by Anielka, Ina
As soon as he was out the door, both Sara and Ethan lost it. They both burst into laughter at the comical display, letting their mutually suppressed emotion roll out of them easily. Sara looked at Ethan. In the two weeks he had been here, she still didn’t know what it was about him that made him so different. But he was.
He was funny in a quiet, soft spoken way. He was insightful, able to read the office politics with ease. Most of all, Sara and he both connected as outsiders. Young, and health conscious; they both had a sort of third party perspective. Like they were transients, watching the locals.
Ethan, for his part, had become endeared to Sara. She didn’t seem like the corporate, desk-riding scrub he expected—and largely found--working in the office. The curvy redhead’s dry humor was refreshing to Ethan, who often spent too much time in the testosterone-fueled world of MMA. Being part of her little one-girl conspiracy against the insanity of the office culture helped Ethan mitigate the awkward transition into respectable corporate work. Still, he hadn’t told anyone about his fighting. He had no idea how they would react. They didn’t need to know, and he wasn’t about to tell them.
Ethan looked at Sara as she got her giggling under control. She caught him staring at her deep brown eyes. For a fleeting moment, Ethan and Sara both felt something. Neither was sure what.
* * *
Three weeks later, in the thick of the fight camp and the weight cut, Ethan was at wit’s end. Emily, ever vain and self-centered, had apparently decided for the both of them that they were going to some idiotic party at her father’s work. She had to be there, so logically, her MMA fighter boyfriend had to be there as well. Ethan had slowly been arriving at the realization that Emily didn’t really love him, she loved have a big, athletic, fighter boyfriend. He was just a status symbol to her. When he cut weight, spent all his time in training, she had less use for him, and so he saw her less. Until fight night. Then it was all selfies and social media and hashtags. All her friends just had to know what her boyfriend was doing. If one day he walked away from the sport, then he knew in his heart, she would be gone too.
They were in the parking lot outside Emily’s apartment. They were just finished a dinner date. Emily got dinner, anyway. Ethan’s restrictive diet meant eating out was off the table. Emily had finally sprung her news about attending her father’s party.
“I’m tired of you committing me to all your shit, without asking, without even thinking about me!” Ethan yelled.
“Jesus, it’s a fucking party!” Emily retorted.
“I’m cutting weight. I have a fight. I don’t have the energy to socialize with your dad’s coworkers. I already work all day as it is, and I train at night. I’m on diet, so I will just have to stare at the food like an idiot and hope no one notices how weird I’m being.”
Ethan continued, “But you know what? You don’t care about that. You don’t give a shit about me at all. If I can’t be your fighter boyfriend, than I’m no use to you.”
“I didn’t tell you to go get a job working all day. You never do anything for me!” Emily yelled back.
If Ethan wasn’t constantly hungry, bruised and sore, he might have reasoned with her, calmed her down, reassured her. But she had seen him cut weight before, and she knew how he felt, and it never seemed to matter. He was out a patience with her.
“You know what. Fuck this. Come by tonight, and get your shit out of my room. I don’t have it in me to deal with you anymore.”
Emily grew indignant. She could hardly comprehend her boyfriend had just broken up with her. She screamed obscenities and swore he would never find anyone as hot as her. As if that were the defining thing Ethan wanted in a girl. Oddly calm giving the circumstances, Ethan wondered what it said about her when her first argument against breaking up was how hot she was. What a sad way to live life, Ethan thought, where all you think you can offer someone is your appearance. Ethan felt a twinge of pity, but this had been a long time coming. Emily surely knew it too. Not waiting for her to finish, Ethan got in his car and drove off.
* * *
That same day, Sara was having revelations of her own. Typing idly away at her computer, she noticed an eerie silence in the office. Curious, she rose and investigated the neighboring cubicles. They were both deserted as well. She roamed the corridors near her office, searching for anyone else. She hear audio muffled, coming from a cubicle in the corner. She approached it to find 7 people crammed around a computer screen. Sara strained to see the grainy video. It looked like some kind of sporting event. A boxing match, maybe.
As the video rolled on she saw it wasn’t boxing, but MMA, the brutal free-fighting sport she sometimes saw advertised at local bars. One of the combatants was a lean, muscular, Caucasian man. Suddenly, she gasped—that fighter was Ethan! His face was slick with Vaseline, his jaw jutted out because of the mouthpiece, but it was him, she was certain. He looked oddly tranquil, focused. Everyone was silent, watching the crudely shot video. The bell rung and Ethan ran to the center of ring. His opponent, came forward throwing punches. Ethan deftly ducked beneath them, wrapping his arms around his opponent’s legs and drove him to the ground. Now atop his opponent, the two a mash of legs and arms, Ethan began to strike at the other man’s head. Sara was transfixed as Ethan appeared to push his opponent’s legs aside and straddle him, Ethan’s knees atop the man’s shoulders. As Ethan rained down blows, the man wormed and writhed to try and escape, but to no avail. Ethan’s gloved fists rained down on the man, unanswered. Before long a third man in a black shirt—likely the referee--intervened. Ethan raised his hands in victory. The video cut out.
The whole cubicle, hitherto silent, arouse in a cacophony of shocked gossip. Sara, however, slowly began to back away, returning to her desk, dazed. She had known there was something different about the mild mannered, wry Ethan. But a fighter? To know he had this hidden capacity for violence was strange and a little frightening. Yet, with her, here at work, he seemed so mild mannered, calm, and jovial. Who was the real Ethan? She wondered. She Sara decided to eat lunch at her desk alone today.
* * *
Ethan knew almost right away when he walked into work that the office had found out. It wasn’t a secret per se. And he certainly wasn’t ashamed. But a lot of people didn’t know the sport, or understand the athletes in it. All day he fielded the typical questions.
“Is it real? I mean, it’s like pro wrestling, right?”
“No, it’s one-hundred-percent real”
“So can you beat me up?”
“Why on earth would I want to beat you up?”
“You ever worry about, like, getting killed?”
“The sport is actually much safer than boxing or football.”
More than the innocent questions—certainly his coworkers’ ignorance of the sport was no fault of their own—Ethan was bothered by the looks. Many people looked at him as if he were some kind of monster, as if he drowned puppies or collected shrunken heads in his spare time. Most of all, he was disappointed that Sara stopped hanging around him. He enjoyed the young redhead. And if anyone seemed to understand him in the office, it was her.
He was tired, hungry, single, and now friendless. Two days after everyone had found out, after the novelty had worn off, but their apprehension hadn’t, he took his lunch and walked to shipping.
Sara typed away at her desk, her lunch sat cold off to the side. She brushed her hair back.
“Hey.” She looked up. There was Ethan. She wasn’t sure how she felt. He was her friend, but he was also dangerous, in a way no man in her life had ever been.
“Hey.” She responded.
“I guess you know about my fighting, huh?” He asked pensively, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Yea. They showed me a video of your fight.”
“Some people support it, some people don’t. I’ve been doing it long enough that I get it. I’m not a bad guy though. I was hoping you could see that.”
Sara felt like an ass. Not hanging out with a
guy because he played some sport. She wouldn’t have thought anything of it if he had played basketball at the park, or football with in friends on weekends. Yet, she didn’t want to hang out with him because he fought MMA? Maybe she wasn’t any better than those catty office snobs after all.
“Listen. Do you want to get dinner after work? I’m not some maniac, despite what everyone else may think.”
Sara was just slightly taken aback. Was this a date? She hadn’t been on a date in…longer than she cared to admit. He was just being friendly, she told herself. She accepted. If nothing else, it was an excuse to not cook dinner tonight.
“Yea,” Sara responded, “I’d like that.”
* * *
Sara met Ethan at an Indian restaurant a few streets over from Ethan’s house. Ethan told her about his fighting. How he started 8 years ago. About cutting weight and travelling all over the Midwest. About fighting in hotels and stadiums. About the grueling training. He had just come from practice. He smelled of soap and fresh cologne and sweat. A thinly concealed rawness that seemed to fit the quiet young fighter. Sara told him about her days at college, the writing dream deferred. He seemed to understand better than most. A dream that seems to slip farther away the harder it’s chased.
Ethan told her about the call. The biggest organization in the world, reaching down from on high to pluck regional fighters like him up to the big show. Sara began to understand what exactly the corporate job meant to Ethan: nothing. It was less than nothing to him. Eight hours a day, it made him feel as though the dream was dead and gone. She never thought about her work like that. That by working in the office it meant writing was slipping away. Though writing seemed more forgiving of age than fighting, she thought. She probably had several hundred pages of manuscripts, stories, reports, tucked away on her hard drive, unfinished, unsubmitted. Sara watched as Ethan willed himself to eat the stir fry slowly. He was different from anyone she had ever met before. She was beginning to realize that fighting for him wasn’t about the violence. It was a spiritual test of sorts--to find out what happened when you gave everything, poured all of yourself into something. To pay for a thing in blood and tears, day after day. Most people never strive for anything the way Ethan prepared for these fights. It wasn’t about fighting an opponent, it was about fighting yourself.
Ethan looked at Sara, “So, are you going to be working in shipping forever?”
Sara was taken slightly aback. “I don’t think so.” She said hesitantly.
“You’re gunning for a promotion? To be a manager or something? Or is this just paying the bills until the writing thing takes off?”
“I. I don’t know. I haven’t written anything in months. I’m really not that good. Then again, I don’t know if I want to spend the rest of my life in shipping either.”
Ethan stared at her in silence; as if trying to see what stirred in her heart. “How long have you been there? Three years?” He asked.
Sara nodded. When he said it like that, she felt… Ashamed? Disappointed? Disappointed in herself. That she let her life slip away like it had. Sara sighed.
“I’m sorry.” Ethan said, sensing her disappointment. “I didn’t mean to be insulting.”
“It’s fine” Sara said. “There’s some truth there. I really let time pass by. It’s funny how easily it slips past you.”
They looked at one another.
“I know how it feels.”
They split the check and left. Bundled beneath coats and scarves the two began to walk towards Ethan’s apartment. Ethan wasn’t sure what he was feeling. His breakup with Emily was so recent, so raw. He wasn’t sure how much of what he was feeling was real. Sara was so different from his ex. A more natural beauty, a more genuine person. Emily had been a production, an actress always on somebody’s stage. Sara felt real. Ethan’s instincts told him that there wasn’t another Sara hidden behind this one, but he wasn’t sure he could rely on them.
They soon arrived at Ethan’s door. He looked at Sara, her skin pale and cold in the Midwestern moonlight; her breath clouding between them.
“I had fun tonight,” Sara began.
Ethan kissed her. She was surprised. It was sudden and unexpected. Ethan startled even himself. The second she kissed back, a gentle push against him, he knew everything was fine. For a moment, life was just fine. Her lips parted, but they stayed pressed again Ethan’s. Their cold skin warmed slowly.
Sara felt Ethan’s hand wrap around her waist. She knew, in that moment, her feelings for Ethan had at last coalesced. He felt so right; like an old shirt she always had. Even this kiss, this moment, felt exactly right. It wasn’t electric, there weren’t sparks. It was her bed after a long day, the old song she hadn’t heard in years, the smell of her mom’s baking. A thing that had always been around, even if it had been long forgotten.
She kissed him harder. His hand pulled her to him. She could feel him gentle with her, his raw power reduced to a gentle nuzzle—a gravity that seemed to draw them together.
She felt his tongue in her mouth, meeting hers. Softly, just a graze at first. But the passion quickly burned hotter and hotter. Sara began to feel more than just affection, she wanted him. Their lips parted briefly. His brown eyes gazed into hers.
“Come inside.”
Sara had no idea if it was a question. She didn’t care. She wanted this too badly for debate. She nodded. He took her hand and led her in, out of the cold. They wound through the house, past the living room and down the hall. Ethan apologized for the mess, citing his bachelor roommates. Sara was glad they hadn’t gone back to her apartment—it wouldn’t have even been this clean.
Ethan’s room, was neater. His walls and shelves were covered in fight memorabilia. Posters of old events, many with his picture, medals, event passes, a few pictures with famous fighters filled nearly every inch of available space. Everything else was a closet and a bed. It was an oddly Spartan existence for a person of nearly 30. Ethan seemed uncomfortable and apologetic. Sara leaned in and kissed him as she unbuttoned her coat. Ethan took off his own, their bodies apart, bound together only by their lips. Moments later, coats cast aside, they embraced.
Sara felt his strong hands slip under her jaw line. She reached up and ran her fingers through his close cropped hair. Ethan’s hands slipped from her neck and found her waist. He drew her to him. Her hands ran down his body. His sides were lean muscle, hard and sinewy. She slipped her hands beneath his t shirt, feeling the warm heat of his skin on her bare palms. His hands rested on the small of her back, nestled in the gap between her shirt and jeans. They were cold to the touch. Sara felt him lift gently beneath her shirt. She raised her arms as Ethan pulled her top off. Sara’s off-white bra and pale stomach now were bare. She lifted Ethan’s shirt, he obligingly removed it; tossing it aside. His stomach was lean and hard, abs standing out in stark relief. Sara briefly thought about her own soft, jiggling stomach, but she hardly had time to feel self-conscious as Ethan pulled her close and kissed her. As he did, he spun her and gently leaned the redhead onto his bed. She was soon on her back, her lover atop her. Sara saw his lean arms, muscles taunt as he held himself over her waiting body, only his lips touching hers gently.
Ethan was growing harder by the second. This redhead was driving him wild. He pressed his body to hers and felt her stomach hot against his. He kissed her neck, he could see the goose bumps forming across her skin as he did. He kissed the tops of her breasts, longing to see them in their glory. He reached his hand back to her clasp and undid it, propping himself above her. Sara held the cups in her hands, unsure if she wanted to expose her breasts to her lover. Ethan, with his free hand, tugged gently on the center. Sara relented and her ample breasts fell free. Without hesitation, Ethan kissed and sucked gingerly on her pink, perk nipples. The attention felt amazing, the tiny follicles on her arms stood up as her lover’s lips grazed her breasts. Far from revulsion or indifference, Ethan was fascinated and aroused by her large ample breasts. The way the hung round and soft fro
m her, aching to be played with and pawed. The attention began to turn Sara on as well. She reached a hand down and began to undo Ethan’s belt. He didn’t stop her. She undid his belt, button and fly. Not to be outdone, Ethan ran his fingers down her stomach, and unbuttoned her jeans, Sara slid them down, revealing her black panties and her ample hips.
Clad only in underwear, Ethan’s hand snaked to the back of Sara’s neck and kissed her passionately, they rolled and Sara was now atop him. She smiled seductively, feeling his hardness through his boxers. She reared up, her hips pressing onto his, their thin fabric betraying the aching connection, yearning to be made. Sara stared at Ethan’s lean muscle and hard body. She slid slowly down his hips, nestling between his legs, her hair brushing against his crotch. She rubbed his hardness through his shorts before pulling them down, revealing his hard cock. Ethan lifted his legs and shed his boxers. Fully exposed before her, Sara leaned down and took his head into her mouth, her hands running down his hipbones to the inside of his thighs. She sensed his muscles contract involuntarily from her gentle touch. His member tasted vaguely salty in her mouth. Sara plunged deeper and deeper in his shaft, taking more and more of Ethan’ hardness. Sara felt a hand brush away her hair, ensuring he could see her face as she took him. Sara dove deeper down onto him, her lips nearly touching the base as she heard herself gag ever so slightly.
