Page 6 of Ghosted

Doesn’t matter.

Pain is predictable. Pain does exactly what it’s supposed to do.

People don’t.

I turn on the faucet in the locker room and let brownish water spit into the sink before it finally runs clear. The mirror above it is cracked down the middle, cutting my reflection in half. One side catches the blood on my mouth, the bruises starting to darken along my jaw, the sweat dripping down my chest. The other side catches my eyes.

That’s the part people usually look away from.

Smart of them.

The door creaks open behind me, and I know it’s Johnny before he says a word.

He has a way of entering a room like the air moves for him. Used to impress me when we were kids. Now it just makes me want to slam his head into something hard half the time.

“You fought sloppy.”

I meet his gaze in the mirror. “I won.”

“You can win sloppy.” He leans against the lockers, cigarette already between his fingers. “Doesn’t make it less ugly.”

I rinse blood from my mouth and spit pink into the sink.

“Last I checked, ugly can still fucking win.”

He leans against the lockers like the place belongs to him, one shoulder pressed to dented metal, cigarette already hanging from his lips even though the wall behind him has three different signs telling him not to smoke. Johnny has never listened to a warning in his life unless ignoring it sounded more entertaining.

We share the dark hair, the last name, and the temper sitting mean under the skin.

That’s where the similarities end.

Mine sits low and quiet. Controlled. Contained. The kind people don’t notice until it’s already too late.

Johnny wears his with a fucking smile.

That’s always been the difference between us.

I learned how to bury my violence.

Johnny learned how to make people like his.

“Come on, little brother,” Johnny says, tapping ash onto the floor like he owns that too. “Don’t get all sensitive on me. You’re always so fucking serious.”

I drag the towel across my mouth and look at him through the cracked mirror. “Says the one who came back here to bitch about how I fight.”

His grin widens. “I bet money on you.”

“Congratulations.”

“You almost lost.”

I turn around slowly. “No, I didn’t.”

“You got distracted.”

“So?”

Johnny’s brows lift, amused as hell. “So?”