Rebel Rockstar

by Marci Fawn

  “Man, is that who I think it is?”

  “Yeah, I think so. He does kind of look different – “

  “ – I don’t know – “

  Yeah, words, words, and more words. They’re probably debating whether the gossip they’ve heard about me is true. I’m not in the mood for it and I make eye contact with one of the little twats.

  I hope he tries to hit me so I have a reason to take out some of my anger, even though I have a match coming up in the next few days and getting in a fight with some random civilian isn’t going to help my reputation any.

  Like I give a fuck about my reputation anymore.

  Not even anymore.

  I never did.

  I’m not even out of my seat when the guy drops his eyes and says something to his friends. A few of them scatter off, but the guy and another one walk up to me, asking for an autograph.

  So they weren’t looking to start shit in the first place. One of them peels off their shirt while the other looks for a security guard, making sure no one sees them. It’s early, though, and the place is pretty empty. I don’t know why these guys are even here.

  “Strict no shirt no service rule,” one of them explains.

  I grunt, not caring enough to even nod. I give them a quick scribble that’s nowhere near clear enough to be my name. Not that it matters. I really hate being River Xavier.

  But when the flight announces its arrival and calls for people to get on, it doesn’t matter who I am. I’m just another face in a mass of, well, a few, since there aren’t many people here, trying to get on a plane to get their 6:30 flight out of Santorini, Greece.

  Out and away from everything I’ve ever loved.

  As soon as I’m back in the States, I’m swarmed by people. There’s so many people with so many cameras and so many reporters with questions. I almost forgot all about it.

  Unfortunately, part of me remembers – it’s hard to forget people intruding your business like they belong in it and asking you questions you didn’t even consider asking yourself.

  I try as hard as I can to ignore all of the questions, but some of them – almost all of them are – about Faith slip through. I turn my head to the sky instead of down, so these people won’t think I’m afraid of them. I could have them all crying back to their mothers if I wanted to, although that’d probably get me thrown in jail, but…

  I’m not afraid of any of these fuckers and I won’t listen to any of them. Nor will I put up with their shit.

  One of them – a scrawny guy in an awkward plaid shirt – stands in my way and tries to block my path, but I just throw my hand out like I’m about to shove him and he jumps out of the way immediately.

  Good.

  Autograph request.

  Question.

  Question.

  Loaded statement.

  It goes on and on, and Coach is by my side walking me through it – not for emotional benefit, but to make sure I don’t beat the shit out of anyone. I’m glad for it, because if he weren’t here with his hand on my arm and keeping me pressed forward, I probably would have hit someone by now.

  We get to the car and the ride is bumpy, but surprisingly silent. Coach takes out a water bottle and offers it to me. I shrug and don’t take it and he throws it at my lap. I catch it before it hits my junk and I glare at him, but he talks first. People are getting better at interrupting me, especially when they have some form of authority over me.

  “What the hell do you think you were doing?” Coach says. His voice isn’t mad at me, although the words he’s voicing say otherwise. I glance at him, waiting for him to say more. He doesn’t, so I guess it’s my turn to answer.

  “I think I was doing something that was actually good for me, for once in my life,” my voice is flat too, although the words are edged. Two can play at that game.

  “I get that,” he nods, and his voice goes softer. The words changed from would-be pissed to just… Coach. He’s supportive, like a father I hadn’t had, even when my father was the one who forced me into boxing to go and meet this man. It’s ironic, in a way.

  “Is she that special?”

  “More,” my voice catches and I pretend that I’m thirsty, opening the bottle he tossed to me and drinking from it. I’m suddenly grateful for it and know that that’s exactly the intention he had when he passed it to me, and he nods again. I’m not settling for water, though, and as soon as we get out of this limo, I’m searching for beer.

  “You’ll see her again if you were meant to,” Coach says, and he claps my back again as if we’re back in the ring. Then it’s back to boxing talk. “So we’re going to get you into some training before the fight. You’ve gone soft.”

  “I could never go soft,” I scowl at him.

  “Your response is pretty much a yes, kid,” he says, and then he rolls down the window to check where we are. He knocks on the screen and tells the limo driver we’re here, and then we get out.

  Back to my old gym. I exit the limo, and go through the doors, inhaling the familiar scent of trained violence and sweat.

  And I know that Coach had the wrong concerns, because as soon as I’m in front of the bag with the gloves on my hands, I know I’m in my element.

  There are cheers and screams as I make my way up to the ring, but it’s quieter than usual. I’m getting ready to hit the man I’m fighting before round one is even called, and as soon as the whistle blows, my fist is on flesh.

  Hit, hit.

  My knuckles connect with his skin and I can feel them bleed even through the glove, that’s how hard I hit.

  I hit him again as he tries to hit me back, and in my frenzy to jab him as much as I can he gets a cross in. I hit him, trying not to kick him, trying to remember that this is a boxing match and that there are rules to it, even if I just really want to fucking hurt someone.

  Pent up frustration.

  Hit.

  Sweat dripping down my brow.

  I throw him to the ground and beat him, my fists frantic in their attempt just to get out everything I’ve ever felt wronged by –

  The match ends when the ref and a few men have to pull me off him at the end of round three.

  I push them away, standing angrily and looking on as people cheer for me, my eyes probably full of hate. It spurs on the cheering more and I rip my gloves from my hands, tossing them over to the ring towards the crowd.

  They reach for them, desperate to be the one to have the gloves River Xavier just won with.

  I ignore it all, not the way I’d used to.

  I’m too tired for any of it.

  But no one in the crowd notices, and no one cares. I look over to the rows of people and smile over them, feeling a buzz from earlier. I was so angry I only just now realize I’m… I’m not drunk. Not yet. I gesture to some of the women I see – at least ones close to me – not ready to fall back into that bad boy gap I’d left open, but still wanting to lose myself in some women’s roles that needed filled…

  I would get over Faith this way for now. At least for tonight, I could play pretend.

  57

  Faith

  The apartment is different from when I was last here, and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing. It feels like it’s better in a way – absence of Jason? – but like it’s missing something. I’m not used to being in this apartment in a man here, and…

  River.

  He would fit in perfectly, splaying himself out across the sofa and smirking as he got up to get some food, to grab me, or to just tease Dawn. To bond with us.

  The room is full of everything I left here before we went on that cruise to Greece, but I’m filled with a sense of sadness and nostalgia as soon as I open the door. I’m not even inside the apartment yet. I wonder if I’d feel this way if Jason and I had come back together.

  I shake my head and smile down at Dawn, motioning for her to go in first.

  She’s standing beside me but she shakes her head at me, too, frantically, as she holds out a hand and d
emands I give the suitcase to her. Both of our stuff had been packed in it and she wanted to carry it.

  “Okay, little woman,” I ruffle her hair, imitating River’s voice as best I could and imagining how parents would sometimes call their little boys little men.

  Dawn smiles and grabs it from me, dragging it as best she can into the foyer. The living room is clear and otherwise empty and it leads into a clear view of the kitchen. There’s still a pot on the stove and I move over to it, praying that no one left leftover food out in the open for two weeks.

  It’s squeaky clean.

  Thank goodness.

  A pang of guilt washes over me as I enter the kitchen, reminding me that River had teased me about his cooking skills, and had really wanted to cook for me…

  And I hadn’t let him. Now he probably wouldn’t be able to.

  We wouldn’t have that chance, just like we wouldn’t have many others. Why was I so preoccupied with River in my own apartment when he’d only been here once? Drunk and…

  The doorbell rings.

  It’s probably Sabrina.

  She wanted to stop by a store on the way home and said she’d be a little late… But my heart springs with hope that it might be River, coming to the door to tell me that he still hasn’t given up on me.

  I rush to the door to open it only to see the least likely face, one I haven’t thought of in… Okay, well, I thought of him earlier, but that was only because we were engaged to be married.

  Jason.

  In a casual suit type of thing. I don’t know what to call it.

  And…

  Carrying flowers.

  Red roses, not white like the ones River gave me. Would have gotten for me, if it were him at the door right now instead of –

  I’m already slamming the door in his face when I notice his foot in the crack of the door, keeping it open. He screams in pain – River would never have done that – just as Sabrina comes running up the stairs, a plastic bag promising magical cupcakes in her arms.

  “What the hell?” Sabrina’s face doesn’t fit the pink, princessy look of the promised baked goods in her hand. “Jason? Get the hell out.”

  Only his foot is in the apartment, but I’m inclined to agree with Sabrina. What the…?

  Dawn’s in her room, thankfully. She doesn’t need to see this. Jason raises his hands over his head and turns to Sabrina, his back to me like I’m not a threat – because, I realize, I’m…

  Not.

  At least, not probably.

  “I just want another chance.” He turns back to me. “I messed up, baby, fo—“

  He’s interrupted by a shriek of laughter from Dawn, who apparently is not in her room.

  I thanked no one for nothing.

  Dammit!

  I look to see what got this reaction, needing to know what made Jason’s face go from manipulative and lying to a pure “o” of shock.

  Sabrina has a cupcake out, all white frosting with blue sprinkles, and it’s…

  Smeared all over the back of his head.

  Sabrina puts a finger out and grabs some of the frosting, bringing it to her mouth and giving it a lick. Her face breaks out in a grimace.

  “You ruined it,” she moans. “God! Get out!”

  With a look of pure confusion and shock, Jason leaves.

  “That was really weird,” I say. I don’t know what else to say, as lame as that is. Everything is blank and somehow that’s the only thing that comes to mind.

  I’m just focused on how pained I am without River. Everything’s about him. And is Sabrina talking about him or am I?

  “Girl! Listen,” Sabrina taps her foot, demanding attention and I realize where Dawn got that particular trait from.

  “I know you’re thinking about River. Don’t lie to me.”

  I look away from her, saying nothing. She continues-

  “I’m not going to grab your chin like he does, Faith. Faith Collins!” I look at her, surprised she used my full name, even though it’s something she’s done plenty of times.

  “You go after River, Faith. He’s not going to give up on you. So you don’t get to give up on him either.”

  I shrug, looking away from her again, the shock value gone. “I just got home. I’m tired. I don’t even know where he is – “

  “He’s at that one hotel down the block from the sandwich shop,” Sabrina says, coming into the foyer and pushing me back out the door. “There’s a match in the crown room, or something. No excuses. Now I’ll watch Dawn.” She pushes me again. “Go.”

  “Wait, I –“

  She raises a hand. “I said no excuses. You’ll see the flyers.”

  Tabloids are what got us in this mess, but I’m grateful for them because the only reason I’m let backstage is because the bouncers recognize me. The line is a mess and people are horrible, and I’m starting to regret coming back here.

  I can’t back out now.

  The man nods me in and I go searching through the back. There’s chairs, people standing about, and papers, and there’s some punching bags and gloves and training equipment that I can only assume are for River. A woman in heels glares at me and is beckoning to others to throw me out when Coach Daniels gestures to me with a sweeping hand motion.

  The people walking towards me stop immediately, and Coach points at me before clutching his finger into a hook to get me to come over. So I go.

  “Hey, do you k—“

  “I know you’re looking for River,” he says. “He’s back over there.”

  He nods to an open door that’s cut off only by a curtain, and I finally hear the sounds of people stampeding and calling for fights while men hit each other in a ring. I look through it briefly, trying to see if I can make out River from this angle, but from where I’m standing, I can’t see anything.

  “It doesn’t help that you’re short,” Coach Daniels says. “Wait back here and as soon as the match is over, I’ll send you right out.”

  It’s only a matter of minutes. Coach nods me over saying that it’s time for me to go out, and he pulls the curtain back for me. I open it the rest of the way, peeling myself through the heavy black curtain and into the ring.

  It smells worse on this side, but that’s to be expected – this is where the actual fighting is going on. I see River now, standing in the ring victorious –

  With women surrounding him. He’s throwing his arms around them and presenting his cheek to them for kisses, then turning his face to the side so he gets their lips smack on the mouth. I can’t believe what I’m seeing but he’s here, it’s him, and he makes eye contact with me.

  One of his arms slips out from around one of the women, and it’s almost like he’s starting to stumble towards me.

  Is he drunk? How drunk is he? I turn away from him, running through the crowds because it’s easier than letting him just follow me backstage, and he’ll have to get through the ring of the swarms of people anyway…

  I think I pass by Jason again, but I’m not sure.

  The tears in my eyes make it hard to be sure about a lot of things.

  58

  River

  I’m not sure if she’s real or if she’s just part of my imagination. I turn to kiss the blonde to the right of me pretending it’s a cheek kiss – and I’m in no mood for cheek kisses, and there’s only one girl I’d be thinking about anyway, and it’s not like I should be thinking about her right now at all…

  It’s definitely Faith. Her hair, her frame, the pained look in her eyes…

  I cringe, trying to pull myself away from the women I’m entangled with on stage, but it only makes it look like I’m wrapping my body around them even more.

  I’m definitely drunk. Fuck.

  I try to run to Faith, but my legs are wobbly beneath me and every movement I try to make cuts out and fucks up about halfway through its intent.

  I collapse, my legs curling up beneath me as I watch Faith run out the door. Dimly, I think I see a familiar face trail after her,
but –

  I feel the burning pool in my stomach before it makes its way up to my throat. I gag, trying to calm myself, urging my body to calm down. I can’t vomit right now. I don’t care if other people see me; I just need to get to Faith.

  I can’t control it though, and my throat gives way to the hot chunks spraying out through my mouth, through my nose… I gurgle, unleashing an inhuman noise I couldn’t even recognize as coming from me if I didn’t know what this looks like. I have experience dealing with being a sick drunk, but not with dealing with them –

  Coach was onto something with just the water. I sense, more than see, the girls around me jumping away from me as I vomit, and I hear the ref call for Coach. He’s going to have to deal with me and my shit.

  Fuck…

  Faith!

  “Congratulations on passing out again after your first match back,” Thomas says. He’s clearly displeased, tucking his phone back into his pocket guiltily. I wonder if I was interrupting some booty call of his, and then I remember who exactly I’d seen him tangled up with: Sabrina.

  And Sabrina’s best friend, who I’d last seen…

  It all floods back to me.

  Last night.

  I try to lean up on my elbows, but I fall back again clutching my forehead after a pounding headache. I groan. I’ve been fucked up before, but it’s never been this bad. Now isn’t the time.

  “Mumbling about some girl isn’t going to get you out of this,” I hear him say.

  But it’s like he’s underwater. I recognize the sounds of the words he’s saying, but it takes me too long to get the meaning that I don’t reply. My throat is dry and feels ripped, like discarded paper. I open my eyes as best I can – a slit at most – and try to figure out where I am.

  There’s a couch beneath me, but it might be a bed… I don’t know. It’s reasonably comfortable and there’s many blankets. I sigh, but it turns into a lung-hocking cough.