Paradise Fought: Abel

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Abel Callahan is Betta?”

  The question hung in the air, as did the disbelief that followed it. Abel couldn’t be Betta. The crowd disbelieved as did I, at first. He wasn’t strong enough. He didn’t have the temperament. At that thought, I froze. I’d seen the aggression in Abel’s eyes the other night. The force of his punch, and the strength he exerted to fight Thor, proved that Abel might be more than capable of fighting. But fighting in the ring was different than a scuffle between college boys.

  Next, I remembered my struggle to remove Abel’s Oxford shirt at that first party. His biceps were bigger than I imagined, harder and firmer than I expected. Further confirmation of his potential power should have been when he held me. The comfort of that strength wrapped over me. Surrounded in his protective hold, muscles covered me. The realization hit me hard. Abel was more than capable of being a fighter. I looked up to find he had disappeared.

  Recognition hit me hard. That first fight, he’d looked at me as Betta the fighter. There was something in his eyes that seemed familiar and yet I couldn’t place it. The look was so brief. I was too focused on another fighter. But Abel had been in the first fight of the season. He knew it was me, and he knew all along whom he was, but he never admitted it to me. Incredulious. All my talk of needing a fighter and he hadn’t mentioned to me that he was one.

  I pushed through the crowd, wedging between lazily held backpacks and sharp elbows jutting out in my way. I needed to get to Abel. I needed to understand what happened on Sunday morning. When I reached the hall, I stopped abruptly. He was nowhere to be seen.

  What if Abel wanted nothing to do with me, after all?

  I’d let him hold me all night, comforting me. Selfishly, I took his compassion and fell hook, line, and sinker into it. Abel had been right. Thor wasn’t what I wanted. I shivered to recall the wet kisses of a mouth too large covering mine. The heavy weight of him was almost instantaneously over me when we reached Lindee’s apartment. He moved fast like he did in the ring, but his rough hands were untrained against my body. He was petting me without really touching me. His movements were hasty, as were his kisses. He was looking for something hard, reckless, and quickly completed.

  I didn’t want to admit in the moment; I was in over my head. I let the kissing linger at first, in hopes that Thor would agree to my proposal. He seemed interested in the fight, saying he could make the contacts to proceed with the necessary arrangements. He even knew a place that might host the event, as the money to be made from such a match would be profitable. I wasn’t worried about profit. While Montana had been the moneymaker, this wasn’t about money. This was revenge. My brother was killed.

  I tried to keep that in mind, thinking I could do this. I could endure what Thor wanted, in order to seal the deal on my proposal. I don’t know why I felt I could trust him: my body for his word. It was no guarantee. My head was slow to catch up to what my body didn’t want. I hadn’t panicked yet, but I could feel myself shutting down. I couldn’t concentrate. I wasn’t feeling an attraction. There was no connection with Thor.

  Abel had filtered into my mind. Images of him leaning over me, possibly taking me against the door, haunted my daydreams. Thoughts of him pressing against me, while I leaned over my car, developed into a fantasy of orgasmic proportion. The desire to feel his lips on mine woke me at night. I wasn’t going to be letting go of Abel so easily. He had been my savior again. While my initial surprise at his entrance to the apartment upset me, the tension I didn’t know I was holding released when he snapped at me.

  Fuck me, Elma. The reality hit me. If Thor had stayed, the damage would have been irreparable. I would have had no assurance that he would follow through on my proposal. I was over my head, and by some miracle, Abel had found me. A wandering sheep, Abel was my shepherd. He kept dragging me back. The tuition. The job. Thor. Abel was leading me in a new direction, and I needed to follow.

  I returned to Lindee’s apartment later that afternoon, frustrated by Abel slipping away from me. I didn’t understand what happened Sunday morning. He was definitely, incoherently into the dream he was having. The liberty to touch me was a shock, but the feel of his hand, firm and curious over my breast was a sharp line straight to the damp moisture between my thighs. His solid length pressing into my backside had already released a rhythmic wave of excitement that caused my response. I met his grinding thrusts with equal temptation. The sleepy sound of my name was like a siren. Abel was calling out to me, that lost sheep on the fields, and I wanted to be taken home. When he went languid behind me, I sensed something had happened. His name crossed my lips sharply in frustration. He’d done it again. Hooked me to remain baited, but not satiated.

  I plopped next to Lindee on her couch, irritated with thoughts of Abel.

  “Did you know Abel Callahan was Betta?”

  “Who’s Betta?” Lindee questioned, without even glancing up from her books spread across the low coffee table.

  “The fighter from the other night.”

  Lindee looked up then. “I thought the fighter you liked was Thor Thurstan.”

  “Not that one,” I said, waving a hand to dismiss her in agitation. I stood and began to pace back and forth in front of the coffee table. Lindee’s head returned to the attention of her books. I hadn’t told her about the altercation in her place. I assumed she’d seen me with Abel on her couch, but I hadn’t seen her in the morning. I slipped out shortly after Abel did.

  “Abel Callahan is The Betta, the new fighter that everyone is talking about. He’s won three fights so far, and he’s scheduled to fight Thor this coming weekend.” My voice was rising in excitement, as well as hysteria. I couldn’t reconcile that Abel Callahan was Betta. A fighter.

  I still toyed with the idea that Abel might somehow be related to Cain. I didn’t even know if Abel had a brother. There was so much unknown about him. This new discovery had my head in a spin. Could Abel be my answer, instead?

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Lindee interrupted my thoughts, reaching for her bag near her feet. “Creed asked me to give you this. He said to call this number for a job interview. I didn’t know you weren’t at Carrie’s anymore. Although I have to say, I’m relieved.”

  There were a few things I hadn’t mentioned to my best friend lately, I realized. I wasn’t typically one to hold secrets from her, but the more my plan to avenge Montana’s death became a reality, the more information I seemed to be withholding. Working at Carrie’s had been one secret Lindee shared with me. Thinking of Carrie’s reminded me that it was Abel’s fault I no longer had the job. I continued to stare at my friend, methodically moving my arm to reach for the paper she held out to me across the table. The Dance Academy – 555-LEAP. Ask for Jewels.

  While Creed had given Lindee the note, it was clearly Abel’s handwriting on the paper.

  I followed through with the call, despite the fact that Abel hadn’t returned my text to him. After a round of phone tag, I finally spoke with Jewels, who set an interview for five that day.

  “I’m in such a bind,” she said on the phone. “One of my girls quit because she transferred schools and forgot to give us notice. How do you forget you have a job? Anyway, I need to find someone fast.”

  I entered the storefront in a small strip mall to discover a large dance studio inside. An average entryway and a parent waiting room were the front of the space. Three dance rooms were off a narrow hallway leading to the back of the space. I introduced myself to a young blonde at the desk, who called Jewels. A striking woman appeared with jet black hair and bright blue eyes. Her physique was that of a dancer with curved hips and thicker thighs, solid from years of dance, but a narrow waist that counterbalanced her body and gave her the perfect hourglass shape. She wore a black leotard with nude tights and dance shoes.

  “I’m so happy to meet you,” she said, reaching out for my hand and covering it with both of hers. “You come highly recommended.”

  I was shocked. This was a bit surreal. What had Abel said,
and better yet, how did he know of Jewels and her dance studio?

  “So I’m told you’re a dancer. Studying dance at Preston as well as having professional experience?” It was a question and I wasn’t certain how to answer. Should I offer up that I danced at a gentlemen’s club? Carrie’s wasn’t exactly the type of place that true gentlemen frequented, though. I was quite convinced that my former employment would not be considered respectable for a place that taught ballet to young children.

  “I…” I didn’t know how to answer as she led me past the dance studios and into a small office, near the back of the building, across from the restrooms.

  Jewels closed the door and pointed to a seat across from a desk cluttered with papers.

  “I started at Preston, too.” She waved her hand. “Eons ago,” she laughed. She had to be lying; she didn’t look that old.

  “I inherited this place from my mother. We had just fixed it up when she passed.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I offered.

  Jewels waved at me again. “It was a long time ago, as well.” We were silent for a moment as something caught her eye on her desk. Then she looked up at me.

  “So tell me about yourself.”

  “Well, I do have experience dancing.” I was safe with that answer, right? “And I am majoring in dance but also in business.”

  “Oh, what type of business?”

  “Just general business with a concentration on marketing. Ideally, I’d like to own my own studio one day,” I said, trying to sound hopeful, as I didn’t see that dream coming true in any realistic future.

  Jewels perked up at this information.

  “Do you know how to work a computer, like spreadsheets, financial reports, and making a website?”

  “Sure,” I answered, shrugging my shoulders.

  “How about social media? Facebook? Twitter?”

  “Of course,” I added. Jewels’ eyebrows rose.

  “Of course,” she muttered. “Well, what’s your schedule like? Most of our classes are late afternoons and into the evenings. We also have a few on Saturdays. We have a dance troupe that I could have you audition for to replace Ericka, but that involves a commitment as well.” Jewels sighed when she mentioned the girl’s name.

  “I have classes Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, with a morning class on Tuesday and Thursday. Nights and weekends aren’t an issue. What’s the dance troupe?”

  “We have our own performances in the local community, and we have a spring show in May. Instructors showcase in the show.”

  “Am I too short for the troupe?” I asked, glancing down, embarrassed by my question.

  “Can you dance?” she asked me, surprise in her tone.

  “Of course,” I laughed nervously.

  “Then you aren’t too short.”

  I relaxed with her answer, not knowing I was tense at the possibility of her rejection. I had already been told, years ago, I was too short for the stage. I’d never be a backup dancer or a stage performer.

  “Let me tell you a little about me, okay. I started at Preston but didn’t finish. I ran off to be a Laker Girl. I danced for two years then my mom died. I had to come home or lose the studio, and I wasn’t ready to part with it.” She sighed glancing down at her desk. “I don’t offer this information to many, but I don’t know what I’m doing. So I have a proposal for you.”

  I was on the edge of my seat, literally. I was too nervous to sit back. I liked her, and I wanted the job.

  “I can give you Ericka’s classes, but I could also use some office help, like organizing receipts, designing a website, and monitoring it for me. Social media support, too. Maybe some help planning the spring performance.”

  I was speechless. It was like a dream come true. I could dance and use skills learned in my classes. It was like a paid internship, which dancing business majors never earned. If I wanted to be in IT, it was a different story.

  “The girl at the desk is my niece. She’s helpful answering phones after school and menial work like filing, but she’s just a teenager. So what do you think?”

  “I’d love it,” I interjected. It was too good to be true.

  “Excellent, you’re hired. Can you start tomorrow?” she asked, squishing up her face to express her desperation.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Perfect.” She clapped. “Any questions?”

  “I’m just curious. How do you know Abel Callahan?”

  “Who?” she questioned me with pinched brows.

  “Abel. Callahan. The boy that got me the interview.”

  “I don’t know an Abel, honey.”

  “So…” I looked at her in confusion.

  “My sister is Chrysanthemum. You know her as Carrie.” She raised an eyebrow at me and winked.

  Saturday night was fight night again. It was an important one, too. My name was out there now, a combination of Betta and Abel. In some manner, I was still only recognizable as the opponent of Thor. My body hummed to have a rematch with him inside the ring. My blood still roiled from his actions toward Elma. While he didn’t get in her pants, it was clear that she was upset by him. I tried to reason with myself that if she wanted him, she wouldn’t have let him leave, nor would she have let me hold her all night. I had to believe that the reality, of what could have happened, didn’t occur to her until Thor and I fought.

  I’d let him escape that night. I should have finished him, but a sure way to lose any effort I’d gained was to fight outside the ring. If I was caught, I’d lose the wins and the underground would be lost to me. I needed to stay here to earn my way out of the deep. I was using the underground as practice, to build my skill and my reputation. I needed to have both before I tried to jump bowls; I had bigger fish to battle elsewhere.

  My tunes were loud tonight. I needed the aggressive energy boost. I’d worked hard all week at the gym, sometimes twice a day, as I skipped the rest of the week’s human anatomy class. I told the professor I had a family thing to attend to and submitted this week’s work online, taking a quiz in the testing center. I avoided any chance of encountering Elma.

  My comment about family business wasn’t a complete lie. I did search for this Sofie girl that Cain sought. The registrar’s office wasn’t willing to part with personal information, as I figured, but it was worth a shot to start there. They didn’t even want to confirm that she was a currently registered student. I tried my human anatomy professor next. Cain’s only other information was offering that she had taken the same course I was currently enrolled in. Unfortunately, the class had several teachers throughout a year. The professor could only offer me three possible names of others, who might have taught the course in the previous sessions. She couldn’t confirm who had taught a summer session, other than to say it wasn’t her.

  Saturday night, I released thoughts of Elma from my mind. I had to be clear headed and focused for this fight. This was important. If I couldn’t beat a big contender, as well as a skilled fighter like Thor, I wasn’t going to be able to face anyone again. It was part of the reason I wanted the persona to stay hidden, to remain anonymous, until I had built a rep for victory. Tonight’s battle wouldn’t question bravery. It questioned proficiency as a fighter. Even if I lost, which I didn’t intend to do, the integrity of the fight was based on how long I lasted as his equivalent.

  The call came and I followed Shepherd to my corner. The crowd was thunderous with the cry for Thor, but it wasn’t much lower in cheers for Betta. I was him. He was me. There was no more hiding.

  “You,” Thor hissed at me as we met in the center of the cage. “You’re going down like you should have last week.”

  “Fair fight, gentlemen, and fight fair,” the referee commented. I didn’t respond. My thoughts were centered. Thor had to be the one hammered home.

  The fight started and Thor was on me fast. A fist to the face sent me sideways; a second later, I encountered a swift jab to the lower ribs. My left hook took him in the side of the head, but he spun out, the
n back at me with a low kick. In an attempt to axe him in response, he caught my foot and sent me to the mat.

  “Fight, goldfish,” he mocked as his body covered mine. I had to get him off me. I turned into myself. The constraint of him over me was too much. A childhood memory flashed quickly, but I dove forward. I wrapped my legs around Thor and flipped us. I had to keep him down. A blow to the head didn’t deter him. He struggled like a slippery fish. He was out from under me easily, and we faced off upright again.

  The buzzer signaled a return to corners. Coach yelled things at me, but I wasn’t hearing the words. Sound in my ear was garbled like I was underwater. I imagined I heard the siren cry of, “Take him, Betta.” A sweet accented drawl, despite the shrill screech of it, was something I didn’t want to notice in the moment. I couldn’t let her voice catch me. I refused to be baited by her. Her words meant nothing to me, I told myself. I shook my head and jetted forward.

  By the third and final round, my opponent and I were moving with the combined emotion of hatred. This wasn’t courage on display. This was impassioned dislike. I wasn’t going down as easily as Thor anticipated. His verbal taunts didn’t unsettle me. It only propelled me inside myself, where I had the greatest strength. It was a secret a review tape would never reveal. I’d been verbally abused all my life. Words of disappointment, cracks about my incapability, and insults about my skill would only drive me onward. I refused to go back to who I was. The river of victory was flowing forward.

  We were in a final hold. The time was getting close.

  “You fucking pussy, just quit,” Thor demanded.

  “Never,” I hissed. It was the first time I responded to him. It was hard to hold my tongue, but there again I had a hidden talent. I’d learned to never talk back. The slaps across the face from my father taught me to keep my mouth shut. Over time, Cain took the severity of those blows. He’d even taken worse, on my behalf, by opening his mouth to deflect my father from me. Because I was small, because I was weak; Cain felt he had to take care of me. Take the punishment for me.