note: inspired (loosely-ish) by fight club by the eversowonderful chuck palahniuk, who is a god in my eyes. the fight club in this fic and the fight club in mr. palahniuk's novel have differences that will be shown in upcoming chapters. i've got up to chapter four written so we'll see how updating goes. thanks go to the lovely angelica pickles.

disclaimer: i dun own twilight or fight club.

warning: violence, dark themes from here on out.

My face is pressed to the ground.

Cold.

Hard.

I feel…

Gravel?

Tiny needles digging their way into my face. Sharp and sharp and so sharp.

Pressure on my wrist—twist—and then—crack. Only, the crack sounds muffled and my hand is numb.

My heart is in my ears. So loud. There is a river; gushing and flowing and so loud and I can barely hear the sound of frenzy and chaos surrounding me. When did I get thrown into a river? Because I am still breathing and there is no water in my lungs but there is a heaviness that I can't deny.

My eyes, they are sweating— or is that the sweat from my forehead dripping into them—

Someone is dragging me by my arm—pulling, I think my shoulder is one pull away from—

I am standing.

Only, I don't remember using my legs and why can't I move my left hand—

I am bent over, hands pressed to my stomach, staring at the damp ground in front of my sweating eyes and there is blood. And hey, I think it's my blood...

I spit and yes, the glob of red and spit and wet is my blood.

My life is on the ground before me.

And then I am angry.

And there is sound, wet skin on wet skin. A smack and a body hitting the ground, heavy.

I am on this body. I am straddling this warm body and my fists, why can't I feel my left one?, they are connecting with something soft and hard and wet with hills and valleys and holes and rocks.

There is a crunch and thuds and sweating eyes and I only see darkness and there is no light, there will never be light.

More yelling and I am still under the current of this river and there is rain and laughter and there is blood on my hands and more laughter and this body has stopped trying to push me off. Its hands are pounding the ground, quick and fast, and someone pulls me up into a standing position again.

My eyes are swimming in my sockets. I am dizzy and nauseous and the air is thick and I can't breathe.

And I am lost and I glance up into the darkness and see big eyes and girl and long hair in a sea of beasts.

And my hand is in the air, someone is raising it, gripping my hand tightly and shouting. I see grinning faces and laughter and teeth and more frenzy and roaring and they are waving papers in the air.

And I am laughing with them I guess because it is then I feel strange noises leaving my mouth and my stomach is moving and my shoulders are shaking and there is relief being pumped throughout my body and I see the girl again and she has a smile on her face and it is for me but I don't want it.

Because I see pity and, "You poor thing," dancing with the sweat on her girl face.

She is a kitten among lions and tigers.

There is no yarn or catnip or rest here.

Only carnage and destruction and a desire to see life extinguished by angry fists.