to tell you the truth.” One of her punches slips through and strikes me full in the chest. I whip around to fend off her next blow. “I wouldn’t have been so afraid you’d leave me if I told you everything. I wouldn’t have spent so much time with you or laughed with you or genuinely wanted to fight together with you. I wouldn’t have gone back for you that day. Paul wouldn’t have died because of me.”
Tears run down her face. I hesitate, but she keeps swinging, so I keep dodging and trying to find an opening of my own. It comes when she swings too far and I land my knee in her side. She falls back, breathing hard, but stays standing, fists still up.
But I can’t bring myself to maintain my own stance. I just stare at her. “What do you mean Paul died because of you? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m the one who told Paul and Peter to follow me back for you,” Lai says. Her breath is coming up short, and I can’t tell if it’s because of our fight or her crying. She wipes her arm angrily across her eyes, but the tears don’t stop. “They didn’t even know you, but I—” Her fists clench, and she races at me again.
This time, I can see that the anger in her eyes isn’t for me. Was it ever? My own anger has disappeared like a fire doused by ice water all in one go, and now I wonder why I couldn’t see before what I can see right now.
Lai’s swings aren’t just mad—they’re desperate. She was so defensive about her gift. So clearly afraid of telling the truth—she admitted as much herself.
For the first time, it hits me that it wasn’t that Lai didn’t tell me about her gift or some of her other secrets because she didn’t trust me, but because she felt too much self-loathing to do it.
But that just makes me angry again. I catch her fist and land a blow against her jaw. She falls back and I follow, both of us swinging and blocking and ducking. “That’s what I mean when I say you didn’t trust me,” I half-shout. “You thought I’d leave once I knew the truth? You didn’t trust me to stick around after that? Why do you get to decide that? And you really think Paul’s death was your fault?” Lai hesitates, but I don’t take advantage of the opening. “I was the one who went back for my own selfish reasons. You did what any good friend would’ve by trying to stay together. You even went back for me. His death was my fault—not yours.”
We both stop moving, breathing hard and watching each other, but neither of us moves to continue the fight.
I have no idea what Lai is thinking. I know she knows exactly what I’m thinking, which is both infuriating and oddly relieving for once, because I don’t have to try to put my feelings into words to get her to understand.