by Lory Wendy
Such simple words, yet my heart still flutters.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice shouts. I whip my attention to the middle of the room.
The announcer is neither old nor young, just a basic-looking guy in a suit. “Is everyone ready to get the night started?” He hops up and down. There are some murmurs and a few low claps from the crowd but not much excitement.
“Tough crowd, huh?” I lean over to Julian. He squeezes his hands tight on my knee, leaving the extra pressure there. Taking the hint, I shut up.
“Up first, in corner one.” The announcer points to the corner. From the back, some young, skinny kid I’ve never seen emerges and hops into the ring while his opponent, equally as scrawny and just as unfamiliar, comes out. They touch gloves then proceed to not entertain the crowd with their lazy punches and slow dances around the ring.
Kill me.
“Where’s Quincy?”
“He’s last,” Julian says.
“Well, how much of this do I have to sit through before he comes out?”
“Selena.” The hand gets tighter around my knee, almost hurting.
I pinch his arm in retaliation.
“What the—”
“Doesn’t feel all that good, does it?” I bite back, pinching tighter.
He moves his hand from me completely, and I frown. Well, that certainly backfired. Feeling someone glaring daggers into the side of my head, I glance over to where those girls were standing just a few minutes ago, but they’re not there.
From a few feet away, I notice Terrence staring my way. Subconsciously, I look over my shoulder to make sure he’s looking at me. There’s no one behind Julian and me. “What?” I mouth.
Someone walks up to the bar before he can answer, not that I’m so sure he was going to anyway.
The next couple of fights go on about the same way the first one does: boring as hell. During the fifth round of the third fight, I decide that I came, I saw, and I conquered, but I won’t be coming back. It’s just way too brutally boring of a pastime for me to sit and watch people beating the shit out of each other.
“Okay, okay!” The announcer comes back. “I think you guys have waited long enough for this one!”
Everyone around me sits a little straighter as music fills up the room. It’s drums and bass, and as the words spill out, I immediately recognize the song. The announcer’s voice is completely eclipsed by the music, and as soon as the lyrics, “I’m a monster, I’m a killer, I know I’m wrong…” are said, he shouts,” Welcome to the ring the KILLER Q!” and Quincy comes strutting out the back. Rocky at his side, and Blaire on Rocky’s arm.
His stride into the ring is effortless and smooth. He looks like a completely different person than what I’m used to, as does Rocky. From here I can see Quincy’s muscles bulging and the vein in his neck almost pulsing on beat with the track playing. Definitely one of the ruthless, I decide.
He stands stock-still and off to the side as another man—admittedly more massive—than him dances around the ring, playing it up for the crowd in a way Quincy doesn’t.
“You know the rules, gentlemen.”
“Killer Q” and “Macho” nod, but neither reach out to tap gloves.
Well shit. “Bad blood?” I ask Julian.
He nods. “Something like that.”
I focus back on the ring as Macho takes a step forward, striking twice and missing Quincy’s face. The crowd roars, finally alive, and I wonder if they’re cheering because this guy is aggressive or because he missed Quincy.
“Holy shit.” My heart rate speeds up, adrenaline pumping fear and excitement through my veins. Quincy jumps back as Macho takes another swing and misses before Quincy retaliates with three rapids blows to the head. His opponent stumbles but doesn’t fall back. Off to the side, I see Rocky say something but his body is calm. Quincy nods and advances on Macho before he can balance himself and corners him, throwing quick jabs to his stomach.
The referee separates them and sends Quincy back to the corner just as a bell dings.
A guy jumps in the ring to tend to Macho while Quincy stands in the corner watching them.
He’s a bad motherfucker in there, I’ll give him that.
When the bell dings again, both men strut around the ring. From here, they both look confident, but there’s just a little something more in Quincy’s eyes. I would have missed it if I didn’t pay attention, but for a split second, his eyes dart over to where Julian and I are sitting.
His whole posture changes. Two quick strides forward and he’s in Macho’s face, one right jab to the head and a left hook followed by another similar sequence and a third. Macho stumbles and Quincy laughs, taking a step back as his opponent sways and swings blindly at the air. Blood gushes out from a gash on Macho’s head, and as he makes a wild run for Quincy, I squeeze my eyes shut, almost not wanting to see what comes next.
“Call it!” someone in the crowd shouts.
Quincy’s intro song comes back on, and my eyes fly open just as the bells ding again and while the same guy who’d jumped in to tend to Macho crouches next to Macho’s still body on the mat floor, the ref raises Quincy’s arm in the air.
“Hell yeah!” I’m on my feet just like almost everyone else.
“So, what did you think?” Julian chuckles, seemingly in a better mood than he’d been in all night.
“That was crazy!” I loop my arm through his. “But I’m never coming back.” There is no way I can make a habit out of watching Quincy pummel the shit out of random guys.
We make our way over to Rocky and Blaire. Unfortunately, Quincy disappeared off to the back seconds after he won. “Hey.” Rocky greets me with a kiss on my cheek.
I smile back at him and wave.
“We good?” he asks Julian. The men take two steps away from us to talk while I check on my sister.
“That was intense!”
“Blah—I lost.”
“You bet against Quincy?” I ask, disappointed.
She shrugs.
“It’s probably time to call it a night,” Julian says, his hand gripping mine. “Come home with me.”
It doesn’t come out as a question, and I don’t have an issue with that. With a nod, I gesture for him to lead the way, and looking over my shoulder, I stare at Blaire to convey one important thing with my eyes.
Don’t wait up.
Chapter Seventeen
“Wait for me right here, okay?” Julian leads me back to the same entrance I’d walked through earlier. “I just need to go grab the car. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
I initially have no intention to, but when forever passes and he still hasn’t returned, I crack the door open and poke my head outside. The cold air is both welcoming and a shock for, and a clear contrast to the stuffiness from inside the lower level where we just were.
“Got a light?”
I whirl around at Terrence’s voice and press a hand to my chest to calm down my heart. I know for a fact he wasn’t standing there two seconds ago. “I don’t smoke.” I huff. “And you scared the shit out of me, by the way.”
“I’m not really much of a smoker either, to be honest.” He leans against the side of the building with me. “But after a few drinks, you know how it is.”
“Not really.”
“Where’s your ride?” he asks, sticking the cigarette behind his ear.
“My ride will be here soon, no worries.”
“I can wait with you.”
“Nope. No need. Thanks. Actually, I think I’ll just go wait inside.” Like I was fucking asked to do in the first place. I can already sense Julian is going to be pissed.
“Asshole,” Terrence mumbles under his breath.
“Excuse you?”
“That guy's an asshole, and I have no idea why you’re with him. I would never keep you waiting.” His eyes are glossy.
Oh boy.
“Terrence.” I smile sadly. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, my friend. Trust me. Go
home and get some sleep. Where’s your car? We’ll walk you.” I look around again. Still no Julian.
“Selena” —Terrence takes an advancing step toward me— “you deserve so much better.”
Before I can blink or move away, he places a kiss on my lips. A nasty, sloppy, halitosis-ridden kiss.
Disgust rolls in my stomach as his hands grip at the sides of my face, forcing me to participate. My hands are fisted at his shirt, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. Shit, the fucker is strong. His lips are now on mine a second longer than is drunkenly acceptable, and a seed of fear starts rolling around with the disgust.
“Terrence, stop.”
“Please, just let me…” He palms my breast over my shirt and grabs at my inner thigh.
“Selena, what the fuck?”
Terrence snaps his head back. The distraction gives me enough time to push him off me, knee him in the junk, and make a beeline behind Julian’s retreating form.
“Julian, wait!”
“You can find your own way home.” He picks up his pace.
“No.” I have to jog to catch up to him. Jumping in front of him, I throw a shaky hand to his chest to stop him. “You know that’s not what it looked like. Stop it.”
“It’s whatever.” His hand tightens around my still trembling one. His posture changes immediately. With a quick glance over his shoulder, I follow his lead, and we both notice Terrence still crouched over, both hands tucked between his legs.
“What happened? Why are you shaking?”
I shake my head. “Let’s just go.”
“I asked you what happened.” He pinches my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
I reach for his hand, now both me and my voice are shaky. “I’ll deal with him later. It’s no big deal.”
Julian pushes me to the side, nearly sending me flying, and doubles back to Terrence whose pants are pulled down and he’s pissing on the side of the building.
“Yo!” Julian charges for Terrence.
“Yes?” Terrence lazily cranes his head to the side, looks over at Julian, and tucks himself back in, wiping his hands on his jeans. Gross. Some people shouldn’t drink.
In one long stride, Julian reaches him and just as quick pushes him up against the wall by the collar of his shirt. “Did Selena say you could touch her?”
“Julian, just let it go.” I’m right behind him, where I’m easily ignored.
“Did she?”
The look on Terrence’s face says it all. Before he can even say the word no, Julian reaches into his pocket, does a little flick of his wrist, and just like that, the tip of a knife is resting right underneath Terrence’s chin. It happens so quick I almost miss it.
Holy shit! “What the fuck are you doing?”
“What would possess you…?” Julian starts but shakes his head. “Never mind. Just give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your fucking throat.”
Oh.
My.
God.
“Are you fucking crazy? Stop it!” Again, it’s like talking to a brick wall.
Terrence, though, cuts his eyes over to me. Not good. The tip of the knife gets turned sideways and moves to his Adam’s apple.
“Did I say you could fucking look at her?”
“I... well—”
“Apologize.”
Terrence’s gulp echoes loudly as he hesitates.
“Do you want me to fuck your shit up?” Julian leans into him. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the blade was breaking skin. “I said apologize.”
“I didn’t mean to touch your girl, man.”
I shake my head slowly, and even Julian looks caught off guard for a second. “To Selena, you dumb motherfucker. Not me.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Terrence stutters, looking at me with water-filled eyes.
Julian nods, then looks at me. “Do you accept his apology?”
“Yes,” I whisper, too fearful what saying no would mean for Terrence.
Julian leans in closer to Terrence, saying something in his ear, before stepping back away from him. “You’re lucky.”
Terrence scurries off, leaving me with the madman with a knife.
“You okay?”
I take a step back but somehow manage to nod. I’m as “okay” as I can be after watching him threaten a man’s life. I should go. I need to go—need to run as far away from him as possible. Yet, I don’t.
“Good.” He bends the metal against his thigh, sliding it back into his back pocket. “Ready?”
The thoughts racing through my mind, heaving chest, and erratic breathing all say no. But my feet move me forward, giving Julian a wide berth as I follow behind him.
“I’d never hurt you, sweetheart. You don’t need to look at me like that.”
Like what? I don’t know, and I don’t ask. I climb into the car quietly. There’s just no telling what I might say right now with the amount of fuckery going on inside my head. So as to not antagonize the crazy guy with a knife, I keep my mouth shut.
“Do you want me to take you home?” he whispers, slowing the car down when we get to an intersection.
I shake my head, but still keep quiet, my mind and body at war with each other. What I should do is jump out of this car. I know this. Any sane human with common sense knows this. Actually, no—I shouldn’t have gotten in his car in the first place. Julian with a knife is scary as shit, but at the same time, him sticking up for me the way he did? It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve been privy to. I’m certifiable; I know this now. I’m sure he does too.
We’re nearly twenty minutes into the tense, silent drive before I feel my first sense of calm. My eyes stay glued out the window, staring down Denver Health. We’re finally in an area I’m familiar with. But just as quickly, my chest tightens. I haven’t been inside there in years, but the smell of ammonia, the visual of the cream and tan-colored walls, and the sound of a helicopter overhead assault me in quick flashes.
“Is everything all right?” Julian’s voice is muffled but clear enough to snap me out of what could be a dark dive into unwanted memories.
“Yeah, I just don’t like hospitals.” I keep my face forward, knowing he’s looking at me.
“Who does?”
I smile, thankful for the ease of his answer. Most people would have asked why, but I suspect Julian already knows. That or maybe he just doesn’t care? Either way, I’m fine with it because the subject is immediately dropped.
Minutes later, we roll into the parking garage of a condo building.
Once inside, I hum in appreciation, not at all surprised to find him living in a place like this.
“Do you live alone?”
“I do.”
Silently, I walk over to his windows. On their own, they make up the entire wall of the living room. The view from his high-rise almost rivals mine. From here, I can see a good part of the city, some of the mountains, and right where we are situated, it looks over a pool a few stories down.
“Do you ever go in there?”
“I’m not much of a swimmer,” he whispers from behind me.
He says something else, but I’m distracted staring out the window, letting myself get lost in this view. It’s another painter’s wet dream; bright lights against dark skies, small buildings struggling to find their space next to tall, all-consuming ones.
A wisp of breath tickles at my neck, and I turn to look at Julian, a questioning eyebrow in place when I see his smirk. “What?”
“Nothing. I’ll get us something to drink.”
I keep looking around the place, taking it all in and glancing down the hall. I feel slightly stuck in place, my nerves getting to me. This place is big without being obnoxious, but I still feel like I’m swallowed up by the space.
“You should have a seat.”
“No thank you, I’m good,” I say, more in defiance than anything. I do need to sit—my feet would agree—but I need a minute to breathe, gather my thoughts, and make sure everything’s
okay. “Where’s your bathroom?"
“There's one down the hall, one in the guest room, and there’s another one in my room."
The lone bathroom at the end of the hallway is nice. It has the sleek, almost luxurious feel—a bathtub is off to the side, with a separate shower, the sink is the kind that looks like a bowl sitting atop the counter. It reminds me of a hotel. Yet, something about it doesn’t feel welcoming. I try to change my focus back to the task at hand, which is to freshen up.
Back in the living room, I find Julian resting on the couch, his head is tilted back and eyes closed. His legs and feet are spread so wide apart I think about going to sit on his lap.
On the coffee table sits two glasses, a bottle of wine next to them, as well as two cans of soda, and the elephant in the room—the knife from earlier. I clear my throat.
His eyelids snap open, but he doesn't sit up. Instead, lolling his head to the side, he reaches a hand out to me. For the moment, I ignore it.
“Why do you carry around a knife?”
He shuts his eyes, bringing his head back to lean on the couch. “Just do.”
I cross my arms over my chest. If he wants to have a serious conversation, he’ll need to chill with the rehearsed indifference. I’m not scared of the knife itself, just the reason he might have it and what he almost did with it tonight.
“Julian.”
Huffing, he sits up and rolls his neck. I hear the cracks from here. “Relax, I know what you’re thinking, and I wasn’t going to kill him.”
Kill him? What the fuck? “That’s not what I was thinking.”
“Oh.”
“Have you ever ...?” The words won’t come out, even if I wanted them to. Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to kill him. It came out with such ease, like the idea of killing Terrence’s is beneath him, but not so much the act of killing itself.
“Have I ever what?”
“Nothing, never mind.”
His nod is crisp, satisfied, as he pats the spot next to him. “Come here.”
With slow steps, I follow directions, sitting sideways on the couch to face his profile.
Between my long day and the few drinks I had tonight, the plushness of the cushion is a siren calling me to sleep. My eyes start drooping only for me to snap them open wide in an attempt to wake myself up.