I realized with calm finality that something inside of me had decided to break this man. Here and now, I was going to break him: not metaphorically, not with smart words, but literally, physically, destroy him. He thought he was strong, he thought he was able, but he wasn't: his human body was soft and defenseless against the furious force of me. I was going to crush his bones, tear his skin, and feel my hands slick with his blood. I've waited for this moment for a long, long time. I was going to kill him, and no one was going to stop me -- not even the part of myself that should have been terrified of what was about to happen, but wasn't.
My mind felt like a storm, with uncontrollable fury raging in a bloodthirsty cyclone around its eye. That eye was the only part of me left able to think, but its thoughts were cold and detached, and translated into action quicker than I could comprehend them. It was this part that had decided Sam's fate, but it had also decided that I couldn't kill him, not yet.
'Do you think I'm a fool?' Sam mumbled, coming at me. 'Do you think I'm a fucking fool?'
He stopped in front of me, hesitating. Somebody tried to pull him away, but he shrugged them off.
'Do you think I can't read you like an open book, punk? I fucking see you!'
I licked my lips, tasting blood, and smiled.
'Yeah.'
He looked at me, momentarily puzzled.
'Yeah what?'
'Yeah, I think you're a fucking fool.'
Sam blinked, and then hit me. His fist connected with my face, turning me around. I struggled to keep my balance.
Good. Better. But not yet.
I pulled on my Ability, wrapping Affect after Affect in a deadly whirlwind around my hand.
'What did you say?!'
There were people around us, but I didn't care. All I cared about was Sam: I could feel his attention burning through my clothes, crawling up my spine, burrowing into my skin. I could follow the invisible thread of his gaze back to his heart, and almost feel his drunken, petty, human emotions swarm there like flies.
'You're full of shit, Sam. And you should think before opening your mouth and talking about things you have no idea about.'
He raised his fist to hit me again, and I inhaled deeply, satisfied.
His second strike threw me from the porch, and I landed on the snow-covered stone path, my jacket ripping open.
Closer. So close, almost there.
I stood up, hungry energy coursing through my body.
'That was stupid, Sam.'
He stepped forward, ready to teach me a lesson, and I exhaled.
Now.
I started moving, turning my torso, gathering my fingers into a fist -- one strike, all the way from the hip, and he'll be dead. I could see it in my mind: his cheekbone caving in, sharp fragments cutting through the skin, eyes flying from their sockets, blood and broken teeth and saliva scattering away, and then finally his body falling down in the snow. What was once a man, now a formless lump of mangled flesh.
What madness was this?
In the end, what stopped me wasn't sense, or the realization that I was out of control, or the fact that there were people all around us, looking. In that moment, I was gone too far to care about all that. What stopped me was a hint of a familiar emotion in Sam's eyes, something that I should have noticed right away, but missed because of how much I had been focused on hating this man. Maybe my brain had finally put two and two together, or maybe my heightened Ability actually managed to decipher some of the things he was feeling. Regardless of the cause, I had finally recognized his anger for what it really was: deep, dark fear born of insecurity. Something I knew all too well.
I froze mid-strike, and his fist caught me on the shoulder. I awkwardly fell, landing on my backside. Suddenly, I understood very clearly what was happening, and why. I missed it. I missed that behind Sam's confident smile, he had been on edge, miserable in the midst of his own party. I missed the tone of his voice when he mentioned Claire's name. In my mind, he was an enemy, an older douche-bag who preyed on naive female students. But then, that was a very indulgent thing to assume. Claire wasn't naive, nor was she prone to getting into things she hadn't planned to pursue. All this time I thought of Sam as a seducer, but really, knowing Claire -- magnetic, unrestrained and effortless in everything she did -- it was more likely the other way around.
Claire knew what she wanted, and how to get it. And if she decided to get Sam... really, had he ever stood a chance? He wasn't a scummy predator prowling the hallways of the university in search of an easy mark. He was probably just a guy, perhaps a little bit too full of himself, who fell for a girl. How could he not? And now, judging by the fear I saw in his eyes, that girl was slipping away from his grasp. He felt threatened, he felt jealous, and most of all, he was afraid of losing Claire.
And if there was one thing I could understand, it was the hurt of not having her.
Sitting pathetically on my ass in front of dozens of people, all of whom saw me go down without ever throwing a punch, I had to close my eyes and try to bring the storm of fury raging inside my head to bay. I didn't even feel Sam grabbing me by the collar and jerking me up to my feet.
'Had enough?!'
I opened my eyes. It would have been so easy to obliterate him, eviscerate him, make him scream and cry and beg. But I didn't want to anymore.
He shook me.
'Cat swallowed your tongue, dirty wraith?!'
I unclenched my fists, slowly.
'Yeah. Yeah, Sam, I had enough.'
He looked at me, something akin to comprehension finally appearing on his face. Sam turned his head, noticing all the guests who spilled from the house to watch in shock as he beat the crap out of some helpless kid. He let go of my collar and spat.
'Well then get the fuck out of here.'
I rubbed my neck, swallowing the humiliation. I nodded.
'Okay, Sam. I'm going.'
I turned away, ready to go, and saw Claire coming out of the door. She looked around, confused as to what all the people were doing outside, and then noticed me, my torn jacket, the red clumps of snow stuck to my face and the blood dripping from my chin. Her eyes widened.
'Matt?'
She rushed over and stopped at a little distance, looking from me to Sam. Her gaze caught on his bruised knuckles. Something flashed on her face.
'Sam? What the fuck did you do?!'
Sam was suddenly very pale. He looked around, scared.
'Claire... I... I...'
His voice wavered as he searched for the right words that never came. Finally, a defeated expression settled on his face, and he muttered:
'I... I didn't invite him.'
Claire stared at him, anger and disbelief mixed in equal proportion in her posture.
'Have you lost your mind?'
She turned to me and put a hand on my cheek. Her touch sent a jolt through my body, almost strong enough to flinch.
'Are you okay, Matt?'
I hesitated.
'I'm fine. Sorry. I didn't want to... cause a stir.'
She looked at the people gawking at us and furrowed her eyebrows.
'Go inside, assholes! The show is over!'
They lingered for a few more seconds, then started to return to the house. Sam didn't move.
'Claire, listen...'
'Have you listened to a word I said when we talked? Jesus Christ, Sam. We have just talked about it!'
He exhaled slowly and looked away.
'I have. I have, really. Listen, let's just... we can discuss everything after, after Matt is gone...'
Claire straightened, looking at him in disbelief.
'Oh he's not the only one who's going to be gone.'
Sam flinched as if struck.
'Wait, wait. Claire...'
She shook her head.
'No. This is done, Sam. It's finished. You finished it.'
And with that, we left.