But Asa didn’t care about Carson. He didn’t care about putting the asshole in his place.
All that kept bouncing around in his head was that nobody had ever dared to say anything of the sort to him in front of Isla, and on the rare occasion that they did, she’d have given them a sharp piece of her mind. But now she just remained seated there, as if there wasn’t even an atom of her being that cared about Asa anymore.
A part of him knew this was just Isla being her defensive, detached self when she was feeling particularly nasty. But he was beginning to wonder if the cruelty was justifiable after the numerous times he’d had her back and punched the shit out of anyone who’d ever shamed her.
He didn’t need her to stand up for him, but knowing that she wouldn’t defend him made him falter in his resolve to defend himself.
“You ungrateful piece of shit,” Lyra spat at Isla. “The number of times he’s had your back even when you weren’t around to defend yourself!”
Isla cocked a brow. “Yeah? Well, did I ask him to?” When Lyra didn’t reply, Isla just scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m out of this stupid place.” She pushed her chair back and walked away, her heels clicking on the floor as the commotion around the table only grew louder.
Watching her walk away snapped something inside Asa. Gone was the hurt. All he felt now was anger simmering at the pit of his stomach—red hot anger that was quickly growing into a raging inferno.
Anger at Hunter’s words earlier that’d made Carmen push him away; anger at Isla’s lack of courtesy to apologise instead of continuing to give him the cold shoulder; anger at Carson’s inability to digest not being as great a swimmer as Asa and using that bitterness to kick him below the belt instead.
“Well, I’m sorry that you’re too much of a sore loser, Carson,” Asa found himself saying as he turned his attention back to the idiot, causing everyone else to stop yelling. “I’m sorry that you can’t take a loss with dignity. Sorry that you expected to win—”
“What I expected, you unwanted piece of trash,” Carson bellowed, “was to never see your fucking face in my city again when they said a wall was gonna be built.”
And all hell broke loose.
It was as if Wyatt already knew what Asa was about to do, as he moved to jump in front of him to block his way. But Asa was faster, and he lunged at Carson, one hand wrapped around his neck, as he slammed the other guy’s back on the floor.
All the screams and yells from behind him did nothing to sway his anger or his growing need to use Carson as a punching bag. Blinded with rage and years of torment, he drove his fist into whichever part of Carson he could find.
Pow. Pow. Pow.
He was sick of the hate, sick of the judgments. Because if he wasn’t the Mexican in a very conservative city that had the lowest amount of people of colour, he was the popular athlete who whored his way around school.
Asa was more than that. He will be more than what they told him who he was.
So he let his anger fuel every bit of his impulsive nature, letting them know that he won’t be beaten down to nothing so easily.
Pow. Pow. Pow.
And the blood trickling down Asa’s knuckles actually felt good.
36.
Fighting Hate With Hate
Asa’s knee bounced as he tapped his foot nonstop on the tiled floor outside the principal’s office, where he was told to be seated ‘till Mr. Hendrickson could see him.
A barely conscious Carson had been taken down to the infirmary with two guys having to support him from either side.
Asa knew that if it had been Hunter, the outcome wouldn’t have been the same. Hunter wouldn’t have needed to be taken to the infirmary and would’ve probably done equal damage to Asa.
Carson, however, despite being built, wasn’t as skilled at throwing punches the way Hunter was. Asa barely had any bruises except for those on his knuckles that he knew would be more evident by tomorrow morning.
“Hey.”
Asa stopped shaking his leg and looked up as Wyatt approached him, dropping down on the seat beside Asa.
“Hey,” Asa muttered, throwing his head back until it hit the wall and stretching his legs out in front of him.
“Feel any better now?” Wyatt asked, sarcasm evident in his tone. “Now that you’ve all but bashed his face in?”
Asa snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Get down to the infirmary and take a look for yourself,” Wyatt snapped.
“What the hell is your problem?” Asa sat up straight and whipped his head towards Wyatt, glaring at him. “What, you’re mad because Carson was one of us? Part of the swim team? Sorry that I attacked someone that you seem to care so much about—”
“You unbelievable asshole.” Wyatt scoffed, shaking his head as he stared at Asa with incredulity. “You’re such a goddamn prick sometimes, you know that?” He shot up from his seat and glared down at Asa. “I don’t give two shits about Carson! You think I’m here for him?” He balled up his fists. Asa stared at them wearily, not really fancying another round of punches. “I’m here because I happen to care about you, dumbass. And I wanted to see if maybe you needed me to be here or even accompany you inside when they called you in. But, seeing that you’re behaving like some rotten brat, I think I’ll leave.”
“Then leave!” Asa retorted, eyes flashing with all the anger that’d been building up ever since Isla had turned up at his locker this morning with the sheer audacity to
