Punching and Kissing

by Helena Newbury

  “Come on,” I said. “Quick!” And I dragged him out of the food court and towards the exit of the mall. I wanted to hug him for saving me but he looked sullen...almost angry. Why would he be angry at me?

  Outside, the storm had finally broken and rain was pelting down—the hard, unforgiving kind that soaks you to the skin in about five seconds flat. Everyone else was huddled inside the doors, waiting for it to pass, but I knew mall security would catch up with us any second. I pulled Aedan outside, into the rain, and ran down the street.

  The rain plastered our t-shirts to our bodies. By the time we reached the end of the street, our jeans were soaked through and shining. The rain was coming down fast enough that the sidewalks were awash.

  I pulled Aedan into an alley, looking for shelter. At least the rain would put the mall cops off chasing us. We stopped beside some dumpsters. It hit me that I wasn’t out of breath, despite running half a block. All those early-morning runs had paid off.

  I looked around for something to hide under, but there was nothing. Besides, we were already as wet as we could possibly be. It would almost have been funny, if it hadn’t been for the tension that had been building all morning, and Aedan’s sour expression. “What?” I yelled, finally cracking. “Why are you angry with me?”

  He stared at me. “You should have hit that guy. You should have stood up for yourself.”

  I looked at him incredulously. “What?”

  He looked even madder. “He was touching you! You know how to get in someone’s face, now. Why didn’t you?”

  “You think it was my fault?! Jesus, are you going to start blaming rape victims next?”

  “What are you talking about? I just want you to be able to stand up for yourself!” His eyes were flashing with anger, but I could see the concern there, too. “You did it with the woman at the mall. Why not him?”

  Oh. My. God. “You cannot be that stupid! He was a guy!”

  “So what?”

  “Are you kidding me?! Because—Because—” I stood there, rain streaming down my face, trying to find the words. “Because he’s a man! Because I’m a woman! Don’t you—don’t you get it?”

  He stood there staring at me.

  “Don’t you get what we’re scared of, when we get into any kind of a fight with a man?”

  I saw realization finally dawn. But he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not all men.”

  “Yes! All fucking men! When it’s a stranger, and he’s right in your face and he’s being aggressive! Jesus, how could you not know that?” My hair was being plastered across my face by the rain. I pushed it angrily out of the way. “You’ve taught me to fight; I’m still a woman!”

  His hands were bunching into fists, now. He didn’t want it to be true. “Not most guys. Some guys, maybe. Not most of us.”

  The rain had chilled me to the bone, now, and I was shivering. “Not all the time. But when you’re a woman and a guy’s aggressive with you—yes! We always have that fear!”

  He stared at me for a long time and I could see it slowly sinking in. “Jesus,” he said at last. Then, “Even me?”

  I shook my head, some of the anger leaving me. “No. Not you. I’ve never felt that way about you.”

  He nodded slowly and then turned away. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I’m really sorry. I just…” He shook his head in frustration and punched the dumpster so hard it rocked on its wheels. “I love you and I just want to protect you!”

  The rain hissed down between us, a solid wall of water. “What?” I said, my voice breaking.

  He shook his head. “I can’t—”

  “Yes! Yes, you can! Aedan, I love you too! I just—I don’t know what’s going on with us! Talk to me! Tell me why you keep pushing me away!”

  He shook his head again, glancing towards the street. I knew he was seconds away from walking off into the rain and, if he did, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him again. “Tell me! What can be so bad? Come on, if you really love me then talk to me!”

  He stared at the ground for a moment, the rain sluicing down his face. Then he finally looked up at me and nodded.

  Aedan

  “I’d just come over from Ireland,” I said. “Things had gone to hell with my family—that’s a whole different story—so I was pretty much on my own. But I was cocky as hell. I’d won those local championships back home and I thought I was going to be the next big thing. But I didn’t have a manager. No one knew me, no one wanted to take me on. I wound up at the bottom of the barrel.”

  “The Pit,” Sylvie said slowly. “With Rick.”

  I nodded. “I needed the money and it didn’t seem so bad, at first. I won my first five fights and that was a big deal, in that place. I was the champ and even in a shitty place like that, that means something. But the problem was, the better I got, the more people wanted to take me on.”

  She nodded. I could see her tensing up, preparing herself.

  “There’s only ever been two things I’m good at: fighting and fucking. I feel...right when I’m in the ring. Like that’s where I’m supposed to be.” I sighed. “I told you: I’m just a thug.”

  She shook her head defiantly. So I continued.

  “Rick keeps putting me up against people. Some of them start coming in from out of town, and people are betting big money and Rick, he’s taking his cut from the bookies. ‘Course, I don’t see much of it, but I’m doing okay. And Rick’s always telling me, ‘You’re my boy. You’re the best at this. You were made to do this.’ But then Rick starts wanting me to do stuff outside the ring. He wants me to accompany him around town.”

  “Like a bodyguard?”

  I shook my head bitterly. “Like a feckin’ dog. A weapon he can use to scare people. I don’t want to do it but I’m young and naive...I tell myself it’s not so bad. I mean, I’m just there for show. I’m not going to do anything. And it works, for a while. People who owe him money pay up. People invading his turf get the hell out. Everyone’s happy—except me. And Rick keeps telling me, ‘You’re my attack dog. You growl when I tell you to growl. Just a big, dumb, snapping hound.’ And I start to believe him.”

  I swallowed slowly. “But then, one day, it stops working. Some storeowner owes Rick money and won’t pay. So he has me smash their store.” I gave Sylvie a sickly grin. “You know how good I am at smashing stuff. And as I’m tearing up the place, I’m telling myself it’s okay because it’s only stuff—it’s not people. And Rick’s still telling me how good I am at this shit, how it’s a good job he’s here to make use of me, because no one else would want a stupid thug like me. And I guess I start to believe that, too.”

  Sylvie had gone pale. I’d known all along that this would happen. I’d known that, once she found out what I really was, her whole view of me would change. But I was too deep into this to stop now.

  “Then, a few weeks later, some guy disrespects Rick. So Rick tells me to break his arm.” I stared at the wall, unable to meet her eyes. “And the crazy thing is, as I’m feeling the bones snap, I’m telling myself it’s only an arm. He’ll recover. As if that makes it okay.” And Rick keeps telling me, ‘This is all you’re good for—beating seven shades of shit out of people.’ I took a deep breath. “And so it went on. Each week, I’d pummel some guy in the ring. The other days, I’d beat up whoever Rick told me to. Eventually, it all sort of blended together. I’d fight and then I’d come home and wash the blood off and go find some woman to fuck to help me forget. Rick’s happy and I’m making money. But when I look in the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself.”

  I felt suddenly very tired. I slumped against the dumpster and slid down it until I was sitting on the soaked ground. Sylvie suddenly knelt and threw her arms around me. She didn’t say anything. She just held me. I think she sensed that the worst was still to come.

  “This is where you think I saw the light,” I said bitterly. “This is where you think I had a revelation and turned around and stuck it to Rick.” I shook my head. “But that’s
not what happened.” I took a deep breath. “See, Rick had a problem. I was at my peak—every fight, I was getting better. I started getting calls from people who thought I could make it on the proper circuit. Rick figured it was only a matter of weeks until someone stole me away. So he came up with a plan.”

  “He put me up against this guy called Travere. Eric Travere. I’d fought him before a few times—a Frenchman, living in New York. Pretty good—a brawler, like me, but with a better reach. Killer left hook. But normally, I could have taken him. He could dish it out, but he couldn’t take it. A few good hits, maybe a couple of rounds, and he’d go down.”

  Sylvie took my hand, and I realized I’ve made fists. I tried to force myself to relax, but I couldn’t.

  “I get in the ring and, right away, I know something’s wrong. There’s a look in Eric’s eyes, like he’s going to win no matter what. We go for it and he starts slamming that left hook into me. I hit him a few times and he staggers, but he stays on his feet. Second round comes and it’s the same thing. I’m hitting him but he’s just not going down. Third round and the crowd are going nuts—they’ve never seen anyone last this long against me. And Rick, he’s there in that side room, grinning away and I know something’s wrong.”

  I let the rain wash down my face for a moment, but it didn’t make me feel any cleaner. I swallowed, feeling the nausea rising in my throat. “Fourth round. The guy’s bleeding from his head and I’m pretty sure I’ve broken some ribs. I get him in a clinch and I scream at him over the crowd”—my voice broke and it took a second before I could continue—”’Go down, you moron! What the feck is the matter with you? Go down!’ But he stays on his feet. Fifth round and he’s staggering—he just doesn’t have the energy to continue. So”—I swallowed and looked down at my lap for a second, then back to Sylvie—”so he grabs a broken bottle—back then, Rick didn’t used to have anyone sweep up before a fight. And he runs at me and, before I know what’s happening, he shoves it into my neck—”

  Sylvie clapped a hand over her mouth, going pale.

  “The blood starts gushing between my fingers and he’s still stabbing and twisting and I know that any second, he’s going to cut the vein and then I’m dead. I try to get it out of his hand, but he’s hanging onto that bottle for dear life. And I can see it in his eyes: he’s going to finish me. He’s that desperate to win—he’s just going to go until I’m dead.” I swallowed. “So I grab his shirt and pull him off his feet and down to the ground, and I start punching his face, because it’s the only way I can see to make him stop, and his head’s bouncing off the concrete and, after four punches, he lets go of the bottle. And he’s dead.”

  Sylvie sat there in shock for a moment. I knew what she was going to say: that it was self defense, that I had no choice.

  “That’s not the end of the story,” I told her. The words were hard to get out, now, each one foul and bitter. “The crowd ran. I sat there against the wall with my hand on my neck, blood dripping out of me, just staring at the body. Eventually, Rick’s goons show up and get rid of it. I wad up a towel and manage to stop the bleeding and stumble off to a doctor I know—someone who does stuff off the books. She tells me the guy missed my jugular by a hair. Really, I need a plastic surgeon to fix all the damage, but I can’t go near a hospital or there’ll be questions. She does the best she can with sutures, but I’m pretty much a patchwork by the end of it and it heals badly.” I ran my hand over the thick, ugly scars. “Hence the mess.”

  Sylvie nodded, tears in her eyes.

  “Everything goes quiet for a few days. Some rumors go around that someone’s been killed and the cops sniff about, but no one’s talking. Rick’s pretty good at this stuff—no one ever finds Travere’s body so, eventually, the cops drop it. I’m still in shock, but I figure I’ve been lucky. And I figure that I had no choice. He was some crazy fighter who went too far.”

  I took a deep breath. “Then I found out...he had a wife. And two kids. He was pretty much done with fighting, close to quitting until I came along and became the champ.” I shook my head. “See, Rick knew I was going to leave, sooner or later. So he needed to make as much money out of me as he could. He finds Travere—a guy who everyone knows I can beat. But he puts his own bet on—against me. And he takes Travere’s little girl and tells him that he’ll never see her again unless he kills me in the pit. Travere didn’t want to kill me. He was just doing what he had to, to protect his family.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Sylvie told me. “Rick used you. He set you up.”

  I shook my head. “It should have been me who died. He had a wife and kids. I had feckin’ no one. He had a life, outside of fighting. I was just a thug.” I looked into her eyes. “Tell me the world wouldn’t be a better place if I’d bled out, and that guy had gone home to his family that night.”

  Sylvie’s mouth moved a few times, but she couldn’t find the words.

  “Afterwards, I guess Rick didn’t know what the feck to do. He must have been mad as hell at losing his money, but he also must have figured I’d want to kill him. So I stayed clear of him and he didn’t come after me. I thought about turning myself in to the cops. The only thing that stopped me was the family. Rick gave the kid back the same night—she wasn’t hurt or anything. But he knew where they lived. If I copped to the murder, Rick would go down as an accessory, and he’d kill the mother to stop her testifying about any of it.”

  “So I quit. I got the first job I could, down at the docks, and moved into that shitty apartment, and decided I’d never fight again. But that didn’t fix anything. The first time I took the bandages off and saw my neck, I smashed the mirror. I realized what I’d become.” I turned to Sylvie. “It wasn’t just killing Travere in the ring. It was all the stuff I did for Rick. All those people I hurt. That’s all I’m good for, Sylvie—breaking stuff and causing pain. And I don’t want that for you.”

  I looked at her and I prayed. I prayed that I was wrong. I prayed that she’d say something to make it okay.

  But she just stared at me in horror and I knew I’d been right all along. I was exactly the monster I thought I was.

  I got up and walked away.

  Sylvie

  Say something.

  He was a killer. He’d actually killed someone and hurt many more.

  Stop him.

  Every warning my dad had ever given me ran through my head. Every concept of bad men. Ex-cons, with their prison tattoos. Rick’s bodyguards. Men I’d cross the street to avoid. Most of those men hadn’t killed anyone. But Aedan had.

  Call him back right now or you’re going to lose him.

  I tried to find a way around it. It was self-defense. He had no choice. But I couldn’t get past the image of the guy lying there on the floor of the pit, or his wife and kids at home. The knowledge was like a rock, crushing me down into the ground. This man I...loved...was a killer. Those same hands that had touched every part of my body had—Jesus.

  I watched him disappear around the corner and then just sat there, head hunched against the rain. I let it soak through my hair and stream to the ground. I let it run down inside my t-shirt and flow down my back.

  I imagined Rick slapping Aedan’s back after each fight, telling him over and over again how vicious he was. In some ways, it was a dark version of what Aedan had done for me—he’d changed his whole view of himself. But where Aedan had convinced me I could be strong, Rick had convinced Aedan that he was good for nothing but fighting. He’d twisted his mind. He was like a cruel dog owner who whips his animal until it snaps at anyone who comes near.

  And Aedan had finally broken free of all that and sentenced himself to a life of solitude. And I’d showed up and asked him to train me...to hit me. God, that must have been unbearable for him. Just agreeing to train me, going back to that whole world...I felt sick at what I’d put him through. And yet he’d done it all, and for a stranger. I thought back to when he’d gone to The Pit with me and volunteered to take my place. He’d actually bee
n willing to return to fighting—his worst nightmare—and for Rick, a man he must hate more than anyone in the world. All to protect me.

  Maybe he was right—there was no fixing this. Nothing would bring back the men he’d killed. But he was trying to redeem himself. Shouldn’t that count for something?

  I sat there frozen for another few seconds...and then jumped to my feet and raced after him.

  Out on the street, out of the shelter of the alley, the rain pounded at your head and flooded your eyes. Cars had slowed down to a crawl and were sending huge fantails of rainwater up onto the sidewalk. I had to squint just to see Aedan—he was almost half a block away and moving fast.

  “Aedan!” I yelled. No response.

  I started to run. Rain was streaming down my face and getting in my mouth, making it difficult to breathe. I tried to go faster, but my sneakers were sodden sponges and my soaked jeans weighed me down. At every side street I had to double-check for trucks pulling out, because the rain made it impossible to hear. “Aedan!”

  I never could have caught him if I hadn’t gotten into shape. But slowly, agonizingly, I gained. I was panting and gasping when I finally caught his arm and spun him around. Every muscle in his body was tense. He stared down at me, braced and ready. Ready for whatever useless platitude I could offer. Ready for me to lie and say it was okay. I knew none of that was going to work.

  “You fucked up,” I said at last, spitting it out through the rain. “You did a really bad thing. But you’re already paying for it, every day. I’ve seen the way you look at yourself. Walking away from this, walking away from me—that’s not making things better. Torturing yourself won’t help.”

  “You really want to be around someone like me?”

  “Yes!” I took his face between my hands. “Rick used you! He manipulated you and Eric. He’s the one who should suffer.” I gently put my arms around him. “I can’t make this go away—ever. I can’t even tell you it’s okay, or that you shouldn’t feel guilty. But I can tell you I love you.”