Author's Note: Last updated on the 30th of May 2011! It's October now. I guess points for trying? At least I didn't go a full year without updates. x.x

This is supposedly a normal oneshot instead of an Obligatory X Chapter, but personally I'm not sure what's normal about it. It's a pretty dark piece, and as promised months and months before - it's an Aran and Narcis fic! Not a pairing, though. If you wanted to see it that way, I guess you could stretch it enough - but I did not have pairings in mind when I wrote this at all. This took me about a week, which is a lot faster than most fics take me nowadays. I really, really liked writing this one.

I do warn you of OOC-ness, though, especially with Narcis. Aran is the narrator in this one, and both of them are a bit psychotic. Please don't interpret his narrative as a sign that I hate either of them, because I don't hate them at all! x.x It's really just Aran being... crazy Aran. Only not in the funny sense. It's also pretty dialogue-heavy, which I intentionally tried because lately I've been doing a load of descriptions and not much in the way of conversations.

I'm also typing this on my new laptop which is smaller than my previous one and harder to see - but that's mostly because of my eyes. I had laser eye surgery a few weeks back and it feels so weird being able to see without glasses again. Hurts too, if I don't put in eye drops every two hours.

Read on.

Left hook, block, inhale. Dart about for five seconds. Pause. Uppercut. Exhale.

KO. One, two, three, four, five. Strands of blond hair tousled to almost unrecognizable extent as he gets up, and that's cool. I inhale deeply and stare straight ahead. Focus. Land a hook or five on his smug little face, that'll teach him!

Make the bastard beg on his knees. Cheers and jeers and screams echo through the boxing ring and no matter how many times he shakes his head to throw them off, they just keep on coming. Which is good. Perhaps today I'll be able to beat him up until it satisfies me, because he usually goes down too quickly.

"Goodness, Aran," he mumbles in his usual stuck-up accent and it pisses me off that he's still speaking like a comprehensible human being. I probably should have hit him harder. "can you be any more agg-rah-vay-ting? [sic]"

Idiot.

"I do hope you won't mind me saying this, Aran, but you are utterly wasted."

"I only had two drinks," it's night and we're the only ones left in the building. One more hour to go before I can get out of here. How did I even get myself into this? "why the hell am I even arguing with you? It's not even your shift tonight, so why don't you bugger off home already?"

Narcis sniffs. "All right, I know you won the match, don't get all uppity with me. And you don't even mean two drinks as in, two glasses. You mean two drinks as in two full bottles of Guinness. Who even drinks Guinness nowadays?"

Jesus Christ. He's like a goddamn wife. Only not good for anything but nagging. He's not even that good at cooking or anything else that wives do. I keep silent and apply some ointment to my bruises; not many of them today. A lucky win.

I have many problems with Narcis Prince. With a name like that you'd have problems with him, too. He's a Brit and he talks too much and he's always smirking with that I'm-so-much-better-than-you-plebs sort of look. Also his hair looks like a bunch of bananas and he talks like a retard. His accent is quite stuck-up and posh, which isn't even what irritates me the most - that's to be expected from a privately schooled man from London, and it doesn't bother me too much. But he has this way of pronouncing long words with a weird drawl and embellishing every syllable with a weird British flourish and it's so annoying I can't even describe it without wanting to tear his throat out. He thinks that makes him sound sophisticated, but really it just makes things more difficult for those who either can't understand him when he's being like that (some of the foreign boxers) or find him obnoxious (every single one of us). He also brushes his hair too much and spends too much time looking into mirrors instead of training.

It's a wonder how I ever managed a friendship with this imbecile in the past, even though it was only for a short while.

He hasn't seen it that way, though. We've officially hated each other for two and a half years, but when we're by ourselves he keeps pestering me. I wish I could only say that his intentions were entirely malicious. But no, sometimes he sits and drinks with me in silence, sometimes tells me about his not-quite-that-glamorous-really life, or maybe fuss over me. All that and insulting me and loathing me in the same breath. I have no idea what the hell he wants. He's even followed me to the night shift today.

Ah well. Fifty minutes left before I can lock up, drop the keys in the box and go home. Fifty minutes before I can get rid of this idiot for a few hours at least.

"What're you going to be up to when you go home?" he pipes up again.

"Sleep, obviously. I'm beat." I really don't know why I keep baiting him by gracing his questions with replies. He raises his eyebrows and looks at me for a moment before taking out a hand mirror and inspecting his face and tidying his hair with one hand. My post-match regrets are going to be staying for a long time, I can see - I won, but in the end I didn't hurt him as much as I wanted to. Ideally I'd have smashed his face in until it was barely recognizable - no, I wouldn't even needed to bother with that much, just enough to break down his arrogance for good and make him stop boxing. But God must have put a recovery stone in him or something because I win most fights I get with him and he just keeps bouncing back within weeks, as handsome and angelic and dumb as a brick as ever.

"You look into that thing way too much," I say. "like some simpering schoolgirl."

"Yes, and I'm gorgeous," he says with a patronizing smirk. God, I just want to put my hands around his beautiful neck and squeeze. "unlike you. Better clean your lip up though, Aran. It's bleeding. At least I'm not bleeding."

I wouldn't have thought it, but he's right, I sigh and take a tissue, pressing it to my lip; it stings a bit when I lift away the tissue and see it stained with blood. A little bit of healing balm and I'll be all set. Narcis gives his hair a brush here and there, and he suddenly looks almost as handsome and tidied as ever. He turns away and rummages in his bag - and comes up with a can of Red Bull. "Would you like one?" he asks.

"Sure. Hand it over."

He doesn't do this right away. He presses down on the tab, frowns, and crosses the room with the can still in hand; he takes a glass from the sink and pours the contents in there, his back turned to me. When he's done, he comes back with the glass, which he hands over. "I'm sorry about that."

"Narcis, for feck's sake, who the hell drinks Red Bull out of a glass."

Narcis sighs. "You have a cut lip, and the can was faulty - the tab doesn't press down properly, look. I've had to tear it off. Surely you see the hazard in that."

"That's because you opened it like a goddamn eejit. The eejit that you are."

But who am I to turn down a free drink? I take the glass and down half of it in one gulp. Tastes a bit strange, but I'm past caring. Gulp the rest down. All the time he's watching me like a hawk and when I slam down the glass he offers another. I refuse because he's creeping me out.

"One would do anyway," he says while smiling and puts the glass away. "you drink way too much alcohol and those so-called energy drinks as it is. Turning into a second Soda Popinski."

"Soda's a great head and you're not, so shut your mouth," This is weird. Things look a bit blurry, somehow. "did you poison my drink again, you sissy little bitch?"

"Aran, for God's sake! Why am I at fault for everything that goes wrong in your life? What makes you think that I'm the per-pay-tray-tor? [sic] Whatever you're feeling now, I'll have you know that it's not my fault."

"What was it this time," a snap of the fingers. "be quick about it."

Narcis thinks for a few seconds, fiddling with a spare bit of fluff on his sweater and chewing his lip. "Quinine, I think," he takes out a bottle and looks at it with a somewhat lost expression on his face. "no, my mistake. Another one of the ben-zo-dia-ze-phines [sic]. Nothing too bad. I must admit that I didn't look too closely, I usually pick up one of the things that Von Kaiser uses to relax injured people in the ring. You've been treated by him before, Aran, he's treated everyone in some way or another. You know it's quite comfy when he gives you one drop at a time and you go out - blam! - just like a light. Not sure of the dose myself, unfortunately, but I can't imagine that it'll do you much harm!"

Von Kaiser. Ugh. The creepy bastard. What is with me and having creepy bastards around me lately. "Screw Kaiser, the goddamn Nazi maniac he is. Have you seen him when he's bent over breaking ribs of dying people? And you don't belong anywhere near the medical profession, so don't even get into whatever drug you've just put in me will do. Didn't you learn the last few times?"

"It's called CPR. And that's quite enough from you. Why don't you just lie down and go to sleep already, you must be very tired. I'll watch over you."

Very clever, but I'm not doing quite that badly yet. I shake my head and dig around in my pocket, taking out a bottle of purple liquid and a heavily crumpled pack of cigarettes. Narcis wrinkles his nose at this - he's genuinely concerned with me smoking or drinking - and tries to snatch the pack away, mumbling some shit about cigarettes being responsible for causing lung cancer and brain damage. It's kind of amusing how much he cares and how much I don't. "No, fuck that, Narcis. Fuck that right in the face. Don't you have your mistress to attend to?"

"You're swearing like a normal person. It is working after all. Though, that really does make me wonder, how in the world are you still standing?"

Open the pack and take out a cancer stick. Light up. He frowns and points at the sign that says that this is a non-smoking environment, and I blow smoke in his face. "Used to try drug cocktails. There aren't many drugs out there that I haven't tried sometime or another. I just don't carry on the habit because I don't like the trips they give me and I'd be in hot water if I was caught with them in the boxing ring. But you want some? Would you like me to get in touch with a dealer?"

Another sniff. "I don't lower myself to such things, Aran. I know very little about medicine, but I'm fairly certain that I put in enough there to drop a stroppy Irishman to his knees for a few hours."

I cough. He's not going to get me that easily. Or so I think, anyway, but the ground is kind of rippling beneath me. Kind of nice and relaxing now but it'll get worse later. This is why I didn't get into drugs in the first place. Goddamn you, Narcis. You dipshit. "Well, you might have been wrong," I say, waving a finger in his general direction. "this, uh, Narcie, this is really good shit. I think I might just lose the next match I get just to have Von Kaiser pour this stuff in me. You can do that, eh? You put in a recommendation for me to him? This is amazing. Wow. Just, uh, where does he even get this crap from."

"Oh my God, Aran. Just shut up and fall over unconscious already," he's not using his weird drawl. This is bad, it means he's being serious as hell. "please? You can do that for me?"

"Our shift is nearly over, Narcie. Why don't we lock up and go for a walk."

"We've still got over half an hour to go before the shift is over," he says, and he actually looks so angelic and patient that it sort of makes me feel bad. To get rid of the feeling I snatch the bottle of purple liquid from the table and empty it in one long swig - one of Soda's special brews that he slipped to me. He gives it to me whenever I'm depressed and it makes my blood flow faster and my head clearer. As soon as I'm finished with the bottle I realise that this was probably not the best thing to do when I've also consumed what seems essentially like a date rape drug before it.

I feel really dizzy. Damn it. I try to sit down on the bench, but instead I just topple forwards with a groan and land on the floor with a thump, the cigarette snuffed out in the process. Narcis stands up in response; I think I see a hopeful look on his face. It just makes me more determined to stay awake.

"Disappointed?"

"Somewhat," he says with a shrug, and sits back down. "I can wait, though. Want anything to eat in the meantime? More Red Bull? I've got a flask of ale too, somewhere. Just for you."

"Ale, schmale. I want Guinness."

"Nobody drinks Guinness nowadays, Aran. I think we went over this already."

"Then I'm a nobody. Get me some fucking stout."

"I don't touch that filth. It's so common."

"Jackass."

"That's no way to call your former friend!" for a moment he looks really upset. Like he has any right to, which he doesn't. "why do you have to be so mean to me?"

"Because you keep pulling shit like this on me all the time. And please, uh, try to keep the shameful fact that we were ever friends out of this conversation. Why are you even doing this again?"

Narcis looks at me, his bruised jaw shining a grotesque shade of purple in the light. "Isn't that obvious? I'm going to ruin your career. I didn't want to resort to those methods, but you've hurt my beautiful, beautiful face for years now - probably worse today than ever before - and I've had enough, really. You'd know by this point, seeing as this isn't my first time drugging you. I honestly didn't think you'd fall for the free drink trick again. You think you're so special, but really you're nothing but a cheating liar. You think I didn't know about your horseshoes and records of bribery from the higher-ups? I mean, horseshoes in your boxing gloves? I've never understood why the WVBA tolerated you for so long."

"You say that every time." I reply while stretching my body and rubbing my forehead. "I'm heartily sick of it. This crap of yours. Seriously. Cut it out. I'm so sick of waking up cold and soaked in dew in some filthy alleyway. What are you going to do about it, anyway? You've known for ages and yet nothing's ever gotten done."

Narcis smiles at me; it's a surprisingly deranged smile. Such an ugly smile on such a beautiful face. "I know where you live, Aran. The last few times I couldn't get to the evidence that easily because you were rooming with Soda Popinski and I couldn't quite bring myself to violate your privacy like this. Even scum like you deserve to have privacy. But not today. It's all going to go fine for me, I know it. I'm going to drag you over and make you watch me ransack your house and you're not going to do a goddamn thing about it."

Yawn and try to infuriate him a little. It's working, from what I can see. "Am I supposed to feel threatened about this?"

"You do know that you're going to get busted, Aran. You know that, right? You're going to pass out right here on the floor like some - some rabid dog that just got put down, and I'm going to take you to your house and confiscate all the evidence and pass them onto the Referee and every newspaper I can find. Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, yeah. Why don't you pass me a pillow and duvet and violate my unconscious body while you're at it? Inconsiderate little fucker."

Narcis can be pretty threatening when he wants to be. This is one more thing I can't stick about him, that he actually has a double personality; one side of him is the one that everyone sees, posh and dignified and pretty idiotic overall if you look past his good looks and way of speaking. The other side can be pretty nasty, it only comes out when you punch his face or insult him enough or suggest that he's inept sexually or financially. Most people think it's a gimmick whenever he shows that side in the ring, because he does control it quite well - I'll give him that - and most people don't see the reason to insult him because they don't see him for what he really is. Both personalities are shrouded in that veil of faux-kindness and angelic smiles. And none of this explanation really matters because what I'm trying to say is that he doesn't take my comment well and kicks me on the shins extremely hard while I'm lying on the floor. He plays surprisingly dirty when he wants to. Unlike me - I play dirty all the time, but I make no secret of it and it's always quite obvious when I do. I'm easy to see through, and I know that, so the option of being a cheating bastard can really only apply to me in the ring. Narcis is just a sneaky little bitch anywhere he likes.

"I don't think you understand your situation," he says quietly. Takes his foot off my body. "I'm being serious here, Mr. Ryan. Why don't you just pass out already. At least you'll have some comfort in the notion that this will be the last time we do this to each other."

"The last time you do this to me," I correct, my voice sounding thick. "bloody 'ell. Man. I'm dying, Narcis. I am."

"Death won't get you out of trouble. It just makes it easier for me to expose you for what you are."

"No chance of taking me outside for a last breath of fresh air?"

"No, duh. I can't trust you. You might not be able to move, but you might have enough in you to alert someone."

"Jay-sus," I slur out. I can't see him anymore, my eyelids are getting so heavy. "tha's a bugger. I don' want me last moments to be spent lookin' at your ugly mug."

That does it for him. It's probably a blessing that I can't see him through my blurred vision and closing eyes, but I feel his foot connecting with my back all the same. He stomps on me hard with those boots and they're spiked as well for some weird reason. Probably just put them on to torment me. And it hurts quite a bit more than I thought it would be and I'm getting so sleepy so I'll just peace out on this floorboard for a bit night night

It's a surprisingly soft surface that I'm lying on when I come to. I know without opening my eyes or needing to move that Narcis has carried me out of the WVBA. I hope he's remembered to lock up properly - hey, call me irresponsible, but I care about the WVBA. For a moment I'm somewhat grateful to Narcis for providing whatever soft thing that I'm lying on; then that gratitude disappears almost immediately when I realize that I'm tied up at the ankles and wrists, and when I open my eyes there is only darkness and the sensation of my eyelids brushing against dark velvet. Of course.

I've got a splitting headache. Figures with the alcohol and drugs.

Footsteps. The blindfold is yanked off my head without warning; I curse and close my eyes again by reflex when too-bright light hits them and cuts straight to my migraine. From the sounds of shuffling around I guess that I'm with Narcis whether I like it or not. A peek out of my eyes prove me right.

Say hello, Narcis.

"Hello, Narcis."

"Good evening, Aran," he replies, sounding perfectly calm and casual. He's standing with his back to me at the other side of the room, staring at something. I see that it's a battered photo; it's not clear what it is of, but he's not paying attention to me for the time being. This doesn't seem right, though. This isn't my house.

"Had a nice sleep?" he asks without turning around. I check the ropes in the meanwhile; they're tight, but not so tight that I can't widen the gap a little. It's a good thing that he didn't bind my knees or use stronger rope. Then I'd have been screwed. I nod without words; better to take it slow.

"Well, that's good at least," he says and turns away again. I use the opportunity to test the slackness of the rope on my wrists; again, good enough for me to escape. Narcis must have relied on the drug to keep me sluggish for hours on end. It's the ankles that will need some help - but before I can do anything else (and I don't know what the hell he's thinking) he comes up to me and unfastens the rope around my legs. "get up."

I need to obey. I scowl purposefully to give the impression that I'm not enjoying this in the slightest - he probably gets off on that - and struggle off the bed. Almost fall off and crash to the floor, too, to make it look like I've been a lot more weakened than I have. I've always been a good actor. The bastard smirks at me, so while I'm having to resist the urge to strangle him to death, I still have the consolation that it's working. He gestures to a chair made of black mahogany with a tall back and sturdy legs, and I go and sit down on it - and before I can settle in, he twists my bound arms over so my wrists and arms are wrapped around the back of the chair and it hurts so goddamn much that I could scream but I don't.

"What kind of host are you," I blurt out. "ever heard of hospitality?"

Narcis fetches the rest of the rope and binds my waist to the chair. Why not my legs? "This isn't going to be much fun if I can't see you squirm," he says. Probably picked that up from a film or book or a cheap thriller. Charming, but I feel only thankfulness that he's such an idiot about this whole thing. "you've been in my house before, although that was two years or something back. It's not completely unfamiliar, is it?"

"I haven't been in here before."

"Welcome to my private study," Narcis bows mockingly and gestures to a corner. A cloth bag, bulging at the sides, lies there. "I did go to your house, Aran, but it was a bit of a disappointment. All the evidence were so easy to find! I did tear up the place a little, but not as much as I would have if you'd been awake. It's not fun at all if you aren't awake to watch."

"What stopped you from staying there?"

"Because the stench of smoke and alcohol in your house in unbearable, and the phone started ringing, too," he says, his lip curling. Bitch. The gap between my wrists is growing now, though with all the wriggling I'm doing behind the chair. Perhaps I should be grateful to him for making things easier for me. "all that made me feel a tad uncomfortable. Lesser mortals and all that. I just packed it all in there, and got you back to my house. We're going to be alone tonight, my wife's away on business. Convenient for me, seeing as I was reminded of something while I was at yours."

Before I can ask what that is, he holds up the photo and nods at it. "This, I mean. Remember when this got taken?"

"Three years ago in that bar?"

"Indeed."

Two of us, smiling without a worry in the world. How we used to be, a long time ago, before him being a douchebag got to me for good. "But why take this out now? What does this have to do with anything?"

"You called me 'Narcie'," he answers, and I'm briefly taken aback at how suddenly sad he looks. Probably could explain it as an act or even a trick of the eye, but he looks so miserable that it sort of makes me feel like forgiving him for a lot of the stupid things he's done over the years. "it just... reminded me of-"

"Good times?"

"I don't need to answer to your prompts, Aran," he spits at me, a dark scowl suddenly etched into his features. There goes his double personality again. Le sigh. "I've no time for this! You had some papers and forms around that are proof for your illegal cheating in the ring. So I'm going to get copies now, call up some of my contacts, and maybe provide some commentary when I'm not calling anyone. And you can watch me do it."

Not if I can help it. My wrists are loose enough for me to work on the slack rope around my waist. "So you're going to have me disgraced and fired from the WVBA."

"That's the idea."

"Is there a way that I can make it up to you?"

"No," his blue eyes narrow at me. "I stopped believing your half-hearted apologies a long time ago."

Sigh. Look down in shame. "I'm sorry."

"There you go again! Didn't you hear a word I just said-"

"No, Narcie," I tell him as gently as I can manage. Look up to his eyes. "I really am."

Narcis could use a few improvements in his kidnapping skills. First, he could try not drugging people without much knowledge of what said drug will do to them. Second. he could also try not bringing his victims to his own house just in case they turn the tables on you.

And third, he should learn a few more knot-tying techniques. I break free in an instant and pounce at him with all my strength. He barely has any time to yell before I grab him and smash his head on the chair. While he's stunned I push him into it, break out the remains of the rope and fasten his neck on the back of the chair with it. I don't intend to keep him that way, though - it's just to keep him from struggling any further while I bind him for good. It's all over in two minutes and I'm standing there, panting, with a throbbing headache and a thick pain in my shoulders - but I've come out spectacularly on top.

"It's just a taste of your own medicine," I tell him as I go over to the corner and retrieve the bag. "no hard feelings."

"I hate you," he spits at me, his limbs and torso bound helplessly to the chair. Ignore him, open the bag. Tip it upside down on the bed. A stack of papers containing records of backdoor deals fall out with a light thump, along with a bunch of horseshoes, along with brass knuckles and other things that I used to wear on my hands during matches. I can probably explain the rest to the higher-ups, but I need to get rid of the papers and the brass knuckles. Why didn't I do that myself a long time ago? I will never understand myself. Amongst the stack of papers is the contract I signed with the Referee himself, allowing me to use the headbutt in the ring. Could probably destroy him too, if it got out that he did illegal deals with boxers. He's a good man, fair and square, but I don't really know how many other deals like this he did with other boxers. I know I'm not the only done. Once I come clean, everybody else comes out, and he doesn't deserve to go yet. I like to think that I don't need to go as well, but maybe that's just arrogance talking. Hey, I'm narrating. Of course I'm biased.

But if someone has to go, Narcis can go in our stead.

"I can't believe how much of an idiot you are sometimes," I say to him, brandishing the papers in his direction. "you really thought that the Referee would believe you?"

"He's not the only one I thought of, fool," he sighs. "I did mention newspapers. The important thing is that you're taken down."

Smile. "So you did. Great work trying to bring down the main framework of the WVBA. If I go, the Referee himself goes, and along with us comes many other people in the Association. It's too risky, Narcis. It just makes you a selfish bastard for being willing to bring everyone down in order to get rid of me. Very Machiavellian."

"He was only joking when he wrote 'The Prince'. You don't even know what that word means."

"I might not, but now I know what you've taken from my house, I can still derive a meaning from all of this somehow," I look towards my left, where a large fireplace is conveniently situated for my use. Plenty of coal and matches - that's another mistake of his, bringing me into a room where I can play with fire all I want. I take a match, flick it against the rough strip along the matchbox, and throw it into the fireplace which lights up instantly.

"What this all means," I continue, staring into his horrified eyes as deeply as I can. "is that no one will believe you."

Then I toss the papers into the fire and everything goes to hell.

Flames leap up fiercely in the fireplace and for a moment the sweltering heat gushes towards me. Take care not to flinch. I'm a bit freaked out myself at how fiercely everything is burning; they're just papers, there's no reason for them to be that flammable. My guess is that maybe I spilt some alcohol on a few sheets one day or Narcis just has a really powerful fireplace. But I'm reassured somewhat when the fire dies back down, creeping through the stack of papers in a slightly more normal pace. I give it maybe fifteen minutes for them to burn through. But regardless of my reactions, Narcis looks suitably horrified and scandalized, and that's really what matters the most.

"What have you done?" he shrieks, his usual demeanor slipping away. "you fucking son of a bitch!"

"Sorry about that," I can only say. I'm apologizing a lot nowadays for things that I shouldn't be apologizing for. I reach in my jacket and get out another cigarette. Then I sit on the bed and watch the documents burn for a minute or two while Narcis keeps yelling and struggling to get free. It is more satisfying to watch them squirm, after all. Just as you said, Narcis. When his voice is hoarse, I get off the bed and go to the bedside drawer where his mobile phone is resting. Deaf to his protests, I pick it up and check previous called records. Some are from Mrs. Prince and some are from unknown numbers. I check the messages inbox and smile - it looks as if Narcis has had two mistresses in the past month.

"Say, Narcis," I call towards him. "a mistress of yours coming over tomorrow night?"

"You get off my phone." he pants, too hoarse to scream at me. "you stop this right now, do you-"

I ignore him and root through his drawers. They mostly just contain clothes and pictures of him and his wife, but the third drawer reveals a load of letters and pictures of him with other women, dated anywhere from two years back to just over a week ago.

This probably needs some expanding upon. Narcis was married to one of his longtime fans a few months ago. A model and a lovely one to boot, if a little plastic. But she didn't look stupid at all - I had problems with the marriage because it seemed clear to me that he wanted a show instead of a union between man and wife. It was widely publicized on papers and magazines that seldom run anything about the WVBA. He's only twenty this year, the two-timing bastard. The pictures are all with fans of him. If it had just been any women, there wouldn't be trouble within the WVBA should all these be leaked - but the Association has a strict policy on boxers being involved with their female fans. Bad influence and the risk of letting on secrets and all. We do still have our share of insane fans who try to ambush us in the changing rooms or try something incredibly stupid to get us to notice them. Narcis noticed, all right. He also has a lot of fans resentful of the fact that he's married and would speak up against him if given the chance.

"I bet your missus won't be too happy if I took those and leaked them to the press?"

"Aran, don't do this."

"You tried to do it to me, bastard. Your evidence just happens to be here and mine happens to be burning in the fire. You have more than me. Ever heard of equilibrium? Once those letters and pictures are printed, there would be enough to cover the both of us. Everyone needs secrets, after all."

"You can't prove anything," Jesus Christ. He's getting all hysterical again. I despise hysterics from men. "they're mostly just photos from ages ago, I wasn't even married then-"

"But you have enough from after you were married, too. That's enough for a scandal. You know that."

Silence.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he sniffs.

"i don't hate you, Narcis," I explain tiredly but as patiently as I can manage. "I've never hated you. My life is just a lot harder when you're around. Difficult. Infinitely more irritating. You get my point? Having you in my life is like having syphilis. You don't notice for years at a time, and by the time you see yourself rotting away it's too late. And I sure as heck don't want the clap, Narcis."

"Well, I never! Honestly, I'm-"

"I don't want fucking syphilis, Narcis. Nobody wants syphilis. Why don't you fucking listen."

"I'm really not that bad, I'm being honest," he's got tears running down his face now and I have to look away. I hate all this drama. Why do I get myself into those things? "I don't know why you've always made me out to be such a monster."

"Narcie, you aren't a monster to me," I tell him without looking at him, but the use of his nickname will give the truth away. "just to your wife and some other people, and that should be enough. You cling to me even when I want you far away from me as possible. I don't know how else I'll be rid of you."

Silence. Again.

When he speaks up, he doesn't meet my eyes. "You're just... such an easy target, Aran. You broke off our friendship because you said I was shallow, all that time ago. You nearly broke me, you know that? I wanted to be better at you at something. All the women, all the fame. Just to get the better of you. To be honest, outside of the ring you're really irritating. You haven't got style or rhythm, you drink too much and you live like you were raised in a barn or something and you have a girl's name. You're just so easy to wind up, too. Despite all that I looked up to you."

I mull over what he said. It is true that I drink too much and I live sort of like a slob. Maybe Aran is a girl's name as well, but that's such a childish insult that I just brush it off. "I knew it was a sham marriage," I finally say. "I've got nothing more to say to you, Narcis. I guess I'll go. But seeing as it's-" check the clock, "-just past three, I guess you need some beauty sleep."

"Don't leave me! Please! We can talk this over!"

"We can't. We both lost that chance a long time ago. You have yourself a good life."

I approach the chair that he's tied up in. He flinches and looks up at me, blue eyes filled with fear. We stare at each other for what seems like hours.

"What if I come back?" he finally asks. That's all the trigger I need for me to start punching and kicking him until he's passed out. I make sure not to touch his face, because any more bruises than what he gained in the match today will look suspicious - I go for the weak spots, places that will knock him out cold, that I know the locations of because Soda taught me once.

As I said. Soda's a great head. Narcis is not.

It'd have been a lot easier if he hadn't screamed the whole way through, though. That might be because sometime during the beating I put out my cigarette on his shoulder, but it might just be him being a pansy. The rest of the procedure goes like this. Gather up all the evidence while he's watching with the last of his strength, stuff them in the bag. Untie him and let him fall to the floor. Drag him to the staircase and down most of the steps, but kick him over the last few so he falls unconscious. Go up, extinguish the fire, dig out all the remains of the coal and paper I can find and dump them in a spare plastic bag to throw away. Put his mobile phone in his hands and tidy up a little, taking away all evidence that I was ever there.

I leave the house with his screams ringing in my ears. At least I remember to lock the door and toss in the key through the open window.

It's around half five by the time I get to the WVBA. Fumbling for the key, I unlock the back door and slip into the still-darkened corridors, feeling my way around the walls until I reach the Referee's office. I slip a note typed on paper underneath the door detailing what I found. It literally only has those details but nothing else; I haven't given him my opinions on anything. When he wakes up in the morning he'll know. I spent the last hour meeting three journalists who regularly cover WVBA events and matches in their papers and handing copies of the evidence over, which they all appreciated me for and left immediately afterwards to use in their morning articles. I'm not about to flatter myself or Narcis and say that this is going to be more than a few days' worth of scandal, but it'll be enough. They got up at half four to meet me when I mentioned the story. Sucks to Narcis for making his picture-perfect life so public in the first place. When the sun comes up it'll be torn to bits. His wife will go crazy, his fans will go crazy... and the Association will be left with no choice but to let him go because he was stupid enough to get involved too deeply with his fans in the first place.

I walk back through the way I came and open the door to the changing rooms. I haven't slept, really (drugs don't count), and I don't want to do anything else other than to fall into bed and sleep. But I need to be awake. Me being away from the WVBA today will arouse suspicions. Just work until lunchtime then go home, that'll work.

Narcis's words echo in my mind as I dwell on that thought. What if I come back?

Make my way to his locker and take out the photo that he showed me. Narcis is smiling, his golden hair slightly shorter - definitely not like bananas then - and slicked back so charmingly that you can't help but smile. I'm also smiling, although I don't look too different compared to the way I am now. It's usually Narcis who dresses in expensive and dressy clothes when not in the ring, but I'm the one wearing a proper jacket and trousers in there, Narcis wearing a simple shirt and jeans instead. We're also pretty drunk in that photo, although you wouldn't know it just by looking. He bought me a four-leaf clover keyring afterwards that I still have. Don't know why I'm remembering this now.

He'll come back, of course he'll come back. But hopefully only to show up at his locker, empty it and leave the building for good. And leaving the WVBA for good means that he'll leave me alone for good.

Nobody believes a serial cheater and one with tarnished beauty at that.

I slide the photo of us in our better days together in his locker. Then I lean against it and cry and laugh for half an hour and I couldn't care less why. We looked like such assholes in that photo anyway, all happy and drunk to high heaven and loving life. We were real assholes then, indeed. Still are. Amazing how you think you've changed in the past years, and even more amazing to realize that you actually haven't.

Cue the laugh track.