Extracted Chapter

So, I've been writing this story in Creative Writing, and people seem to like it. I figured you might enjoy looking at some of it. Nothing is finished, this is very raw, and some things may not be composed well yet. WHATEVER. ( also, this is KIND OF inspired by Fight Club, but in a strange way)

"Get up, Flick."

I rolled over, clutching my stomach, woozy from the raging pain. That was a good hit - a sucker punch, but a good hit.

"Come on, girl. Don't quit on me."

I glared at him. He was definitely going to get it.

"Brennan, you stupid shit!" I lifted myself up, arms quivering, and threw my dead weight full-force at my smirking boyfriend. He laughed as we both collapsed to the floor. The grimy, dank basement floor that had become familiar territory to my bruised and overworked body.

I managed to throw a couple punches at his chest, as he blocked his face with his hands. Not like he had to, anyway. That was one of our rules.

"I'm gonna kill you, Flick!" Brennan shouted through broken puffs of respiration. But the truth was we'd both been dead for some time now. Dead, in the sense of our imagination

"Keep talking, you're making this easier for me." I retorted.

Brennan shoved me away, and then offered a hand, almost as if he was mocking me.

"Fuck you." I said smiling, taking the offer.

This was our routine. Neither of us could recall the exact origin in time when it began. In fact, we didn't understand most of it. Just that it felt good. Sure, anyone could have called it abuse and sent both of our selfish asses to therapy or jail. We'd just sit in our cells, grinning with broken teeth.

I brushed the debris off of my soiled, blood-stained clothing. Both of us were panting and clutching a damaged limb.

"You're gettin' better, babe. I should start taking you seriously" Brennan said.

I shook my hair out of my ponytail. "Hah! Take me seriously. You're starting to sound like my useless father." I spit, noticing a red tinge to my saliva. I must've bit my lip or something.

"You're so sore on that. Stop wasting your time on people who just don't care about you, Flick. He abandoned you. He doesn't want you anymore. Just accept it and move on" he said, wiping his face on his shirt.

I laced up my Chucks angrily. "Eat your words, Bren. If you weren't still hung up on your mom bailing we wouldn't need to do this shit."

He looked at me, those fierce amber eyes flaming with angst. I wasn't scared, he only hit me when my fists were up. Fair and square.

"Look, Flick," he said while lighting his cigarette, "you're just as stubborn and fucked up as me, quit pretending your situation is so much worse. We're both abandoned, neglected souls with lame service jobs and bad social skills. It's not like I made this happen to you. You are just a lost puppy I picked up in the alley." He paused an took a drag.

"I know, that's why we're such a perfect match" I said cooly.

He came over to me and kissed me, blowing his toxic cigarette smoke between my lips. I inhaled. To Brennan, these Newport flavored kisses were his way of showing compassion. I accepted, despite my distaste for menthol.

We walked up the cellar stairs and he held my hand. This was our Saturday night, and despite the slight addiction to painkillers and ice packs, it was special.