AN: sorry for the long delay in getting another chapter out. It's short, but I'm happy with where this one ended so I'll not force it. There are just so many directions in which I could take this story and it's difficult to pin down which I like best. Hopefully more to come soon!
So now what? The more Johnny thought about that night, the more messed up everything seemed to be. It had been going so well with Ali and the dinner…and Carmen. Damn it, he'd been so close to finally saying something, to committing, but now? If things went the same way as they had every other time Miguel had been hurt, then she wouldn't want anything to do with him.
When he'd first come into the courtyard after Larusso had dropped him off, Johnny had considered checking on Miguel before going to his own apartment. He changed his mind though when he remembered that Sam Larusso's car was parked and empty; he was probably occupied. Not to mention that if Carmen was pissed, he really didn't want a blow up in front of Daniel's daughter.
Once the door to his apartment had closed behind him, Johnny just stood for a moment, at a loss about what to do next. This definitely was NOT how he expected the evening to end. Was it really just a couple hours since he'd said goodbye to Ali? It seemed so long ago.
He reached his hand up to rub the back of his head and winced when he came in contact with where Kreese had struck him. He didn't feel any dried blood, but damn it was so sore he could feel it in his eyes. He made his way to the fridge and pulled out a beer, popped it open and taking a swig, made his way to the bathroom.
After grabbing some pain meds from the medicine cabinet and washing them down with another sip, he looked up at himself in the mirror. Johnny was almost surprised to see he didn't actually look as bad as he felt. Still, he could definitely make out where the redness from various hits was giving way to swelling and bruises, and his eyes seemed bloodshot and weary. None of this was new, of course. He'd been in enough fights to no longer be concerned about the effects on his appearance.
There was one thing that captured his attention, though. In the middle of his neck he could see the beginnings of bruises in the shape of fingers and thumb from where Kreese had grabbed his trachea and squeezed. The deep breath that accompanied his observation was involuntary, as if subconsciously assuring himself that he could still draw breath. It almost worked, except that the breath caught in his throat and elicited a brief round of painful coughing.
He took another sip from the bottle and with one last look, drew himself up, turned off the light and left the bathroom. Having left the visual evidence of yet another failure behind him, he moved carefully to his bed and lay down for some much-needed rest.
Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated. Let me know what you'd like to see in this story and if it fits, I'll add it in!