As Jack sat in the silence of the apartment, the pain in his chest spreading like ink in water, he suddenly heard the distant sound of a car engine approaching. It grew louder until it stopped right outside the building. Moments later, the unmistakable sound of a woman crying pierced through the walls. Jack stood up slowly, heart pounding with dread. He didn't know why but he had an uneasy feeling. He moved to the window and cautiously peered outside.
It was Samantha. She was crying dramatically, clutching her cheek as if she had just survived a tragedy. Standing beside her was the man Jack had seen her with at the restaurant. Dean, or Dan, or whatever his name was. The guy had a muscular build and was clearly not someone to mess with. Jack's heart sank further. He wasn't in any condition to fight, physically or emotionally. Still, he braced himself. If Dean came at him, he wasn't going to stand there and do nothing.
The neighbors had begun to gather. One by one, curious faces peeked out of their doors. Some stepped out fully, already whispering to each other. The rumors were spreading like wildfire. Jack could hear them speculating about what had happened. Some people were even adding their own mix to the story. They looked at Samantha's sobbing figure, at Dean's powerful stance, and then at Jack's worn-down form by the door. The story was writing itself in their minds.
Dean marched toward the building and climbed the steps two at a time. He was determined. He looked straight at Jack, fury written all over his face. "Hey man, you touch my girl?" Dean's voice was deep and aggressive.
Jack, who was a head taller but leaner and clearly weaker, raised his palm to explain. "Look, man, I didn't mean to hurt her. She was insulting my—" But Dean wasn't there for explanations. His eyes glimmered with the need to show off, to prove himself, perhaps even to impress Samantha, who stood down the stairs sobbing and watching like she was the center of a soap opera. Jack could see it in his eyes. Dean wasn't here to settle an issue. He was here for a performance. If he won the fight, there was an unspoken reward. He was sure Samantha would give him.
Before Jack could even finish his sentence, Dean grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. The impact rattled the door, and the wood cracked like cheap plywood under a hammer. Jack stumbled back, his body thrown off balance. Dean charged again, this time driving Jack through the door with brute force. The wood splintered and broke apart as Jack was flung through, landing hard on the living room floor.
Before he could even catch his breath, fists started raining down. Dean's punches were heavy and relentless. One to the jaw. Another to the ribs. A third landed squarely on his stomach, knocking the air out of him. Jack tried to roll away, but Dean was too fast. He grabbed him by the shirt again and yanked him up just to throw another punch, this one landing above his eye. Jack's vision blurred.
Blood dripped from his lip as Dean pummeled him like a man possessed. Jack could do little more than shield his head with his arms. Even then, Dean's punches broke through his defense. He smashed a heavy elbow into Jack's shoulder, forcing a pained cry from his throat. It was like being hit by a hammer over and over. Jack struggled to get to his knees. He threw a wild right hook, more out of desperation than skill, but Dean was ready for it. He dodged to the side and drove a fist into Jack's ribs. The pain shot through Jack's body like electricity. He doubled over, coughing violently.
Dean laughed, then grabbed him by the shirt again and dragged him outside. Jack tried to resist, but he had little strength left. His body was limp and beaten. Dean pulled him out onto the steps, right in view of the neighbors and Samantha. It was humiliating. Jack, bruised and battered, stood weakly on his feet. He raised his fists again, unwilling to let himself fall without trying. He launched a right swing, this one a bit more measured, but Dean saw it coming. He stepped in quickly and jabbed Jack hard in the side. The blow landed just beneath the ribs, and Jack winced in agony. He lost his footing and fell to the ground.
Dean stood over him, panting slightly, his chest heaving with every breath. He looked at Samantha, who nodded approvingly. Dean smirked. He had done what he came to do. He had won the fight, but more importantly to him, he had won the moment. Jack lay there on the ground, surrounded by a growing crowd swallowing. Some were whispering. Others just watched in stunned silence. His face was swollen, one eye nearly shut, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He didn't even try to get up. The pain was too much, and the weight of shame crushed whatever strength he had left.
He looked up briefly, catching a glimpse of Samantha clinging to Dean's arm. She looked at him not with guilt or regret but with disgust. Jack could barely believe that this was the girl he had once loved so much he gave up everything for. She didn't even bother hiding her contempt. His neighbors slowly began to retreat into their homes. The show was over. The gossip had enough fuel for weeks. Jack remained there, lying in the dirt, broken and humiliated. For the first time, he didn't care what people thought. All he could think about was how far he had fallen. He had nothing now. No job. No girlfriend. No dignity. But something inside him stirred. Something beyond pain and shame. It was a surge of motivation. The motivation for revenge. What was his next step?