Love TKO

by Selene Chardou

  “How often does she decide to go off her meds?”

  “Three, maybe four times a year. I’ll just deal with it like I always do but I wish she’d chosen a more convenient time to do this.”

  “And when you leave for Paris, what will you do then? Do you plan to take her with you?”

  I shook my head. “Sienna is my older sister and I can’t take care of her forever. She knows if she fucks up majorly then I will fly back here and commit her. I’ve done it once before. She was institutionalized when I was eighteen because I couldn’t handle my job and her acting crazy, not taking her meds. I was too young to know how to handle her, and my mom had already bailed by then. She’d married her husband and moved to Zurich…we were both officially adults and she couldn’t give a shit what happened to us.”

  Torin pulled me down to the ground and we both sat down next to one another. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me your mother abandoned you with your mentally ill sister? Did she at least leave any money?”

  “Are you kidding me? She said she’d whored herself out to take care of us and now we would have to fend for ourselves. Sienna was an aspiring painter and I was working at Coach and going to Reno Community College. I couldn’t do both so I just…quit school and began working full time.”

  “Do you hold any animosity toward her? That was a pretty shitty thing to do to you.”

  “Not really.” I shrugged my shoulders apathetically. “I mean, she didn’t do anything wrong and my mother has always been selfish. She takes care of herself first and there is nothing ethically untoward about her attitude. We were both adults and I did what I had to do. Sienna and I are both fine and she’s been living with her illness for over ten years. She knows I am a phone call away and regardless what happens or where I live, I will always be here for her. She makes a great living from her paintings and there are Trusts set up for her and her children.”

  “You’ve thought of everything except yourself. What about you? What did you plan to do? Wait until you settled in Paris to actually find a guy and have a life of your own?” He grabbed my hand closest to him and held it within his own.

  “Something like that.” I glanced into his gorgeous blue eyes. “I didn’t actually count on meeting you. I consider myself a pretty realistic girl. I couldn’t have planned this scenario if I tried and perhaps you only want me so bad because you know I am unattainable. We usually want what we can’t have—it’s human nature, after all.”

  “Nah, not much I ever wanted I couldn’t have…it’s just not wantin’ it long term. You’re the first since…Madeline. She was the one great love of my life and we were sixteen so I’m not sure if it was lust or love or both. Her heart was huge and you remind me of her in a lot of ways. She was just this amazing and gorgeous woman with dark hair, pale skin and the brightest grayish-green eyes you’ve ever seen.”

  “What happened to her?” I questioned as he stood and helped me to my feet.

  He glared at me with eyes that had grown cold and desolate. “I told her to wait for me but it wasn’t in the cards. Did I mention she was fucking brilliant? She managed to get into Cambridge and graduated with honors. Afterwards, she became a novelist, got a fat contract with a New York publisher and married the perfect Frenchman. Madeline, Pierre and their two perfect children divide their time between Dublin and Paris.”

  “Are you hungry? You think we should have lunch? I’m starving.”

  “You’re good at that. I love that about you.”

  “What?” I questioned with a completely innocent look on my face though I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Changing the subject.”

  “Thanks.” I brushed the dust off my ass. “Hey, you want a real meal? We can forgo the Trader Joe’s crap and I could make us a late lunch when we get back to my home?”

  “Are you tryin’ to say something about my food choices?”

  “Hell, no. I just wanted to get back to maybe catch the end of the Seahawks and Forty-niners game.”

  Torin wrapped an arm around my shoulders before he kissed the side of my forehead. “Ya see? Didn’t I tell you we were tailor made for one another?”

  I laughed out loud.

  Yeah, until you find out I’m a whore.

  Chapter Nine

  Torin

  TORIN HAD NO idea what to expect from Chiara when they got back to her house but she turned on her sixty-inch television and gave him the remote.

  “Okay, I’m gonna go make some snacks.” She turned her back to him and he couldn’t help but admire her perfect ass in a tight pair of black skinny jeans. “You wanna a beer?”

  He settled on her comfortable wrap-around sofa and kicked off his shoes before he propped them on her oak magazine table. “Sure. What kind you have?”

  “Imported. Becks or Heineken?”

  “Heineken is fine.”

  “Okay, cool. Be right back.”

  Torin caught the end of commentary on how the Broncos had beat the Patriots and his heart sank a little. He’d lived in Boston when he’d first come to the States and had a soft spot for their sports teams. However, with an ancient quarterback, he wasn’t surprised Manning had more drive than New England’s.

  The Seahawks and Forty-niners game began just as Chiara strode out of the kitchen with an open bottle of Heineken and handed it to him. He couldn’t help but grab her and pull her onto his lap.

  “Thank you.” He stared into her amber eyes and he could see all of her at that moment.

  She’s a professional, you fuckin’ idiot. You fell hook, line and sinker for what you claim to disgust.

  Torin ignored his inner thoughts and pretended if it never came out then what difference did it make?

  He was in fucking love with a lady of the evening.

  A prostitute.

  An escort.

  Dress it up any way he liked but she was definitely a pro at what she did and very good at hiding but not as good as she thought because he could see right through her. Somehow, he couldn’t condemn her, not after knowing her rough background and how she was left on her own to take care of a mentally ill sister.

  Chiara didn’t have to fill in the blanks. A mental institution wasn’t cheap and a career she had no problem with in the past now made her ashamed because he knew how he would react if she actually spoke the truth.

  He was a walking contradiction.

  Torin was a man-whore and not proud of it but he would judge Chiara and that’s just the way it was. He knew it but she knew it too, instinctively, and she patiently waited for the other shoe to drop.

  When did he put two and two together? The night they met? She was just too good at knowing what men wanted and she tried to give him an out but he’d been too stupid to take it and now he’d gone and fallen for someone just as damaged and broken as he was.

  He kissed her lips tenderly. “You’re a gem. A hidden diamond in the rough and you deserve someone better than me. You should live out the rest of your life in utter bliss, you know that, don’t you?”

  Chiara smiled in that ironic way she curled her lips. “Save it for someone who would honestly fall for those cheesy lines. How do you like Buffalo wings, chicken pot stickers and a Caesar salad? I haven’t exactly had time to grocery shop lately?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Good.” She slid off his lap and walked back into the kitchen.

  It should have made sense to him before now.

  The deadline and how guarded she was about what she did for a living but he couldn’t bring himself to judge her. She’d done what she’d had to for her sister and her to live a comfortable life. If he condemned that then he had a million things on his own head.

  Including his own father’s death.

  Everyone knew that wasn’t an accident and he’d caused it but no one would dare speak it out loud.

  Torin was as far from a choir boy as a man could get.

  If he faulted Chiara for her decisions in
life then what could he say about himself?

  He was a murderer after all.

  He could justify it any way he wanted to and dress the situation up but it would still be the same outcome.

  Torin swallowed his lager in several swallows and placed the bottle on the table. He wasn’t even buzzed, at least he didn’t feel it.

  As he stood, he felt like he was sleepwalking. He watched Chiara cook as she hummed a song under her breath.

  “What are you singin’?” he wondered and cursed his Irish accent. It always became more pronounced the more he drank.

  “You want something stronger? Is the Niners and Seahawks game that painful?”

  “Yes on the drink. No, on the game. I just like watchin’ ya move. You’re like a ballet dancer. Every movement is loose yet pronounced.”

  Chiara glanced at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What are you talking about? I’m just cooking. There is nothing fluid about my movements, babe. Unless you found my Macallan and raided the good shit.”

  “You have a bottle of Scotch that is thirty years old?”

  “Well, I also have Irish whiskey too. Do you prefer Jameson?”

  He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You just saved my life. I haven’t had Jameson in forever. I would give anything to have one…neat.”

  “Okay. On one condition. You don’t watch me cook. You should be watching the game and I’ll bring your Irish whiskey. I promise.” She turned slightly toward him as he intently watched her profile.

  “Fine. Though I quite enjoy observing you.” His face nuzzled her neck before he realized what he was doing and he was overcome by the smell of her sweet smelling perfume but beneath that was the subtle scent of amber and coconut.

  “Does this have anything to do with you not havin’ a girlfriend since you were sixteen? Do you miss the intimacy that comes with a real relationship?” she inquired in soft voice.

  “What’s intimacy to you?” he answered her question with one of his own.

  “This. People just don’t touch each other unless there is some kind of emotional connection. It’s the reason why there are just certain things you do and don’t do unless you…care about someone. Out of sheer curiosity, would you do this with someone you just had a one night stand with?”

  “Of course not. There isn’t that feeling…that intensity to just touch someone you’re purely attracted to in a sexual way.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Well, with the typical ‘victim of lust?’” Torin teased out loud.

  She laughed out loud, and it was throaty yet seductive at the same time. “Yes, if that is what you prefer as opposed to a ‘skank’, ‘slut’ or ‘ho.’ If it makes you feel better to humanize them then perhaps you can be cured of your affliction.”

  “What affliction would that be?”

  “Using women and discarding them like used Kleenex because that is the only type of ‘intimacy’ you think you’re capable of feeling. Or maybe it is just easier to not care about people…it certainly makes going through life a lot more painless.”

  “Okay…fine…but don’t I have to admit I have a problem first?” He grabbed a carrot stick and began to munch on it.

  “I suppose so but surely you can’t believe your behavior is healthy. A real relationship can’t be replaced by meaningless one night stands. Nor can it fill an empty spot in your heart.”

  Torin rolled his eyes as he backed up until he reached the kitchen island counter and hopped up on it. “Is this what you do in your spare time? Is that your profession? Are you a shrink?”

  Chiara laughed again before she stuck a piece of celery in her mouth. “Course not or I wouldn’t have been at Jesse’s party Friday night. I’m just saying that I’ve had to learn more than I care to admit about psychology to understand my sister’s disease.”

  She paused and finished cutting up the celery sticks. “Listen, when she was diagnosed with manic depression, I didn’t know what that meant. I mean…I thought she would go through rages like in the film, The Incredible Hulk. I just hoped she wouldn’t turn green when she was in the middle of a mania attack.

  “I didn’t realize that her going off her meds wouldn’t necessarily have her bouncing off the walls. She’s done it before and has been just fine. Other times, she goes off her meds and becomes a slobbering mess. She won’t get out of bed or shower or look after Amelie or Angelo. Other times, she goes crazy and stays up for five days straight and does nothing but paint, shower, and smoke pot. I mean…no one can predict what’s gonna happen but she obviously has a mental illness. At least I know and can understand that.”

  “Why? Do you have a mental illness?”

  “God no or I would have gone nuts ages ago…unless you count anxiety disorder but who doesn’t have a touch of that? I suppose we’re all a bit crazy in the end.”

  “What do you take for your anxiety issue?”

  “Xanax and Wellbutrin but the Xanax is for ‘whenever it gets too bad the Wellbutrin isn’t doing its job.’ I don’t have the easiest job in the world but you changed this whole conversation just so you wouldn’t have to talk about your various intimacy issues.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and placed his hands on the edge of the island. “Yeah, I guess I’m pretty fucked up when it comes to being intimate with someone. I mean…my last real girlfriend left me and married some French intellectual fuck so yeah, she made me feel pretty motherfuckin’ inadequate. I don’t think I was good with intimacy then either. Sex was always a Band-Aid we used to cover up every issue we had and obviously, it wasn’t a healthy way to conduct a relationship.”

  “Are you sure you want to go down this road of intimacy with me, Tor?” she wondered as she poured him an Irish whiskey and walked it over to him. “There is so much you don’t know about me although I must admit, you know more than most people in my life.”

  “The small group of friends you surround yourself with who are nothing more than acquaintances? Yeah, I get that. You’re not exactly great at this intimacy thing either, are you?” He swigged from his whiskey and savored the burn as he swallowed it.

  “No, I’m not. It’s hard to be good with intimacy when you know fuck all about love and…it’s never been for me. I just…I can’t grasp the whole concept of loving someone who was once a complete stranger so much that you would do…anything for them. It’s not something I blame on my mother or father or sister because these are my issues and I have to work them out alone.”

  Chiara leaned against the island and folded her arms under her breasts. “It would be too easy to blame a crappy childhood or a mother who cared more about herself than she did her children but where is the fun in that? When do I start to take responsibility for my own life, as an adult? I made my own mistakes and I’m not proud of them but I’m not ashamed either. Sometimes, you have to do what you gotta do and no one can understand that better than me. I don’t judge anyone because I don’t have a right to and I hope no one makes snap judgments about me although I’m used to it happening.”

  Torin swallowed the rest of his whiskey and placed the glass beside him before he grabbed her and held her body close to his. “You’re too good to be true. Who doesn’t blame their parents for their fuck ups? It’s just not…normal.”

  “Me, that’s who. They might have made their fair share of contributions but once I turned eighteen, my life became my own and I can’t blame them because to do that absolves me of all responsibility and that isn’t fair. Not when I knew exactly what I was doing.”

  Her statement seemed unfinished, as if there was something else to go along with it but instead of continuing, she kissed his hands and maneuvered herself from his embrace.

  “I have to finish making our late lunch and you have a football game to watch.” She winked at him before she turned and walked back into the kitchen.

  The woman was truly an enigma; a puzzle he wanted desperately to solve but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be that day or anytime so
on.

  CHIARA COULD COOK, and make a meal enjoyable.

  After their heart-to-heart in the kitchen, she turned into the perfect hostess and brought out carrot sticks and celery with homemade ranch dip as an appetizer. Torin inhaled half the arrangement before the end of the first half of the Seahawks/Forty-Niners game.

  Dinner was a mixture of finger foods: mini tacos made from scratch, Buffalo wings with bleu cheese dressing, and chicken pot stickers with a savory-sweet soy-like sauce included. She enjoyed a glass of Pinot Noir while Torin took over her bottle of Irish whiskey.

  He knew his limit and made sure he drank more water than whiskey but he missed the taste of a beverage that reminded him so much of home.

  After dinner and the game, which the Seahawks won by three points, they cuddled on the sofa and spoke again. He loved having his head in her lap while she stroked his short hair and he rested like a child.

  “You know what I think? You need someone to take care of you the same way you take care of everyone around you. Don’t you think it’s time, mo ghile?”

  Chiara looked down at him. “I suppose now you have started speaking Gaelic phases to me, we’ve passed a whole new threshold?”

  Torin smiled and his right hand reached up to touch her face. “I would talk to you in Gaelic all day if you understood. It was just natural at home but when I came here, I wanted to remake myself and not be that guy anymore. I did whatever it took—learned American lingo and even went as far to take classes just so I could lose my Irish accent. I didn’t want to be treated special or like some kind of freak because I was foreign. I wanted to make it on my own…that elusive American dream…by any means necessary.”

  “And you have. You think one championship is going to change all that when you’re already a legend? Do you have any idea how many men would give anything to be you because you’re one of the best fighters on the circuit?”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you watch me and know who I am but at the end of the day, I still feel like that little boy, reaching out for a dream that feels so goddamn elusive. I might not ever make it but I’ll try.”