“So all that time you said you were ‘working at the gym,’ you were really beating up and getting beat up?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ,” she breathes and I can’t tell what her tone means. Her eyes close and her forehead scrunches up. Bringing her hands up, she scrubs over her face, blowing out a heavy breath. “So this has been going on for all this time?”
The worry is gone, and in its place is sadness. I’ve hurt her.
“I just, after losing my job and not getting any callbacks because it was the dead of a Chicago winter, and with my little experience working against me, I needed something. And then after falling off the wagon, I knew if I was able to get a call, I’d no doubt test positive and not be hired anyhow.” Now I scrub my hands over my face. I feel a sting against my cheek and wonder which match broke the skin. “I needed to prove to myself I wasn’t a failure and in a way, I was able to get the aggression built up out in a constructive way.”
A dry chuckle leaves her lips. “You could never be a failure, Chace. I don’t know why you would think that.”
I go to explain, but I keep my mouth shut. Yes, I came from a family with money and my parents didn’t care about me. Yes, I was shoved into rehab at sixteen when from the outside, I had everything going for me. Yes, I left my home in Houston and moved to Chicago hoping for a fresh start that hasn’t really materialized yet. I don’t have a lot of money. I barely get by most of the time. The life I’d hoped to have, the life Trinity promised we could have doesn’t even seem like anything other than a figment of an addict’s imagination.
But I keep my mouth shut because explaining all of this to Cecelia, Cecelia who has been by my side, living the same life, following the same path? I haven’t been hit in the head that much or that hard.
“I can’t help but feel like one,” I tell her honestly. “I want to provide a good life, not only for myself, but I want to be able to provide for you. And I know you can take care of yourself and don’t really need me, but I wish I could do things for you. Like a real man would.”
“Oh Chace, you are a real man.” She steps against me, letting her covered breasts graze my bare chest. Wrapping her arms around my neck, her fingers go to play with the ends of my hair. “Baby, you are all man. I promise you that.”
With a smirk playing on my lips, I lean down, wrapping my arms around her waist to pull her flush against me and then kiss her. “Are you gonna stay and watch?”
“Do you want me to?”
I think about that for a moment. Part of me wants to say no. My reasoning from the first fight is still present. If I’m beat badly, I don’t want her to see that. I’m fighting fucking Cadillo again and I don’t want her to watch him defeat me. She may think I’m all man, but my ego takes a hit, guaranteed, if she sees a bad loss.
On the other hand, I want her here with me. I want her support, to know she’s cheering me on. My mouth opens without my brain deciding. “I want you to stay.” I’m sure my eyes widen at my declaration because Celia giggles and kisses me quick.
“Okay. I’ll stay right here and watch you win.”
As I walk back to where Spike has called myself and Cadillo to fight, I can’t help the smile I’m sporting. It’s completely ridiculous, her words, her confidence in me, and the sincerity behind it. But I feel like I carry them with me as bounce around, readying my body for the assault I am ready to give and will no doubt receive.
“Who’s the bitch?” Cadillo taunts, his eyes watching Celia lecherously. He’s not the only guy here commenting, but at the moment, he’s the only one I’m focused on. “Mm, dark skin, tight clothes. Just look at those big titties. My kind of puta.” He grabs his crotch and bites his lip.
He looks like a fucking moron.
I ignore him.
“She yours?” he continues on, bypassing the fact I won’t answer. “Shame about that if it’s true. A bitch like that needs a real man, not some pussy pretending to be a man. A bitch like that needs a real dicking. I know by fighting you, you probably don’t even got one.”
“Are you through?” Spike asks and it seems to startle Cadillo. Apparently, he was hoping to rattle me with his babbling bravado, but only managed to irritate our ringmaster. “Fucking punk-ass kids.” Spike goes on to dish out the rules of the ‘main event’ for us as Cadillo continues to stare at Cecelia and every now and then, shoot her a wink or puckers his lips as though he’s blowing her a kiss. I don’t check her reaction because I know Cadillo wants me to.
He wants me to fall for his antics. I know he’s trying to get a reaction out of me here and I’m not letting him have one. So no matter how angry his words make me, how disrespectful they are, I remain stone-still. My face doesn’t even register anything other than impassiveness.
“Got it?” Spike looks to Cadillo, who nods, though I doubt he’s listened at all. And then to he looks to me, “Got it?” I nod as well. “Good. Let’s go!”
The fight begins. Cadillo’s attention is back toward me and he again tries his dancing moves. But I’m ready for him this time. I’ve done my research.
With the gathered guys rooting for their fighter to win to give them their payout, I hear Cecelia’s higher pitched, raspy voice cheering me on from where I left her. I know I got this one.
I refuse to lose in front of her, which is most important. But I also won’t lose to this asshole just so he can taunt some more.
Fuck that. Fuck him. I got this.
It’s my shortest fight.
When all is said and done, Spike is counting Cadillo out as he lays sprawled on the asphalt, busted lip and cheek spilling a red stain against his olive skin.
“Three. Two. One. Winner; Chace!” Spike shouts and I hear cheers erupt from the crowd with some jeers thrown in for those who bet against me.
With Spike raising my arm in congratulations, the groupies descend, trying to get to me.
I just shake my head. Since these girls started showing up a couple months ago, their clothes getting shorter and shorter, skimpier and skimpier the warmer the weather got, they would always fawn over the ‘main event’ winner like he was the greatest thing ever.
Some would even cat fight over the guy until he took one for his liking, leaving the rest behind to bicker amongst themselves. Even if I didn’t have a woman like Cecelia waiting for me, these girls would hold no appeal to me. They are catty. They all look exactly the same too. Even though physical appearance is actually different, with a collection of races and shades present, hair is teased the same, makeup is smothered the same, and voice and laugh is all the same.
It’s pathetic.
I want better than pathetic.
I feel Cecelia slam into my sweaty torso as she pushes all the girls out of her way.
“You did it, baby!” she giggle-shouts before planting a sloppy kiss against my lips.
“For you,” I tell her quietly, wrapping both my arms around her body now that Spike has let go of my wrist. “I did it for you, baby.”
We kiss some more as a cacophony of noise surrounds us.
Grumbling girls, pissed I won’t be picking one of them tonight (or ever, but that’s semantics), grumping guys who bet against me and lost a good payout tonight, and then the laughter and taunts of the guys who are celebrating not only my win, but that smug bastard, Cadillo’s loss. He really shouldn’t have said those things about Celia. He really should have known better. Even if no one knows I’m a taken man, and by Celia herself, he should have kept his mouth shut. His loss though.
“Let’s go home and celebrate,” Celia tells me, eyes alight. I nod and move to grab my t-shirt, pulling it back on quick. As I step back next to her, I see her watching Cadillo get off the ground finally. She cocks her head, as though she’s studying him before a sinister smile spreads across her pretty pink lips. “Cadillo, right?”
He narrows his eyes at her before letting them drift to me. He smiles smugly, like her knowing his name is so fucking amazing. Like her saying his name m
akes me somehow inferior. I roll my eyes before letting them drift back to Cecelia, wondering why she addressed him.
“That’s right, tightness,” he says trying to be smooth, though with the cough he can’t help from escaping from the hit I delivered to his stomach, he is anything but smooth. “What can I do for you, baby? You looking for a real man instead of this jerkoff?”
“For one, you can never call me ‘baby’ again.” Her smile falls, but the flames dancing in her eyes grow. As does the effect that look has on my dick. “Just one quick question.”
He thinks she’s a groupie, wanting to ride my dick because of the win. He thinks she should want to ride his too. Pathetic.
“And what’s that?” He’s not trying to be smooth now. He’s angry at her. Pissed that she isn’t falling for his ridiculous seduction technique.
“Who’s the bitch now, puta?”
Everyone still hanging around bursts into laughter. Celia just grabs my hand and tugs me along.
We are definitely celebrating tonight.
FIFTEEN
The rules for Saturday night are just a little different.
There are eight groups that meet-up on Fridays. Each group sends their winner to the Saturday night fight. Each of those winner’s names are drawn, just like Friday fights, but there are no challenges on this night. Of the four fights, the winners once again have their names drawn and the winner is moved to the final round.
On most Saturday nights, the payout is five grand. All to the winner.
On Saturday nights, losers walk away empty handed.
I fuck Cecelia three times after we get back to my place Friday night. After sleeping for a few hours, I wake her just after ten in the morning and take her again. Our stomachs grumbling, we leave my bed, shower and eat a quick lunch of turkey sandwiches.
Fed and clean, I have nervous energy buzzing through me and can’t help but need her again.
All in all, after finally getting up for the day, but before heading out to the fight, I take Celia six times.
Wearing another frayed jean skirt and tight tank top with Adidas kicks, she’s walking a little funny, tender from the way my mouth loved her before I pounded into her with my dick.
I can’t help my proud smirk.
I can’t help the way my chest puffs out knowing not only is she on my arm, but I am all over her. See, we hadn’t had time to shower before leaving.
I don’t know if it’s Celia’s unbelievable faith in me, in my ability. I don’t know if she’s a good luck charm. I don’t know if I just got really lucky. What I do know is Saturday night, my first ever trip to the big time, I take it all.
When the ringmaster places five thousand dollars into my palm, I beam. When the guys slap my back and congratulate me, I enjoy the moment. When the Saturday night groupies swarm to my side, pawing and pressing, I as delicately as I can push them all out of the way. Because it’s when Celia steps to my side, wrapping her arms around me, ignoring the sweat and probable stench of a fight well-won, that I feel like a fucking king.
When we go back to her place that night, celebrating not only my win, but the money I made, I take her slow. For all intents and purposes, I make love to Cecelia.
Our kisses are unhurried.
I pay homage to the sensitive skin behind her ear that always manages to elicit goose bumps. Then I lavish her breasts with my hands, squeezing gently, before lapping at her pierced nipples with my tongue. As she squirms below me, I kiss my way down her soft belly, loving the way it moves with every shudder I give her.
When I come to the apex between her legs, I stop and sigh. I can smell her arousal. It makes my head swim. Neatly trimmed, and lightly shaved, Celia is a sight to behold. Glistening lips beg me to taste them.
So I do.
When she is a mess of incoherent cries and trembling limbs, I climb up her body, leaving a wake of wet kisses along my way until I’m hovering over her, my lips caressing hers. I brush her hands away from my shaft, away from allowing her to return the favor I know she is aiming for. As much as I love the feel of her mouth engulfing me. As much as I love the way her pouty lips look wrapped around my length, the celebration I have in mind is a complete worship of her.
It’s an apology for keeping this from her for so long.
It’s a begging of forgiveness for worrying her unnecessarily.
It’s a ‘thank you’ for her support of me.
It’s a promise of a better tomorrow.
As I slide into her, gasping that first breath of completion, I press all of those thoughts into her body. Push every ounce of emotion I have into her depths.
When we come, it feels like a religious experience.
From that night on, Celia attends every fight.
While we more often than not don’t arrive at the same time, since she manages to find another job, this time as a hostess for some mom and pop pancake house, she is always there to see me fight at least one round.
From that night on, I go undefeated.
Every Friday night I show up and my name is selected, I pull out a win. And where the gathered crowd would bemoan some of the fighters continuously winning, like the way they hated Cadillo winning, there is very little complaint about me.
I put on a good show.
I fight with heart.
I don’t showboat or talk shit.
I take my winnings and leave with Cecelia on my arm every time.
I know at this rate, some of the guys wonder if she’s my girlfriend. They’ve asked, but I don’t answer. I just smile, fight and leave. I also know they try to beat me even more because they want to test her loyalty if she is. They don’t understand though. I could lose every match from now on and I will still get the girl.
Things are not better because of my fighting. I still live in a shithole, still have yet to find a respectable job I don’t get laid off from because of lack or work or some bullshit, and still struggle sometimes because I don’t fight every weekend. But things are also not worse, thanks to the fights.
Because I have some money coming in, I no longer feel that level of desperation that drove me to allow Celia and myself to use a couple years back. I’m grateful to not feel that way anymore too. Not only because it was a stupid mistake we made, but because of the lack of memory from that time.
Images, usually when I’m dreaming come to me. Snippets of feelings, of experience bleed through my dreams leaving me aroused and so fucking confused.
We had a lot of sex. I know that much.
I know we used a lot of cocaine without really coming down from it.
But I can’t completely pull back every aspect.
That scares me. Scares Cecelia too. So we basically try to pretend it never happened.
Standing in the kitchen eating a ham and cheese sandwich while waiting for Celia to get off of work, I’m half listening to Brock talk to his boss about another job that wasn’t completed right by some other employee and how he’ll have to travel again to fix it. I’d feel sorry for him if I had a job of my own.
With that thought, I jump when my own phone rings.
Looking at caller ID, I frown.
“Hello?”
“Chace? It’s Tandy.”
“Tandy? Is um, is everything okay?”
See, Ben had always been good to me. Even though he was so much older than me, he never treated me like an interloper or irritation. He was the one who stuck by me in rehab, and once I was out, he even offered to give me some money since he knew how unsupportive our parents are toward me. I turned him down, of course. I love my brother, but I had to do things on my own. Even if it meant failing horribly.
Ben met Tandy at work. They were competing for a position or something and it was hate at first sight. But then when they were both rejected for the position, they bonded over it and ended up liking one another enough to start seeing each other. Two years later, they got married. I was invited to the wedding, but due to the fact I was in rehab, I was unable to attend.
She’s good people. Has always treated me nicely whenever we’ve spoken on the phone, which regrettably, hasn’t been too much.
“Oh Chace, there’s been an accident.”
I listen to my brother’s wife tell me how his car was hit and he was seriously injured. I listen to her tell me what hospital he’s at and that it’s touch and go right now. Then she listens as I tell her I’m booking the earliest flight and will be there as soon as I can.
After hanging up, I ignore Brock’s concern and using the cheap data plan on my cell, I pull up flights to Houston. I thank God for my win the previous weekend because tickets are not cheap. But then I curse when I realize the earliest flight leaves in less than two hours and there won’t be another until morning.
I can’t wait for the second flight, and though I want Celia to go with me, to be there with me, I know there’s no time to ask her for that.
Booking it, I pull up Celia’s name and text her.
-Baby, family emergency. Ben’s been hurt. Going to Houston tonight
She calls almost immediately, loud music blaring and people shouting orders.
“Are you okay? What’s happened?”
I give Celia a brief rundown of what Tandy told me. I tell her about my red-eye flight leaving out of Midway and how I don’t know when I’ll be back. In turn she tells me she wishes should could take time off to go with me but since she can’t, to just be safe and to give Ben her love.
After hanging up, I rush to pack a small bag of clothes and toiletries, knowing I’ll most likely need to find a motel or something to stay in while I’m there. Brock follows me into my room and offers me a ride to the airport. I thank him and then wish I could see Cecelia before I leave. She calms me as much as she excites, but I don’t have the time. My flight leaves soon and I can’t afford the detour.
The Bitter (Addiction #1) Page 12