Consumed

by Skyla Madi

Page 15

 

  I open my mouth to ask what for, but I don’t bother. Seth’s decisions don’t usually come with understandable reasons.

  “I’ll be back. ” I shout to Dad and Selena.

  She moves into my seat to keep him company as Darryl’s hand wraps around my wrist and he guides me out of the stand, up the aisle and over to four security guards that I didn’t even notice when I walked in.

  “She’s with Seth. ” Darryl says, flashing his ‘backstage’ pass. The guards part like the red sea to let us through. He pulls me through two big, white double doors and let’s my arm go.

  “Seth is having a little bit of trouble. . . ” Darryl’s voice bounces off the walls of the wide walkway. It’s a lot quieter in here. “I don’t know whether you know, but he suffers from mild anxiety. Normally, I give him a boxing bag and he works through it that way, but lately he seems to prefer another method. ”

  Seth has anxiety? I never would have guessed that one. I mean, sometimes I notice he gets a little worked up, but it usually doesn’t last long. Not like the one that I had when Blade first cheated on me. It was horrible. I couldn’t breathe and my stomach rolled and twisted. I felt like vomiting everywhere and worst of all, it felt like it wasn’t going to end and I was going to die.

  The way Darryl looks at me says it all. “Me? I’m the other method?”

  “I guess so. ”

  My pulse is beating in my ears as we pass lots of smaller closed off doors. Names in permanent marker are written on pieces of paper and stuck to the centre of the wood. Sonne. Jacobs. Russell. Smith. Donskov. Pine. Kennedy and then Marc.

  The handle to Seth’s door fits nicely into the palm of Darryl’s hand as he turns it. The door opens and I step in. My gaze falls onto the ads for protein shakes and other supplements on the back wall. They had names I couldn’t even pronounce. Eventually, I drag my eyes from the wall to Seth and something in my stomach flutters. He’s sitting on the bench, topless and hard. His thigh muscles bulge out of the slits in his black shorts. My throat dries immediately and there’s no moisture in my mouth I can swallow to fix it. There’s no lack of moisture ‘down there’, however. Two men stand before Seth—one is a chubby man with long white hair tied in a ponytail at the base of his neck and he’s wrapping Seth’s hands. The gauze envelops the palm, supports the wrist and runs between the fingers. The other man, with the spiky black hair and huge blue eyes is observing. Seth’s eyes are hidden by his long lashes. His chest moves hard and deep, like he’s trying to calm himself. His eyelids flick open and his dark, chocolate eyes rake me. I force my stiff legs to step closer. The two men assess the wrap and in low, hushed words they decide it’s sufficient. The white haired man packs up his little toolbox, wishes Seth luck and they stroll from the room. Seth flexes his fingers and clenches them into fists in front of him.

  “Leave us alone. ” Seth’s voice is soft, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

  As they leave, my eyes remain on Seth and they have since I stepped into the room. His large frame slides off the table and he shakes his arms and rolls his head to each side. I try not to stare—or drool—at the muscles between his shoulders and his neck.

  “Darryl said you need me. . . ” My voice is quiet and uncertain. This whole situation has definitely put me out of my comfort zone. The crowds and the fighting. . . it’s just not my kind of place.

  “I do. ” The way his tongue wrap around the words make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It’s intimate. . . it’s so intimate and it makes me want to close my eyes. As he steps closer my heart forces its way into my throat and my lungs have diminished in size, making breathing harder. He looks intense and intimidating with his head angled down to me. There are no deep lines or noticeable frustration on his features, but his breathing is uneven.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come. ”

  My clammy fingers find each other and I twist them together in a nervous fiddle. “I said I’d come so here I am. ”

  “Darryl told you about me?”

  He’s referring to the ‘mild’ anxiety. Stiffness overcomes the back of my neck as I realize I might be intruding. I manage to nod. Seth closes his eyes and takes my hands in his. My hands feel small compared to his large, calloused ones. He wraps them around his neck and tilts his head up to the ceiling. His skin is warm, causing my blood to boil. His hands find my hips and his breathing slows. What are we doing? What is this exactly? He lowers his head and opens his eyes. They search mine and I know he’s asking himself the same questions. I know I should step away now, but I’m absolutely powerless against him. It’s like as soon as he looks at me, or touches me I become wrapped up in some spell. . . and strangely, I want to be. ‘If you get hurt, it’s on you. Not me. ’ His words flow through my mind and I pull my hands away. His eyebrows knit together and I step back just as the door opens. Reluctantly, Seth drags his gaze away from me.

  “Time to warm up, pal. ” Darryl informs him. He closes the door and we’re left alone again.

  “I should go. . . ” I turn away from him, feeling his eyes on the back of my head.

  “Are you ready?” He calls to me and I can hear his usual confident tone return.

  I face him. “For what?”

  Seth’s lips jerk at the corners before curving into a full blown smile. All traces of the strangely intimate relationship we just shared—gone—replaced by his cocky demeanor. “For the ride of a lifetime. ”

  I scoff at him and open the door.

  “Good luck. ” I call over my shoulder.

  ***

  I sink lower into my chair using one hand to shield my face and the other is clenching my stomach. In front of me two men are brawling. I hear fists slam into flesh and I hear the fighters gasp as wind is forced from their lungs. The salty smell of sweat and the copper scent of blood engulfs me. I don’t know how much longer I can sit here. This is the third fight I’ve sat through. Selena disappeared from her seat a while go in pursuit of a snack cart—God knows how she can eat right now. My stomach is threatening to throw up the ham and cheese toasty I had for dinner. Adrenaline—as well as fear—tears through my veins every time I hear flesh connect with flesh. Around me, the crowd goes berserk, begging for more. The grandstand shakes beneath my feet and the crowd roars. Out of curiosity, I peek through my fingers. The referee with the full black outfit, thrusts the winner’s hand in the air.

  “The winner of this bout, ladies and gentlemen, Donnnn Russeeeeelllllll!”

  As the crowd screams, I look at the loser, although victim seems more fitting. He’s out cold. His left eye is swollen shut and blood pours from his brow, irritating his eye further. Even being knocked out the disappointment is clear on his face. His eyes flutter open and he uneasily pulls himself to rest on his knees and the medical staff comes to check on him. A big cotton ball on a stick is pressed against the brow to stem the flow and I cringe as my ribcage squeezes my heart. Seth’s fighting next. . . what if he ends up the one on the floor? The thought alone is enough to send my already frazzled nerves through the roof. This is bad. Next to me Dad is on his feet cheering and bouncing on his toes. My plastic chair vibrates as he stomps his feet.

  “Seth’s up next. ” He beams at me.

  The smile I give him feels fake. I wish I can be as excited as Dad. . . but I’m not. I’m scared. I watch the winner, Don Russell, give an interview. His bald head suits his strong, angular face and there's a shadow of stubble along his chiseled jaw line. He wipes the back of his hand across the light sheen of sweat that glistens on his forehead. The thick, black lines of his dragon tattoo wrap around his bulging bicep and they contract as he jabs his fists through the air in celebration. He annoys me and I have no idea why. Judging his appearance and the way he holds himself, I’ll assume he’s cocky and proud, but it’s only to mask his own trauma—like Seth. Maybe all fighters have a sad story that compels them to fight. A dark fabric covers my sight
. I pull it off and look at Selena who sits in the seat next to me.

  “I got you something. ” She stuffs a hot dog into her mouth and a drop of tomato sauce spills over the edge and onto her white dress. She gapes at me wide eyed, like it was my fault. “This is white!” She huffs. “I’m never going to get this out. ”

  She hands me the hotdog and I hold it away for me. The last thing I want is to get it on my clean sweater. From her handbag, she produces another piece of black fabric—and pulls it over her head. It’s a t-shirt, a large one. It covers her entire dress and ‘SETH’ in big white letters is printed across the center. She takes her hotdog back. “I got you one. They only had large. ”

  I open the shirt in front of me and I can’t pretend I don’t love it.

  “Put it on. ” Dad says, encouraging me.

  I throw it on over my sweater and the shirt pretty much swallows me. It’s comfortable though and I feel less. . . erratic in it. A voice sounds through the speaker, making me jump slightly.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s final fight is about to commence. ” A shiver rolls down my spine. “Fighting out of the red corner is 2011 MMAC tournament’s runner up, hailing from Seattle, Washington—Seth Maaaaaaaarc!”

  On cue, the crowd launches themselves to their feet and my ears pound as their screams rip around the arena. I manage to keep myself in my seat, but it doesn’t help with the electrical current flowing through me. My heart is racing, pumping blood way too fast. My head spins a little and I’m not sure if it’s fear or adrenaline. I can’t see him, but through the speakers, I hear his song playing. I’ve never heard it before. . . I close my eyes and try to listen to it over the noise.

  I never feared death or dying

  I only fear never trying

  I am whatever I am,

  Only God can judge me, now

  One shot, everything rides on tonight

  Even if I've got three strikes

  I'mma go for it

  This moment, we own it

  And I'm not to be played with

  Because it can get dangerous

  See these people I ride with

  This moment, we own it

  I can feel a small smirk on my lips from his intro song. It’s such a Seth kind of song. I open my eyes as Seth rounds the corner. All the warmth in my body seems to be moving south and I squeeze my thighs together as desire pools. His black hoodie covers the majority of his face, but I can just see his full lips protruding slightly due to his mouth guard. His hoodie lays open on his chest, exposing that delicious midsection and black gloves that don’t cover the ends of his fingers adorn his hands. He flexes his fingers at his side and every time they clench so does my sex. Darryl and three others from Seth’s team follow him right up to the door of the cage, but only Darryl steps inside with Seth. Seth yanks off his hoodie, exposing all of his flexing muscles and I notice the tattoo across his hip says; ‘If you can make it through the night there’s a brighter day’.

  Interesting.

  He hands his hoodie to Darryl. Darryl gets in Seth’s face—motivating him. He slaps Seth on the shoulder a few times before he leaves the ring. Seth bounces on his toes to keep himself warmed up. He ignores all of the shouts and cheers from the spectators and his gaze circles the center before landing on me. I feel heat climb into my cheeks and swell deep in my core. He sees my shirt and the corner of his lips tug upwards in a cocky smirk. He winks at me and all I can do is smile back. Muscle bulges from Seth’s arm as he sticks it in the air. The crowd goes wild. High pitched squeals, manly roars and naughty comments hurl in his direction. He looks back at me and flicks his eyebrows like he just proved something. I roll my eyes. He wants me to see how many people want him. Even the promo girls circling the ring in their bikinis can’t keep their eyes off him. And it’s not like I can’t figure that out for myself. I see the t-shits and the posters these people have brought to support him. They love him. He’s pure male and he dominates the ring with his mere presence. His music cuts off and the announcer’s voice floods the room. I don’t take my eyes of Seth. His over-confident facade melts into a more serious look. His eyes darken and he draws himself to his full height. He’s like a brick wall of sex and muscle.

  “Introducing the final contestant for tonight, fighting across the cage in the blue corner is first time amateur contestant, fighting from his hometown right here in Portland, Maine—Fredrick Kennneedddyyyyy!”

  On queue the crowd claps and cheers. It’s loud, but not as loud as they were for Seth. I want to sink into my chair, but Selena’s hand wraps around mine. Her knees are bouncing and she chews her bottom lip.

  “You nervous?” I giggle at her.

  “A little bit. . . ”

  Music plays in the background and I immediately recognize it as Raining Blood by Slayer. The song unnerves me, but not as much as Fredrick Kennedy himself. He storms down the aisle on the far side of the room, coming fast like a freight train. He’s topless, wearing a similar pair of pants to Seth. His head is shaven and it glistens under the bright lights. I don’t know how else to possibly describe this guy—he’s hard, probably brought up on the wrong side of the tracks and he has a very determined glint in his eyes.

  “Ow, don’t squeeze so hard. ” Selena complains, pulling her hand from mine.

  Fredrick goes to his corner, ignoring the crowd completely. He wants to win. Seth smiles lazily at him and rolls his shoulders back and forward. While the announcer rattles off all of the sponsors and directors, Seth kicks his feet against the padded pole and paces around. Darryl and the others stand up against the ring, their heads peering just over the top. Fredrick’s team is doing the same.