Breathing was a chore.
Especially when it becomes obvious, let alone painful.
Mark lay on the floor with his chest rising and falling like a swelling sea.
He forced himself to inhale and exhale against the incessant torment it caused. His vision was mostly covered by swollen skin, the rest was tinted red by blood.
The boss stepped away, his footsteps barely registering in Mark's chaotic mind.
"Aaron, good job."
A curt voice responded, but it was easy to hear its suppressed glee.
"Thanks boss."
Willing himself to stand, Mark tried to push his hands against the floor, but his body refused to move. The futile effort forced a low groan from his mouth.
'Well, that's embarrassing.'
Mark couldn't tell if he was bothered more by his powerlessness or by the self-humiliation of it all.
"Pick him up."
A set of hurried footsteps approached him.
Dragged from the floor, the pressure of gravity made itself annoyingly obvious. His limp body was dragged down by the invisible force. It took ireful effort to try and raise his head.
He groggily tried to position his head to where the overpoweringly low voice seemed to come from. The man holding him loosened for a moment, almost causing Mark to fall back to the floor.
'Let this damned day be over already.'
After having walked around the whole central district, watching insanity ensue in the port area, then becoming a punching bag by some brute, Mark finally secured his position.
What was it?
Who knows. He couldn't care less and just wanted to go back home.
Mark scratched his head- or at least he would have done so if his arm didn't feel like a wet noodle.
Returning to the brunette's place wasn't possible anymore, leaving him with one option: the good old family house.
Though there won't be good food- if any at all, he at least had some stuff... like company!
His mother... some family photos... and that scum of earth.
Right, everything seemed well. Now all he had to do was get there.
The mountainous voice descended again.
"You caused this mess, Aaron. Take care of it."
"At once!."
Mark listened while his friend walked over and kneeled to the level of the attendant who was still on the floor.
"Sorry Billy, I'll get you a drink some other day."
Then he rose and addressed the person holding up Mark.
"Give him to me."
Feeling himself get handed over, Mark stumbled and let Aaron support him with an arm.
Like that, the two walked out of the warehouse and into the early night.
The moon was a luminescent silver halo in the sky, reflecting what little light the sun had to spare for it.
A spring breeze caressed his cheek, promise whispering from its short-lasting touch.
Delivered a painfully mundane victory, success had reached him in the form of plight.
While it wasn't much, Mark had long accepted that life would give him such.
One was not as good as many, but was already plenty.
Infinitely more than zero, the number of the abyss.
A void so small when filled, yet so large when empty.
How much one is valued, when it becomes missed.
Mark yawned.
Through the innumerable bruises, he was able to do such an action. He would have applauded himself if there remained willpower to move his hands.
Though with that being said, his mouth was feeling loose enough.
"How did I do?"
He could feel his friend slow down, trying to create a genial response.
"Good."
And while Mark would have usually let him get away with that, he still remembered the frown from earlier.
"Tell me the truth."
Aaron sighed.
"I said half of it at least. To be completely honest, you surprised me twice."
He inhaled before continuing.
"The first thing is that you were fighting in a completely different way from how I know you do. It was also a shock to see you pulling your punches. Hah, I almost thought someone had taken your skin, fighting defensively instead of taking offense, and how you weren't trying to overwhelm your opponent at every moment.
Mark chuckled.
"I guess so. The time away probably had something to do with that. Though, when did you ever see me fight?"
Aaron laughed.
"Did Billy give you brain damage? I thought you would remember that one time we fought a group of guys alone. Now that, was truly a great night."
He coughed.
"Anyway, the second surprise was pretty obvious. That comeback was something to remember. Stuff like that only happens in professional boxing. It seemed as if a demon had possessed you for a good moment."
Mark nodded, or at least tried to do so, but his head simply bobbed up and down."
"So how do you think the boss saw it, any idea of where I'll be put?"
Aaron rubbed his shiny bald head.
"Yeah... Dea- the boss is kind of a- how should I call it... He's a sadist of some sort."
Mark tilted his head as best as he could.
"What!?"
The gangster had half-expected such a response and had already prepared to elaborate further.
"He likes to push people to their limits and past it. Usually by having his subordinates go through tough moments, forcing them to build some mental resilience to suffering. Of course, that's when the process succeeds. Otherwise, they just get up and leave, or break in the process."
As curious as Mark was, he steered the conversation away.
"And how did I do?"
His friend slowed down.
"I'm getting to that. Putting it simply, you did outstanding. He probably has no idea where to put you."
They abruptly stopped. Aaron patted Mark on the back.
Before them was his house.
"That's enough for tonight though, everything will be explained tomorrow, so get some rest, ok?
Mark nodded and watched his friend fade into the misty night.
He approached the door, inserted the key, and entered the abode.
It was as unwelcoming as ever, contrary to the brunette's house, but it was also where he lived, raised with memories both good and bad.
He entered with unwavering sentiments.
'I wonder if mom's alive.'