Antidote by LC Lehesaho

3

Waking up with a motherfucking headache is the worst possible way to wake up.

It starts the whole day all wrong.

What you should wake up to is the smell of fresh coffee and a refreshed feeling floating through your body.

Today? Neither of those.

I drag myself out of bed, knowing very well that I’d look like a grumpy witch crawling under the bridge if someone could see me now.

My bathroom mirror tells the same. Holy hell, I need to get professional help with my face for tonight to cover up all these bruises and cuts. It looks like a brutal raccoon has tried to rape my fucking face. Gosh. I'm thankful for the fact that Purgatory's opening night is a masquerade, so I don't have to go like this.

After morning routines and tons of makeup, I think it's not that bad… Fuck, who am I kidding? It was even worse. Now I look like an old hooker with all this makeup.

Old cheap hooker. Awesome.

I check the time from my phone while making my way to the kitchen. Yes, I got a solid four hours of sleep. The day will be fantastic, no doubt.

The disturbing itch coils inside me, like always when I've fucked-up on the job. It doesn't come until I've gone through the reminder training—when I see the disappointment in Dad's eyes.

Tiger has helped me to cope with my problems, but it's still there.

The guilt of failing.

I know I should try to find a healthy way to deal with it because it's a weakness, a flaw. And it makes me feel even worse—like a dog chasing its tail. I still can't shake it off. It's crawling under my skin and poking me until I do something about it.

There is only one thing that always helps to get rid of it.

"Get up, Cobra! You can do better than that!"

I hear Dad speaking to me, but my body doesn't want to obey. I'm too tired, too bruised to do this again. I let myself place my cheek to the cold tatami, resting on my stomach. Every cell in me is in pain. If I could just rest here for a moment.

It hurts so much.

And the worst pain isn't even physical.

"Cobra, you're a Hayes, we don't give up! Get up now!" Dad's strong voice commands again, and I know that I'll let him down if I don't do as he says.

My head feels like it will explode when I push myself up, sitting in the middle of my obstacle course, which I fail repeatedly. It shouldn't even be very hard. I've gone through way more challenging things than this.

I'm just so tired.

"Way to go, Angel. Now do it again," he says.

I'm going to puke.

I need to get up. I need to do this. He's already thinking how much of a loser I am. What kind of a daughter he'd raised.

A fucking loser.

Scrambling to my feet, I try to see the rope through my watering eyes. The thick rope swings in the air after my fall, like a snake rising from a basket, only with the difference that this one comes down from the roof.

I throw my hand in the air to take hold of it. Missed it. I try again—miss it a couple of times more.

Fail. Fail. Fail.

Sobs escape from my throat when I finally catch it, my hands shaking.

I glance at Dad, and he points his index finger up, telling me to keep going. I look up. It's so high, and I'm so tired. And I don't want to fall again.

Not because it hurts.

No. I don't want to fall because I see his face when it happens—the disappointment, how his loser daughter keeps failing at something so simple.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to jump and start to climb up the rope. It hurts. My palms are bleeding. My thighs are bleeding. Everything hurts. But if you're a loser, you need to get hurt.

Failure makes you hurt.

If you fuck up, you deserve the pain.

This time I don't fail. I keep myself up, catch the gun which Dad throws to me, and manage to shoot a bullseye.

"Well done, Angel." Dad pulls me into a hug, patting my back. I want to cry.

I want to apologize for being such a fucking disappointment. It was an easy practice. I failed so many times. So many times.

When I'm finally alone in the locker room, Dad and his guard gone; I let my facade down.

Dropping to my knees, I hold the razor blade in my hand, which I took from my locker, and take a deep breath. Losers deserve the pain. After rolling the hem of my training shorts up, I press the razor into my thigh. There are multiple scars, from all the times I fucked-up.

I deserve the pain.

Burning, stinging pain spreads through my body. Blood flows to the side of my thigh, like venom out of my system. It feels so good. I'll be better. I don't want to fail again.

"Cobra, are you—"

I drop the razor, flinching from the voice, and jerk my head up. Oh fuck. Quickly I try to think of something to say. "I—"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Tiger's raspy voice echoes in the locker room as he stares at me, eyes wide. "Did you—"

"I just—" I start, but my voice dies off when Tiger makes his way to me with a couple of long strides.

He towers over me, looking down, and his expressions go from shock to anger in the blink of an eye. "Did you cut yourself?"

I glance at my bloody thigh and then to him, "No, I…" The words escape from me. What can I say? My heart is pounding out of my chest, and I feel the sweat leaking down my back.

I hadn’t even realized how much Tiger has grown in the year and a half since he came here, but I do now. Tiger doesn't look like a seventeen-year-old, not even close. His eyes have always been so full of darkness that it makes him look like he's lived lifetimes on the battlefield, in the middle of horrors and destruction. Now he looks like a fucking demon raised from Hell as he stands in front of me; his black sweats and hoodie only boost the effect.

"Answer me, did you fucking cut yourself?" he growls at me, demonic eyes piercing into my soul.

I've never seen him this angry. Yeah, he's lost his shit a time or two while training, but… now he's fucking boiling. My skin has goose bumps, and a cold sweat breaks out from my forehead when I answer. "Yeah, but it's not what you…"

Before I even have time to bat an eye, Tiger moves. One second he's up, and I'm on my knees, and the next second, my back slams to the floor with force, and Tiger straddles me with all of his weight—a heavy hand on my throat.

My hands fly to grab his arm, head still dizzy from the hit to the floor. My windpipe feels like it's gonna split in half.

"Tiger…" I manage to wheeze out, feeling the terrible pressure inside my skull from the lack of air.

He bends closer, planting his other hand to the floor next to my head, dark eyes on mine. "Why?"

I can't speak. There's no air in my lungs. The pressure in my head, and the pain in my system…

It feels good.

Liberating.

I feel like I'm dying. And goddamn, it feels… forgiving.

The hold loosens from my throat, enough for me to inhale, just a little. Enough for me to speak.

"I—I…" my voice still doesn't want to work. Or maybe it's my brain. I don't want to say it. Admit my weakness.

Tiger's eyes narrow. "Answer the fucking question, worm," he snarls at me.

"I needed it." I manage to blurt out, hoping it's enough.

Silly me.

"Why on earth would you need to cut yourself?"

I swallow, throat bobbing against his palm. "I failed. I… failed. He was so disappointed 'cause... all I keep doing is failing."

Tiger's brows pop up, dazed. "Leo? Disappointed?"

"Yeah…"

"Bullshit. He's never disappointed in you."

I nod, convincing him. "He is. I see it in his eyes. I keep fucking failing, while he wishes that I'd do better. Be good at this like Falcon is."

I miss the pressure Tiger gave me—the feel-good state he offered—the answer to my problem. My hands are still on his arm, his fingers around my throat, but there's not the weight anymore. I pull his hand against me, eyes on his.

Tiger frowns but gives me what I ask without words. My face burns and my throat feels like exploding again. And I feel relieved.

"Does this make you feel better?" Tiger asks quietly.

I blink at him, feeling the tears rolling down my temples. I feel horrible, like I'm actually dying, but I feel so good at the same time.

Tiger leans his elbow on the floor beside my head and places his cheek next to mine. I feel his breathing on my ear as he whispers. "Don't ever hurt yourself again. I'll help you, but you're not allowed to hurt yourself, okay? Promise me."

He eases up the hold on my throat.

"I promise." I breathe out, clinging to his arm like a lifeline.

"Whatever it is, I'm here. I'll always protect you, even from yourself," he says, massaging my scalp gently with his fingers. The ones that aren't around my throat, choking me. "Always, Cobra. You and me. We'll figure this out. You'll be okay."

And I know one day I will be. Tiger would never lie to me.

He will help me.

Only one person can help me out of this guilt.

My empty kitchen shelf screams at me from the place where there should be coffee pods when I try to make my morning even a little bit better.

"Fucking hell!" I scream, throwing the empty package through the kitchen.

The itch becomes unbearable, and I stride out of my apartment and go downstairs because there have to be pods somewhere. My angry steps echo in the hallway, and I'm relieved I don't bump into anyone because of my murderous mood. Or, more likely, bump into Dad.

Tiger is sitting on the dining table, eyes on his phone, and a coffee mug in his hand when I stride into our shared kitchen. His dark eyes come to me when I lock him in as my target.

"Hey, worm—" His voice cuts off when I grab his coffee mug and finish it in one gulp. Tiger raises an eyebrow and cocks his head. "Do you need painkillers?"

I nod, gritting my teeth because my body aches the way I hate, and feeling like this always makes me mad as hell.

I hate failure.

I hate it when I let myself down.

I hate it when I let Dad down by fucking things up.

Tiger gets up, goes to the kitchen cabinets, and returns to me before I can start banging my head on the table, which I would really like to do right now.

He hands me two pills with a glass of water. After I've swallowed them down, I take a look at him. He's wearing a black T-shirt which leaves his tattoos on display, and sweatpants, looking like he's not going anywhere anytime soon. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Yeah, but I forgot to set the alarm, so I slept too long." Tiger sits back on the edge of the table, "I'll go to the next one, which starts in two hours."

"Ah." I nod, not actually listening to what he says. My foot taps the floor, and I can't focus. The itch makes me feel like an addict. Makes me act like a fucking addict.

Tiger takes my hand, gets up, and pulls me with him to the hallway. "Let's get this over with, shall we? I have over an hour for you."

I don't say a word, because this always makes me feel… sick. Like there's something wrong in my brain because I need this.

Well, there is something wrong with my head.

I just don't know how to fucking fix it.

He leads me to the gym and almost shoves me inside the women's locker room to change because I'm dawdling. The door closes behind me, and I know he went to change his clothes. So, slowly I walk to my locker and strip down naked until I start to pull on my gym clothes: only a black sports bra and loose boxing shorts. I tie my hair up and grab my sparring gloves before I leave for the gym.

Tiger is waiting for me already, leaning his back against the wall in his black tank, which leaves his sculpted muscles on display, and his dark army green basketball shorts. He's wrapping the gloves on, similar to mine, and watches me as I approach him.

In some sick way, I enjoy this, but I also hate it.

I hate the part that I need this.

But I love that it's him. He's the only one who knows about my problems, only one who can make me feel better.

"Ready, worm?" Tiger asks, his raspy voice smoother than usual.

"Yeah." I nod, stretching my back.

He pushes himself off the wall and walks to me, and without warning, throws a sidekick to my thigh, which makes my leg almost give out underneath me.

The kick is hard. Painful.

And I feel the adrenaline kicking in. The rush is like a drug to my system.

I snap into fight mode and dodge his uppercut, which is coming toward me. It forces him closer to me, leaving his side unprotected, so that's where I pound my fist, and then quickly another one straight to his chest.

But Tiger is fast.

He grabs my arm, jerks me forward, and spins us around, so I end up in a choke hold, back against his chest.

My eyes blur from the lack of air, and it makes my insides burst into flames. The right kind of flames. I feel the endorphins floating through my body, but I know I can get more, so I'm not stopping yet.

I elbow him in his side, hard enough to make him loosen his grip, and it's my chance. I buck him over me, send him flying to the floor and jump onto him, straddling him.

Tiger's eyes flicker menacingly, but I know he enjoys every second. Just as much as I love the way he makes me hurt, he loves to make me hurt. He hates when someone else causes me pain, but when he does it…

I'm not the only one who gets something out of our sessions.

Normality doesn't apply to us.

Just when I load my fist to hit it to his face, he uses all his BJJ skills and throws me off him like I weigh nothing. Tiger is so fucking fast, and I wasn't prepared, so I land the second time in six hours, face-first on the floor. I taste the copper in my mouth as my already damaged lip cuts open again.

This time, I enjoy it. Embrace it.

Without wasting a second on the floor, I scramble myself up, just in time, because Tiger is already coming at me. Still, I'm not fast enough, and he gets a hold of my throat. Again, everything goes blurry when he pushes me backward, and I have no other option than to cling to his arm so that I don't fall down on my ass.

My back hits the wall with a bang, and it makes my whole body sting. The adrenaline burst draws out the new hit of endorphins, and I feel the bliss.

It's funny how brains work.

My mind tells me I deserve to be hurt, so my body rewards me when I am.

"Look at me," Tiger murmurs and leans closer. I blink hard to see him as one. Nope. Still, two of him. I blink harder, and he loosens his hold. Yes, one Tiger.

His dark eyes are glued to mine, and I know I should maybe hit him or something to make this go on, but I'm too ecstatic to fight him just yet.

A devilish grin spreads to his face when his eyes travel to my lips, which he made bleed. My heartbeat starts to race so fast that the pounding of it is the only thing I hear because he looks like he's about to—

Tiger leans into me and sweeps his tongue slowly over my stinging mouth, wiping the blood away, devouring my taste. I’m paralyzed where I stand, and even if I could get air properly while he chokes me, which I can't, I probably wouldn't breathe anyway.

His move comes out of the blue.

When I expect him to actually kiss me, he pulls back, so our eyes meet, and the expression on his face is filled with all kinds of sin.

"Are you ready, or do you need more?" He asks, but I have no idea what he means. All I can think about is that I really, really want to kiss him.

I decide to go with the flow and see where it leads me, "More."

"Sucker for pain," he retorts with wickedness clouding his features. "I can give you everything you'll ever need."

At that, he throws me to the goddamn floor again.

I don't complain, but there is something with me and floors, for sure. I roll like a fucking burrito, unable to stop Newton's laws as they have decided to give me road rash from the mat. Times like these, I feel more stupid than ever, but I can't deny it.

I feel so fucking good.

Alive.

Forgiven.

And a little dizzy, but that's nothing. It's part of the deal.

Something grabs me by the arm and hauls me up, stopping my road to neverland. I should have known it's Tiger, but my brain is dizzier than I thought. He spins me around, and yet again, I end up in a vicious choke hold because he knows it's the one that gives me the best rush.

My throat is trying to find even the smallest hole in my closed windpipe, but Tiger holds me tight, so there isn't one. It's an automatic body reaction that my hands grab on to his arm, but I don't fight it. I hold on to him.

My eyes are not only blurred, but there are also black dots playing behind them, twinkling like twisted little stars.

"Tap out," he whispers, and I feel his mouth against the shell of my ear. It gives me shivers.

But I don't tap.

"Worm, tap out." It's more like a plea than a command. I don't want to give up yet, but I do as he asks me to. I tap his forearm with my palm, and instantly Tiger loosens his hold. His hands move under my breasts to keep me up and pull me closer. Then I feel him against my back.

It's happened many times before, but he usually keeps it at a distance, not making it clear to me even though it's something that can't be left unnoticed.

I gasp for air, not sure if it’s because of the lack of it or because of it, and he nuzzles against my neck. My brain is still dizzy, so I don't have anything smart to say, even if I could speak. Which I can't, because my throat feels like I've swallowed a chainsaw.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you," Tiger purrs, and I know he means it. I once said that he doesn't have to apologize for something I asked him to do, but he says it every time.

He got my adrenaline running, and endorphins floating, but now he's also making my core throb from need. Feeling his hard-on against my back, his arms around me… this is something I really should avoid like cholera.

If someone would see us now, we'd be dead. Or at least wishing we were dead.

I glance at the clock on the gym's wall and clear my throat. A fucking mistake. I swallow the pain, not whining it out loud.

Tiger turns me around, still keeping me pinned against him. "Let me see your wound."

I lift my chin so that he can look at my face. If I could change one thing in the world, I'd be selfish with my wish. I wouldn't cure the world's diseases, and I wouldn't end the wars, I wouldn't do anything for anyone but me. I would change things so we could be together.

I look at his brown eyes scanning over my lips and his tousled dark hair, his handsome face, and I can't get enough. I could watch Tiger forever—he is mesmerizing.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks, eyes sliding back up to meet mine.

I nod, trying my voice. "Yeah, thank you."

"You know." His other hand comes to my cheek, and he slides the escaped strand to the back of my ear. "I would do anything for you."

My heart is crushing and swelling at the same time. "And I would do anything for you."

He shakes his head. "No, you wouldn't."

I take a deep breath because I know what he means. "Tiger… don't put me in this situation, please."

His hand comes back to my cheek, to my jaw, and his thumb slides to my lips, spreading the blood on it, and his eyes follow the movement. It stings, but I love it. I shouldn't.

"Sometimes, I wish that were actual siblings," Tiger says quietly and pauses for a moment before meeting my gaze. "But then again, I would probably want you just as much then, and that would make me an even sicker bastard than I already am."

My breath catches, and my heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears. This is the first time he actually says it out loud.

That he wants me.

"Uh…" I try to find words. Nothing comes out.

Tiger shakes his head. "Don't say anything. I don't want you to lie to me, ever, and if you say that you don't want me, it would be you lying to me. We don't lie to each other. Promise me."

I swallow hard. "I promise I won't lie to you."

He smiles at me and nods toward the locker room. "Good. Go to the shower, and then we need to leave."