Addicted

by Alycia Taylor

  The referee came over and helped us peel apart. As he pulled me to my feet, I realized that my knee was swollen to about three times its normal size and I could barely put my weight on it. I limped with the ref to the middle of the cage and tried to smile as he held my arm up. The crowd screamed and banged their feet into the floor. All I really wanted was to take my aching body home. I’d be happy about the win tomorrow.

  I tolerated about fifteen minutes of the pictures, back slaps, and stupid questions before deciding it was time to leave.

  “I need to get the hell out of here Sam.”

  “No problem kid.”

  Sam used his big guy body and status to push our way through the sea of adrenaline pumped people and back to the private locker room I had in the back. Mine was private because Sam’s brother-in-law owned the place, and nights like tonight I was very happy about that. I stripped down and stepped into the makeshift shower with the rust on the tile and the crappy plumbing that backed up onto your ankles before it drained. The hot water felt so damn good on my muscles but burned each cut.

  When I realized that I was falling asleep under the water, I rinsed off and grabbed my towel. I stepped out, dripping water and blood and limped over to the chair. Dropping down into it I asked Sam, “So, how did I do?”

  “You got your ass kicked,” Sam said.

  I could always count on him for the flower-y words. I tried to laugh and instantly regretted it. My face fucking hurt.

  “I won,” I said, knowing full well what his response was going to be. I even mouthed it as he said, “You got lucky.”

  I sat back in the chair with my eyes closed until he patched up my face as well as he could and stuck a piece of cotton in my still bleeding ear. I still hadn’t looked at my face; my knee actually bothered me worse than anything else and it was probably because I could see it. When Sam finished with me I got dressed in a pair of sweats that were in my bag. I had no intentions of trying to pull on a pair of Levi’s at the moment. Then I threw on a t-shirt and a ball cap.

  “I’ll see you on Tuesday Sam.”

  “You sure you can drive home? Can you see out of that eye?” he asked me.

  “I’ll be fine,” I told him. “It’s only six point eight miles.”

  Sam watched me go with that look he sometimes gave me like he had no idea how a guy who could fight so well could be so weird.

  I drove home with my injured eye closed. It was starting to swell and it just hurt too damn much to hold it open any more. When I walked briskly into the house I could see a faint light from the living room. Emmi was out of her cave.

  She was sitting on the couch with her laptop and her camera, likely downloading pictures. As I passed by she looked up at me. A sharp intake of breath came from her mouth.

  “Oh Jesus! Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes widening.

  “Yeah, the other guy’s in worse shape,” I said.

  Original, I know.

  I didn’t bother trying to smile; I didn’t have the strength for it anyway. I limped into the bathroom and heaved my beaten, bloody body down onto the toilet. Sam was right; my face did look like hamburger. Maybe the other guy didn’t look worse.

  I tugged off my shirt and hat. I checked my ribs first. They had begun to throb on the drive home. Looking at them now, they looked bruised, but I didn’t think anything was broken. At least they felt steady as much as I was able to tolerate the pain and push in on them. I sat there and realized that one thing was blaringly apparent: Emmi hadn’t followed me in. Maybe she was happy that I’d taken such a beating.

  CHAPTER TEN

  EMMI

  I felt like I was paralyzed as I watched him limp by. He looked pathetic and I wanted to go to him badly. If I hadn’t known where he just came from, I would have thought he’d just been in a horrible car accident and shouldn’t even still be alive.

  He was wearing a cap, which I’d never seen him do before, but I could see blood caked in one of his ears and his beautiful face had a cut, slice, or bruise on almost every area of visible skin. The old cut above his right eye looked like it had reopened and made it even worse. It was partially patched up at the moment, but I could see dried blood around the edges of it, and where it had dripped down into his eyebrow. It was starting to swell and I wondered if he would even be able to open it in the morning. His full lips were cracked and bleeding in places as well and his jaw was so swollen that I wondered if he still had all of his teeth. There was blood matted in the little bit of hair I could see sticking out of his hat and he was limping and hunched over like an old man. I couldn’t imagine allowing that to be done to you, voluntarily, or doing it to someone else either.

  What was driving him to keep doing this?

  I tried to force myself to stay put. It would just be weird if I went in there, all of a sudden returning to girlfriend mode… wouldn’t it? I hadn’t spoken to him in almost a week, what would I say? I pictured his poor bloody, bruised face again, the dark purple beginning to color his orbital sockets and I told myself that what I did or did not say at this point was probably the least of his worries and should be the least of mine.

  I had to go see if he was alright, or if he needed any help. Regardless of how angry I had been with him, I couldn’t just leave him in there alone like that.

  I got up and padded down the hall, anxiety finding its way into my chest. When I got to the bathroom door I saw it was halfway open. I stuck my head around the corner and saw him sitting on top of the toilet in just his sweatpants. He was trying to do something to the cut over his eye, but his knuckles and the backs of his hands were as swollen as the rest of him and they were shaking too hard to hold onto the bandage. I watched as it slipped from his hand and hit the floor. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I wasn’t sure if he would want it, but I had to offer my help. I pushed the door in and he looked up at me. He winced as if that simple movement caused him pain.

  “Let me help,” I told him.

  He didn’t say anything; he just sat there and let me take the first aid kit out of his hands. I used the betadine swabs I found inside of it to begin cleaning his cuts.

  “When we finish here, we need to get you an ice pack for that eye.”

  It was not only cut and bruised, but it was blowing up fast. The effect of it was causing him to look a little bit like the elephant man. Was winning worth all of this to him? I didn’t even know if he had won. I had to ask.

  “Did you at least win?”

  He tried to grin and winced instead.

  “Of course,” he said through swollen lips.

  Even beaten to a bloody pulp, he was ever my arrogant Braxton. I knelt down on the floor next to him and began to tend to the scratches and small cuts on his chest. I cleaned them and put on antibiotic ointment, then a bandage. His ribs on his right side were covered with a dark, ugly bruise that looked like it was already threatening to turn black. I touched them gently with my fingertips and he jerked and winced.

  “Do you think they’re broken?” I asked him.

  He looked down at them and the look in his eyes said that he was either drunk from pain and fatigue or from having his head pounded in. Either way, I needed to hurry up so he could lie down. I didn’t want him getting further injuries from passing out in the bathroom. When I had finished with all of his exposed wounds, I noticed the material of his sweats stretched tight across his left knee.

  He had been limping when he came in.

  “Is your knee okay?” I asked him.

  He only shrugged slightly. He was watching my every move, but not saying a word. I had to wonder how much he was even processing.

  “Let me see it,” I told him.

  He lifted his hips slightly and let me slide the pants down. I was glad to see he was wearing boxers underneath. I gasped when I revealed his knee. I looked up at him.

  “Go lay down in your bed. You need an ice pack for that. I’ll bring it back to you with some Ibuprofen that will help with the swelling and the pain.” />
  I expected him to say, “Okay” or “No,” but instead he just gazed at me.

  “Emmi. I love you.”

  I knew it wasn’t the normal or expected response, but I just sat there on the bathroom floor and stared at him in shock. My heart assaulted my chest and pounded inside my ears.