by A Zukowski
Chris bites her lip. “Yeah, all right.”
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CHAPTER 13
FIGHT
TONY ACCIDENTALLY LEAKED the news about the
upcoming fight, of course, to coincide with the
media interest. He offers to pay for a hotel room for
Alex and wants him to receive extra training from a
professional coach—a US-based heavyweight trainer
—instead of Dex. Alex refuses to move to a hotel.
Even though the flat is a dump, he wants to be there
with Chris, but he has a good virtual chat with the
American trainer, knowing he will never be
psychologically ready for the upcoming fight.
After a few days at Liam and Ali’s, they move back
to the flat. The paparazzi manage to snap a few
photos, and they’re featured on page four of the
newspapers and the sports section for a couple of
days.
Chris laughs at his blurred profile. One paper has
posted a question mark over him: ‘Who’s Alex
Whale’s companion?’
“Who, indeed? Does my face look gaunt in this?”
Chris’s comment makes Alex laugh.
~~~
“So, how much for a fuck?” Paul surprises Chris
when he is making lunch one afternoon.
Even though Chris is not usually that easily
intimidated, Paul creeps him out. Paul is standing
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about a foot behind him, his hand on the edge of the
kitchen unit, trapping Chris in. Too close for
comfort.
Chris considers how close he is to the sharp
knives in the kitchen. I will use them in an
emergency. He moves Paul’s arm away and peers
down at him, making his disgust absolutely clear.
“For you, no amount of money can buy me.”
He takes his coffee and sandwich to the couch,
ignoring the stupid kid. Alarm makes the hairs on
the back of his neck stand up, though he makes sure
he appears unfazed. Chris always acts as though
he’s unflappable; hiding his fears has become
second nature.
Paul gazes at him from the kitchenette, a nasty
glint in his eyes. He forces out a chilling laugh. “No
whores I know refuse money.”
“I refuse dicks who want a piece of my arse.”
Chris reserves that glare for the assholes of this
world.
Paul is startled, then he snickers. “Oh, so you give
Blue freebies, or what?”
His knowledge proves Paul was likely the culprit
for alerting the paps to Alex’s location.
“What’s it to you? You want to sell that story as
well?” Chris puts his food down, then summons his
seductive face to mock his slimy flatmate. “Or,
you’re
jealous
cuz
you
can’t
sample
the
merchandise?”
Paul laughs but there’s no joy in it. He
approaches Chris now but stops a few feet away,
attempting to stare him down. He reminds Chris of
all the smarmy bastards he has ever met.
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“Don’t worry, bitch. I only like pussies. Real
cunts. It ain’t something you ’ave, is it? I ain’t
spending money on getting some from a poof. I
should be the one getting paid for risking it with a
dirty AIDS slut. Anyway, I asked cuz I’m trying to
work out what the fuck’s going on in the flat—”
Chris stands so quickly that the coffee table
nearly tips over. He grabs Paul’s shirt collar and
shoves him against the nearest wall. He tightens his
grip and knocks the back of Paul’s head against the
wall behind. Paul’s face turns ash-white from the
pain.
“Don’t you call me dirty. I may sell myself, but I
never sell out, unlike you, you fucking rat.”
Chris pushes Paul hard again before releasing his
shirt. This brutish Chris only appears when
provoked.
Paul’s eyes are full of cold hatred. He takes a
packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one
up slowly. “You’ll pay for this, you piece of shit.”
With that, he storms back to his room.
Chris scowls at Paul as he walks away, swears
silently and makes a note to tell Alex to be careful
with the little cunt. Paul is probably all mouth and
Alex has about eighty pounds on him, but still.
There’s something in those intense stares. Chris
picks up his food again and finds he has lost his
appetite.
~~~
The phone calls from unknown numbers have
been coming in daily, an incessant alarm that fails
to frighten Alex. He dismisses them as sale pitchers
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or ‘journalists’ wanting to interview him, trying for
an exclusive.
Ignoring the latest call, Alex arrives at the pub to
meet Chris for a drink after the adult boxing class
that he helps Dex to teach. The bar smells of stale
beer and sweat, in contrast with the aroma from
Chris as he kisses him on the cheek and the lips.
Chris makes his heart flutter every time. Alex
marvels at how the turquoise of his irises shines like
glitter, and the hint of lipstick makes his lips too
kissable.
“Hey, you look like a gorgeous dyke tonight.”
Chris beams. “You mean like a butch lesbian?”
Alex laughs. “Oh!”
“Absolutely. I think of myself a butch woman
sometimes. I would be careful calling a lesbian
gorgeous, though, Alex.”
Alex chuckles. “I know. For you, it’s a
compliment. I wouldn’t go around talking about the
appearance of just any woman—cis, bi, lesbian or
trans!”
“Damn right. You’re learning fast, aren’t you? You
sound like you’re familiar with all the right lingo.”
“Yeah. I’ve been reading up on the internet. If I’m
going to come out as a bisexual man, I can’t be
ignorant, right?”
Chris becomes serious. “There’s plenty of
biphobia and transphobia among the so-called
LGBT community. Everyone can be uninformed.
Besides, there isn’t one way to be queer.”
“I tried for so long to pass as straight. The macho
culture
of
the
boxing
scene
made
me
uncomfortable, but I couldn’t challenge the status
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quo then. Now, I want to try, to understand you, to
be truthful about who I am.”
Chris kisses Alex. “So, are you? Coming out?”
“I am not hiding my interest in you too well, am
I?” He smiles and Chris joins him.
Alex asks, “May I take you home sometime? I
mean, to see my family in Essex?”
Chris’s eyes twinkle in surprise. He hesitates.
“Like I’m official or something?”
Alex nods. “Yeah, you are official.”
Chris squeals. “Wow. Okay. Yes, you may. No one
has ever asked me that before.”
&nbs
p; “Your exes were idiots.”
That makes Chris laugh.
Alex gazes intently at Chris, then blinks several
times, his thoughts drifting, but he notices Chris
incline his head and the concern in his eyes.
“You okay?” Chris asks.
“Yes.” Alex sits up. “I’m thinking how I’d like to
ravage you. All of you. Properly, with penetration. If
it’s okay with you, that is.”
Chris bursts out laughing. “That’s kind of
romantic. Yes, I’d like that.”
Alex laughs, too. “No one has ever told me I’m
romantic. I’ve got to work tonight and tomorrow
day shift, though. Do you think I’ll get lucky
tomorrow night?”
Chris’s smile deepens his dimples. “You might.”
“Damn, that twinkle in your eyes. And I really
don’t need a hard-on in the bar.” Alex shifts his legs.
His phone buzzes again. He pulls it out and stares at
the screen.
“Are you not going to answer that?”
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“Hmm. No caller ID. I’ve been getting a lot of
calls like this. They’re sales or sports news people.”
He casually tosses the phone on the table. Chris
frowns. Something doesn’t feel right, but Alex can’t
quite put his finger on it.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Chris says. “I’ve arranged
to see a flat near Holloway Road tomorrow at six.
What time will you come home?”
“I get off work at six thirty. It’s too late, isn’t it?
It’s okay. I trust your judgement. You go ahead and
view it.”
Chris has cut his hair again, so the short blonde
strands cling to his well-shaped skull. Alex touches
the lump, the remnant of the attack on his lover.
“Just be careful, okay?” Alex adds, and kisses
Chris’s temple, near the bump.
Chris finishes the last of his beer in one gulp. “I’ll
be fine.”
Alex follows Chris’s lead and downs his Diet
Coke. “I’m off to my double shift. See you tomorrow
night—see if my luck’s still valid?”
Chris giggles, and it sounds like ringing bells.
“We’ll see if you’re extra nice to me, yeah?”
“I’ll think of you when I stare at the surveillance
screening of empty corners tonight. My new
favourite hobby.” Alex checks the time. “Sorry, I’ve
got to run.”
They kiss goodbye.
~~~
The flat is nice if a little small for the money,
making Chris wonder if it’s worth paying so much to
stay in zone two. If they move further out, Alex will
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need to get a bike to go to work. In the back of
Chris’s mind, she wants to work less. Despite being
distracted by the worries of moving and money
issues, she walks up the flight of stairs, grinning to
herself and looking forward to talking to Alex about
the flat and finally having ‘proper sex’ with him, as
Alex puts it. She will make some dinner and wait for
him to come home.
The smile stays on her face until she opens the
door.
A fall.
Terror seizes her.
Paul sits on the sofa with a guy dressed in a
leather jacket, who has small, beady eyes that home
in on Chris straight away. She flinches, noticing two
other men standing at opposite corners of the
lounge. They’re big and burly, but they mustn’t be
as strong as Alex. No one can match Alex’s physical
strength. These two have their arms across their
chests as if they’re bouncers standing in front of a
club, ready to pounce on anyone who crosses their
path without permission. Bomber jackets, dark
trousers and hard faces.
Waiting, staring at Chris.
They are not Paul’s friends and they are
dangerous. Chris knows that by instinct. She frowns
at Paul, but he avoids her eyes and stands up to
leave the flat instead. Chris should have turned
around, walked right back out of the door and run,
but she freezes. Paul gets there first; Chris hears the
click of the door and the turning of the lock from the
outside. She reaches into her pocket for the pepper
spray, but more importantly she needs to run.
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Without a word, she goes to her room. If I can lock
myself in and call Alex.
Or the police.
Laugh out loud. How long is it going to take them
to respond to a call like this? She’ll be long dead if
these men want to kill her.
Chris’s hand is on the knob. Just half a second
more and she’ll be semi-safe in her bedroom. The
men move behind her, so fast that Chris has little
chance of out-manoeuvring them. The boss’s dress
shoe wedges the door open as Chris slams it, and
she hears him hiss with the pain. But now she can’t
get inside the room. Her attacker grabs her arms to
push her into the bedroom, already bruising her up.
She stumbles backwards, almost falling down onto
the floor. She reaches for the edge of the bed to
steady herself.
“Who the fuck are you?” Springing back up, she
pushes out her chest to appear as tall as possible.
Her height isn’t much of an advantage, as her slight
physique suggests weakness in a situation like this.
All three men stare back, their contempt clear on
their faces.
The boss scowls at her; his henchmen stand
coolly by his sides. He smirks. “Alex Whale always
prefers the pretty ones, doesn’t he? My sister was
smitten with that dickhead.”
Chris pushes Sam’s brother. “Get the fuck out of
my room. I don’t know you.”
Chris draws her pepper spray and squeezes,
aiming it fully at the man’s eyes. He partly blocks
the spray with his right hand as it hits his face.
“Fuck!” He coughs, squeezing his eyes shut, while
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tears and snot run.
One of the thugs pulls Chris away from his boss,
grabbing her can of pepper spray and throwing it
away. It lands in the far corner of the room. Without
her weapon, Chris raises her hands to force her
attacker back, but he catches her wrists and shoves
her roughly into the side of the bed.
“Alex!”
They all know he’s not there. Screaming his name
is no more than a distraction.
The
main
man
laughs
through
obvious
discomfort. “No, your scumbag of a boyfriend can’t
save you now, bitch.”
Chris knows how to fight, but one against three is
bad odds. An insurmountable situation only makes
her see red. She stands up and throws a punch
against the gang boss.
“I’m not a bitch, you fucking twat.” Having
nothing to lose makes her brave or reckless,
depending on one’s perspective.
Still disorientated with the effects of the pepper
his face where Chris has hit his jaw so hard it swells
and reddens right away. The two beefy henchmen
surge forward and grab her, dragging her back while
Chris struggles against their firm grip.
“Get off me!” She tilts her head back to butt one
of them, but her opponent’s face is a couple of
inches out of reach. Chris kicks out at the boss and
catches his thigh, but she’s too far away for any real
impact. She elbows the men, hard enough for them
to strain to maintain their grasp.
The main man jumps back a little and stares at
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Chris, running his reddened eyes up and down her
body. A flicker of recognition flashes across his face.
“The tranny’s not just a pretty face.” He laughs,
amusement in his mockery.
The man on his right must have been distracted,
so Chris takes advantage of the momentary lapse,
pushes and headbutts him hard. Blood spurts from
the thug’s nose on impact.
“Fucking hell!” He squeezes his the bridge of his
nose to stop the flow. “Ryan, I don’t care what junk
he’s got. Stop the stupid fag, will ya!”
Ryan’s right hook sends Chris back onto the floor.
She sees stars, and her cheek and nose throb. She’s
so dizzy that the other thug doesn’t need to hold on
to her anymore. Ryan’s hand is on her neck as well,
trapping her. Disorientated, Chris’s vision blurs, but
she can make out Ryan’s distorted face, his tears
and red nose as a result of the spray.
Chris uses the opportunity and pushes her
attacker back. The men return, one on each side,
and hold on to her legs, trying to stop her from
kicking.
Ryan scowls. “The little shit said you’re a whore.
Let’s see the package you’re selling.”
He unzips Chris’s jeans and pulls them and her
knickers down in one sweep, exposing her penis.
Not again. For fuck’s sake.
“No!” Chris frees her left hand and she tries to
throw another punch at Ryan. One of his men reacts
first, locking Chris’s neck with a meaty arm and
deflecting her punch.
Chris kicks at Ryan instead.
Ryan shifts back. “Fucking bitch. Hold him back.”
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“He’s stronger than he looks, boss,” one of the
men says, perplexed.
The more Chris struggles against the headlock,
though, the more her neck is wedged, and she’s
going to choke if she continues to struggle. Another
hand now grabs her right leg to still her kicks.
