Lucy and Mark break up and go there separate ways, only to be brought back together in the worst imaginable situation.

Please comment literally anything you feel I should change :)


1. Mark, at the beginning

Mark swung at the him, his fist narrowly missing both a lamp post and his target as Rick swiftly side stepped out of range. “Lightweight,” Rick sneered as he pulled out a pen knife, he looked like a man who had done this a million timed before. Mark fumbled for his own with shaking hands, he evidently came to the pub not expecting this. A shout from the crowd made him spin, as someone tossed in a shining object. Mark missed the catch and dropped to his knees scrambling on the tarmac for this lifesaving tool.

Mark, Rick and what looked like Rick’s gang had been thrown out of the King's Arms, so the fight had been moved onto Newcomen street. They had gathered some kind of an audience now. Mark was terrified, his vision  was moving in and out of focus and he was sure it wasn’t all because of the drink. His memory’s of that evening swam around his head in a sea of confusion, and it hurt him to try to remember even the cause of this fight.

‘Fuck,’ he slurred to nobody in particular.

The two men circled each other as the world spun around them. Rick lunged in first, the pocket knife in his steady grip sliced through the air and teared through Mark’s shirt, leaving a shallow gash down his stomach. Mark sucked in a shaky breath, but he knew the fight wouldn’t end there. He could feel Rick’s gang laughing at him, it was obvious to everyone he wasn’t going to win. He couldn’t fight, he just wanted to go home, to sleep off this throbbing headache and to see his girlfriend.

Mark knew he had to fight back somehow if he ever wanted to see anyone again, he had got himself into this mess, so he had to get himself out. Running was not an option anymore.

He caught eyes with Rick, his eyes said nothing. There was no fear behind his expression, but worse there was no mercy. The look changed, he saw fire behind his eyes. Suddenly both the men leaped forwards for one and other, but this time it was Mark who did the damage.

Ricks body struggled against the impact of the knife at first but his power faded as the blood welled over the hilt of the knife that was lodged in his chest. The warm liquid ran over Marks hand, the sensation plunging him back to reality, tuning him into the spluttering of Ricks coughs as the rest of his blood was heaved out of his mouth.

All mark could see was blood. As he looked down he saw his hands were stained with it. The knife was still in Rick’s chest.

Mark turned away and vomited. What had he done? Mark barely noticed the shouting as a broad man tore his way through the crowd and froze at the sight of the body on the floor. The man dropped next to Rick's body and a look of sheer hate replaced the devastation on his face. Mark clambered to his feet, he stumbled at the sight in front of him, the blood staining the street, the panic as people cradled the bleeding man. What had he done?

He ran. He ran and ran as far away as he could. He knew he could never run away from this, the image of the men on the floor was burnt into his mind.

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