Never Choose Flight (A Fighter Romance Novel) (13 page)

He went into the bathroom, and then I heard the shower turn on. Just rinsing, I assumed. I had no idea that he would try to figure out how to solve all of our problems while in there.

I got myself dressed and moved into the living room. Looked out the front door to see if there were any thugs. It was impossible to tell, but I tried anyway. There probably were, but I didn’t know where.

The shower went on and on as I waited for him. I played with my hair. I had needed that. I felt more calm now. Less wound up. Less stressed. Maybe he knew that it would have that effect on me, or maybe he needed the same release. Either way, I felt much better. And I hoped that he did as well. We could figure this stuff out. Together.

He got out of the shower and I watched him walk from the bathroom to his bedroom in nothing but a towel. I heard him getting dressed. And then he came out and sat down in a chair opposite me.

“I think I have figured it out,” he said.

I listened.

“And I am not happy about it. But they haven’t really left us with many options.”

My mind started racing through all of the things he might be about to say. None of them were good. He wouldn’t be talking with this tone if he’d figured out some wonderful solution.

“Okay,” I said. “What is it?”

He looked at me with eyes that looked dead inside. The swelling on his face had gone down, but there was still blood. He had been beaten badly. And then he said the words. “We need to break up,” he said.

It felt like someone had my heart in a vice, and that it was tightened with every word he said.

“Believe me,” he said, “this is not what I want. And I hope that it isn’t what you want either. But I don’t think we have any other option.”

I bit my lip. I was
not
going to cry. Not here. Not now.

“If we’re together while The God is in town, he will use you to get at me. There’s no limit to how far he’s willing to go. And I can’t put you through that.”

“Yes you can,” I said. “I want to go through that.”

“You don’t,” he said. “You couldn’t even watch my fight tonight. I don’t think this is the life for you. You wanted to give it a try. Live dangerously for a while. But I can tell that it isn’t work for you.”

“There’s another way,” I said. “There has to be.”

“What is it?”

“You could turn down the fight.”

He stared at me. “You know that I can’t do that,” he said. “I never turn down a fight. That’s a rule that I live by. And even if I didn’t have that rule, backing out of this fight would be terrible for my career. Underground venues don’t want fighters who walk away from fights.”

It all made sense. He was being sensible. But it still hurt so bad. I didn’t want it to make sense.

He stood up and walked out of the room. “Come with me,” he said.

I stood up and followed him onto the porch. There we stood. I could see the cars with thugs in them waiting around. He turned to face be. Grabbed me by both shoulders. And said, in a very loud voice. “It’s not working. I’m breaking up with you. Please don’t come back.”

Again, I understood what he was doing. He needed these mobsters to know that we weren’t going out anymore. But it still hurt. I just nodded and let some tears flow, and he went back inside.

I didn’t sob. I held that inside of me. I got in my car, and I drove away. Away from Malcolm. Away from my ex-boyfriend’s house. Away from my exciting new life. It was over.

I got home and went to the fridge. I grabbed a bottle of wine that I’d brought home from New York, and I popped it open. Poured myself a nice tall glass, and then sat down on the couch with it. I brought the bottle.

I took a big sip, and then I opened my book. That victorian romance one. Where nothing was going to go wrong and they were going to end up together.

I sat there reading and drinking and thinking and drinking. At every chapter break I poured myself another glass and gave Malcolm another bit of time in my head.

First time it was all hatred. Red hot. Angry, passionate. I was pissed at him. I thought he’d done the wrong thing. I wanted us to be in this together, not apart. I didn’t want the solution to involve breaking up with him. Maybe he just didn’t like me in the first place, and that’s why he’d dumped me. This was just an excuse. Maybe it was my weight. Maybe it was my personality. But probably he just hated me for no reason. Stupid Malcolm.

After another drink I was feeling scared. I walked around the house and made sure everything was locked up. Malcolm and I just had a fault in our stars. It was never meant to be. I loved him, and he loved me, but the fates conspired against us. He really had made the only decision possible, and there was nothing either him nor me could have done to stop it.

Another couple chapters and another couple drinks led me to fantasizing that somehow everything would work out between us. Even though he’d been clear, and said that it was over for good, I pretended that something would change. He’d change his rules, run away from the fight, and move in with me. Or I’d learn to fight and I’d take on The God for him. Something stupid like that. I had drank a fair bit by that point.

By the end of the night, I was done my book. They ended up together, like I always knew they would. It made me feel happy though. I went to bed and collapsed. And I fell asleep thinking about Malcolm and I. But I wasn’t angry at him any more. And I wasn’t fantasizing about us ending up together somehow. And I wasn’t angry at fate. I was just thinking about us. Where we’d started, where we went up. Like I was watching it from a distance, or reading it in a book.

* * *

In the morning, my alarm was shriller than it had ever been before. I shot up and slammed my alarm. I did
not
want to wake up.

I mean, usually I don’t want to wake up. My job is boring and the coffee hasn’t been made yet. But this time it was so much more.

I was hung over. I needed to pee, and I needed to drink something. Rehydrate myself. But I didn’t want to do either of those things.

The inside of my mouth tasted like the most vile substance on the planet, and the whole room was way too bright, even though the lights were off and the blinds were closed.

But I needed to get up. I needed to go to work. This was my life. I’d hoped that maybe something was going to change. Maybe I could get out of it somehow. Transition into a more exciting life, with someone I cared about. But that whole thing hadn’t worked out.

That fact alone made gravity three times stronger.

But I managed to lift myself anyway, even though it took extra effort. I managed to drag myself into the shower, and stand in the stream of hot water for a while. I didn’t do my full routine, because the water started to get cold. I’d spent too long standing still.

I made myself a terrible breakfast and ate at my table, alone. I got in my car and drove the same exact route I’d driven every weekday for years now. I went up the stairs, like every other morning. I was not feeling super jazzed about my career. I’d been given a taste of something more exciting. But it turned out that taste had been poisonous.

Samantha knew that something was up the moment that she saw me. “What happened?” she said.

“I can’t even talk about it right now,” I said. I didn’t want to start my day by crying in the office. “We can talk at lunch?”

“Not going for lunch with Malcolm?” she asked.

I just looked down and shook my head.

“Alright,” she said. “Me and you. Lunch date. You can dish about whatever happened.”

“Okay,” I said.

“And if you need anything before then, you just let me know,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said. Samantha was a good friend.

I went and sat at my desk. I stared at that green hill with the blue sky above it - my background image - and I didn’t do anything. I didn’t check for new emails. I didn’t check my voicemail. All I did was sit there and stare.

I guess I was wondering about what I’d gotten myself into. That’s something I was always wondering around Malcolm, but I never wondered about here.

But it felt valid. What
had
I gotten myself into, exactly, at this job. Sure, it was the kind of things that my parents were proud of. If I ever wanted to have a family, this was the kind of job that would work best. But what was I giving up? What was a choosing?

I was choosing a life sitting at a desk. A life of very few surprises. The schedule was consistent. The pay was consistent. Everything was more or less the same every day. So I guess what I’d gotten myself into with this job was monotony. Boredom. A repetitive life. It was safe, but that was the cost. It was safe because nothing unexpected ever happened.

Derek showed up with his still-healing nose, and I remembered that sometimes things happened. But that was only when outside forces got in. Like Malcolm. He’d managed to knock Derek out of his regular position. Ruin Derek’s routine for a day. And it had changed him.

Derek didn’t say a word to me all morning.

Lunch rolled around and Samantha came by my desk to pick me up for our lunch date. We went to Joe’s, and I ordered the same thing I’d gotten when I’d gone there with Malcolm. Samantha got a parfait.

“So,” she said once we were seated. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t even know,” I said.

“Just the parts that you do know,” she said. “For now.”

“Okay. Well, me and Malcolm aren’t together anymore.”

Samantha stayed quiet, but I could tell that she was listening attentively.

“There’s this big fighter in town. A guy from New York. He calls himself The God. And apparently, a bit part of his strategy is messing with his opponent before the fight even begins. I saw it happen a few times. A thug came and ruined our dinner date. Someone left a dead chicken on his doorknob. And then yesterday someone made us stop the car and they pulled him out and beat him right there on the road.”

“Shit,” said Samantha.

“Yeah,” I said. “So we, well he, decided that it was too dangerous for us to be together. He said that they might come after me as a way of getting at him. So we broke it off.”

“Just for now?” asked Samantha. “Just until this God guy is out of town?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think it’s forever.”

She stared at me, head tilted.

“I was getting emotional,” I said. “I couldn’t stand it. Watching him get beaten with a golf club. The man I loved. It was a lot. He could tell that I couldn’t handle it. So it’s over.”

“Gee,” she said, giving herself another spoonful of yogurt and crushed oats.

“Yeah,” I said. I bit my lip.

“And you’re taking it kind of rough?”

“I drank a whole bottle of wine yesterday,” I said.

She laughed. “You should try some tubs of ice cream. That always gets the job done for me.”

I laughed. It felt good. “The thing is though,” I said, “that I know he’s right. It would be dangerous for me to continue seeing him. And I might get hurt. And he might die. And maybe I can’t handle the stress. Maybe I’ll have a break down. But I still want it, you know?”

Samantha stayed quiet. She knew there was more.

“It’s like this job, that I have now, just seems so boring. It’s not going anywhere. Nothing ever changes. And I don’t mind it. It pays alright, and I have a couple of awesome coworkers. But it feels dull. Maybe I’ve just seen too much of the other side.”

After a silence that I didn’t break, Samantha said, “I don’t know. Maybe this is the life for you. Maybe that is. But it doesn’t really sound like you have a choice.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I don’t.”

“But I’m sure you’ll get used to this job again,” she said. “I’ve felt how you’re feeling before. And it goes away. It’ll fade into memory. And then you’ll be happy where you were happy before. Happy at that desk. Next to Derek.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “I wish you weren’t.”

“That wish will go away,” she said. “It’s shitty, but it will.”

I sighed and we both finished our meals.

“You’ll find someone else,” she said as we walked back to the office.

“I don’t
want
to find someone else,” I said.

I got back to my desk, and Derek was sitting there eating his lunch. “How’s it going?” I said. I just didn’t want to get back to work. Not yet. I couldn’t stand the monotony.

“Not bad,” he said. He didn’t look over at me. Didn’t seem terribly interested in my presence. “How ‘bout yourself?”

“I’ve been better,” I admitted. To Derek.

I was expecting him to jump all over that. Start asking if I was single again. Trying to pick me up or something. But he didn’t. He just kept looking at his screen.

Maybe I would end up like Derek, I thought. Changed by Malcolm. Malcolm had come into my life, given me a metaphorical bop on the nose, and now I was going to be a different person after it healed for a while. Once the bleeding had stopped.

It was a nice thought, but it didn’t really make me feel any better. I still felt like shit for the rest of the day at work.

And after work, I didn’t want to go home. But I had no where else to go. I just didn’t want to get back to drinking yet. I had a suspicion that the hangover had led to a fair bit of the shittiness of my day, and so I was going to try and avoid having one again tomorrow.

So instead of going straight home, I decided to cruise around town. I turned off at an exit that wasn’t mine. I tried to just go wherever the road wanted to take me, but it kept pulling me in all of the wrong directions.

I drove down and around Terminal Island. It really was pretty incredible how regular it looked during the day. A drug deal going on here and there, but that was the same in every part of Los Angeles. But I recognized the one warehouse. Where I’d been introduced to Malcolm’s world. And fallen in love with it.

Then I went past his house. There was a car parked down the block from it, and I could only assume it was full of dangerous people plotting against him. I wanted to stop and go to his house, but I knew that that was no way to get over a man.

And then I drove past Joe’s. Not that Joe’s. The fancy italian one. Where we’d had the closest we’d had to a proper date. A dinner date. The food was all so good, until we had to flee.

I just drove around like a loser, taking in all the sights that I knew would make me feel worse. It was a shitty thing for me to do, but I felt like I needed to do it. I needed to deal with everything. Deal with it so that I could move fast it.

It was a couple hours later when I rolled up to my place. And by then I had a sick fantasy in my head. I wanted to see a dead chicken hanging from my doorknob. I wanted it to be hanging from its neck, and I wanted there to be a bullet in its mouth.

I knew that that would mean I was in trouble. I was in danger. That some hit had been place on my head or something. But I was honestly disappointed when there was nothing there. When I saw that I really was out of the game.

Inside I opened another bottle of wine. I didn’t even like wine that much. I never used to drink as a way to cope with things. I didn’t know if it was better or worse than how I’d dealt with break ups in the past - by eating. Eating might be bad for your health in the long term, but drinking felt like a more instant danger.

I could die of alcohol poisoning. Or I could just get drunk enough that I do something stupid and die. And I liked that possibility. I didn’t want it to happen, of course, but I liked that it was an option. I guess that came from the same stupid part of my brain that wanted a dead chicken on my knob.

I fell asleep, kind of drunk, pretty late. And as I lay in bed, I thought about what Samantha had said. And I tried to convince myself that it was true.

This too shall pass. It hurts now, but it won’t hurt forever. All of these memories will become more distant. I’ll settle back into my terrible job. I’ll get used to being bored again, and having nothing to worry about. And then it would be like nothing had ever happened. Nothing had changed.

Part of me really did hope that it was true. And I fell asleep trying to convince myself.

* * *