Second-Rate
Anger and betrayal coursed through his veins as he stormed down the stairs. He took several deep breathes despite not needing the air to survive. With a loud growl, he landed a punch to the bag hanging from the ceiling.
"Sodding wanker. Always got to be better," he rambled angrily, fists colliding with the bag.
It wasn't fair. He'd changed for her and here she was shoving her tongue down his throat. He was so wrapped up he didn't hear her approach.
"What's he got that I don't?" he blurted.
"Spikeā¦it didn't mean anything."
"Never good enough am I?"
