sac·ri·fice: forfeiture of something highly valued for the sake of one considered to have a greater value or claim.
Sportacus felt Stephanie stiffen in his arms, and hugged her firmly before gently sliding the trembling woman off his lap and setting her on her feet. Standing up, he turned to see Nathan watching them with a smirk on his face, flanked on either side by four men more suited for standing next to nightclub doors than by the wiry boy's side. Muscle-headed lubbers, Robbie's voice snickered inside his head. Sizing them up briefly, Sportacus couldn't help but agree. Their leather jackets did little to hide the muscles rippling underneath, and even from this distance he could see them tense in anticipation of what was to come.
He swallowed, but stepped forward resolutely, effectively forming a solid wall between Nathan's crew and the person they had travelled so far for to claim. This was no trivial bout between the town hero and the self-proclaimed villain, something that always ended in a round of laughter and the occasional bruised ego. This was something that would end with more than broken bones for the one who yielded, and they all knew it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stephanie peeking fearfully around his shoulder and felt the anger he had quelled minutes ago flare up to a terrifying new level. Sportacus opened his mouth to speak, and the voice that emanated from his lips was laced with a malice he didn't know he possessed.
"Leave. Her. Alone."
If Nathan was having any second thoughts, he did a commendable job of hiding it. One of his cohorts, on the other hand, was not so subtle in his thinking process. He blinked profusely and took a visible step backwards, earning cold glares from his friends around him and a rough shove back into his original place. Sportacus' eyes never left Nathan's face. Seemingly unfazed, the young man jutted his chin towards Stephanie's direction, his arms crossed.
"What's so special about her anyway?"
"You tell me."
Nathan appraised him, cocking an eyebrow.
"Fine. Is it because of me?"
Sportacus frowned.
"What?"
"I spoke in English, didn't I? I said, is it because of me?"
The anger inside him began to ebb as confusion seeped into his mind.
"I don't understand."
"Of course you don't. You only want Stephanie because I went after her first. You're jealous, old timer. You've locked her up in this dump for her whole life, and it's about time someone came to cut off her chains and let her go free."
Sportacus stood rooted to the spot, stunned. The jeers of Nathan's crew following his speech echoed dully in his ears, hearing only his heartbeat thumping in his head. Was it really true? Had he been so blind to his own selfishness, subconsciously imposing himself on her even as he had urged her forward? He spun to face Stephanie, but found himself unable to speak. Staring into her eyes, he willed himself to show her what he felt but could not put into words: that he had never wanted to hold her back. That he was only human. That he thought he had loved her.
As she looked back at him, Sportacus knew she understood. She had always read him like a book, every now and again slipping in a page of her own or adding an extra line with her flowery touch. She completed him, Sportacus realised. And in that instant, he knew that he was still completely in love with her. A small smile played across Stephanie's lips as she leant towards him, her soft voice reaching his ears alone.
"I know."
Then, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself into his chest, she kissed him.
All the sports candy in the world compressed into one mouthful would only have given a fraction of the energy that Sportacus felt coursing through him at that moment. The same applied for sugar meltdowns, too. He felt himself shutting down in Stephanie's arms, only his hands working as they caressed the small of her back, feeling the silken strands of her hair pass through his fingers. He was completely oblivious to the open-mouthed group standing dumbstruck behind him, and he didn't care. Stephanie was his and he was hers, and God help anyone who wanted to keep them apart.
Nevertheless, it had been foolish to keep his eyes from Nathan for so long, to be deaf to the shouts of Nathan's crew as he drew a knife from under his jacket, to push Stephanie away as the knife glinted in the bright afternoon sun on its path towards him. Maybe not the last part so much, but the ice-cold pain that shot through him as the blade sunk into his abdomen proved to be a reminder that love can indeed, be blind.
