“Yeah, me too.” I look at my phone as it buzzes in my pocket, see a message from Celia telling me there’s a flight awaiting me in a couple of hours if I want it. “Well, I really hate to be rude, cause it was good seeing you man, but I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Yeah no problem. You take care, man.”
After exchanging numbers real quick, and promising to keep in touch, Marshall and I part ways and I head to the airport to go home.
Back to Chicago.
Back to my life.
Back to Cecelia.
SEVENTEEN
Celia changes jobs two more times.
First the breakfast diner she was a hostess at burns down during Devil’s Night. Thankfully she was not working at the time, and there were only a couple patrons inside when the fire started. No one was seriously hurt, but the building was a total loss. All in all, twenty-seven structures are destroyed.
So she was forced to find another job. The second job was at a strip club, sadly enough. I don’t have anything against strip clubs and I only avoid them because of the alcohol so readily available, but this one, yeah. Cecelia learns to bartend there, but she doesn’t like how easy to is to score the hardcore drugs and given her – and my – history, this is not a good job. It’s not a high class club either, so she quits after only a month.
It takes a bit of time, but Celia is able to find something else. And she returns the favor to her longtime friend, Melody, getting her a job with her.
They’re now working at a swanky restaurant in a nicer part of town. Coco something or other. She’s a bartender there, and usually closes since tips are better.
Thanks to one of the old-timer fighters, I learn about a position open with a new construction company before summer ends. Lief tells me his cousin runs the company and he’ll put a word in for me. Two weeks later, I get the call to come in for the job.
I start out doing the same shit I had been doing for Mack, but this time, Lief’s cousin Baylor, has me training on heavy equipment. By the time winter arrives, I’ve certified on most of the heavy machinery. This allows me to stay on when furloughs come about. I have a level of experience Mack never bothered to give me and it helps during the winter months. Although even my experience doesn’t help me when snow is too bad or the cold too rough to plough through. It’s during these times I rely on my winnings from fighting the most.
I don’t fight every Friday. Sometimes I go a month or more without my name being selected. So even though I win, I’m not bringing five grand home every week. I understand money management. I understand saving and not splurging. But I still spoil Cecelia a little.
I help her pay her portion of the rent when it takes too long for her to find a job.
I help her buy new clothes when hers become threadbare. New shoes when hers begin to fall apart at the seams.
I always make sure she has food to eat.
In the beginning she fought me on this. In the beginning she balked at any help I’d tried to offer. But seeing as she always tries to take care of me, I’d wanted to return the favor. But more than that, seeing as she didn’t grow up with nice things, hell not even nice people, I’d wanted to show her it was something I wanted to do for her and that she’s worthy of gifts too.
I keep my fighting from my roommates. Well, I keep it from them for as long as I can, I should say. It takes them longer to notice, but one afternoon, after I get home from work, Frankie is walking some blond out of the apartment and catches sight of my face. I’d fought Jacko on Friday night and he’d managed to get in a couple good hits to my face before I knocked him out.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Frankie had questioned.
“It’s nothing.”
“The excavator kick your ass or something?”
He’d laughed like he was so fucking funny. And then the blond, who I hadn’t recognized, had to go and give me away.
“Hey, I know you!” she’d giggled and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. She’d been so stereotypical in her look and mannerisms that I had no chance at recognizing her from a crowd. I don’t understand the appeal of these types to be honest. The giggle. The too sweet smiles. The batted eye lashes. Or worse, the blank ‘let me please you’ expressions.
I love that I can talk to Celia, have real conversations with her without feeling like I am dealing with an airhead.
I’d have found a way to kill myself if I had to deal with a girl like this.
“You know Chace?” Frankie had asked her and then gave me a look that suggested he didn’t like that idea at all. It’s not like I’d fucked her or something. “How?”
“He’s that big time fighter who is always winning. He’s a hit with all the girls,” Blondie had beamed. I’d had to shake my head at her insinuation. I am a hit with one girl. And there is nothing fake or dumb about her. “He’s got such good form,” she had added like she knew what she was talking about. She bounced a bit, her tits not moving. Celia may be my girl, but I’m not blind. Blondie’s tits were large, practically spilling out of her shirt and definitely not real.
“Fighter?”
After kicking out Blondie, who I now know to be named Bambi – of all fucking things – I’d explained to Frankie what she was talking about. I told him how I’d hooked up with the group to fight and I do pretty well. I don’t tell him how much I win though.
“How do you know Bambi?”
“I don’t know her. Apparently your girlfriend is one of the groupies who likes to hang around the guys though. They all fight over the winner, hoping he’ll take one of them home. If that doesn’t happen, they latch onto another willing dick.” I’d shivered just thinking about how my roommate was no doubt banging a girl who had banged nearly every guy I fought and beat. I am now even more thankful to have never taken any of those girls up on their offers. “And just so we’re clear, I don’t touch any of them. They are not my type.”
Frankie never has Bambi over again. I’d like to say it has something to do with what I’d said. That the idea he was hanging out with a girl who was very indiscriminating was a turn off for him. But the fucker is a whore all on his own, so it probably doesn’t matter what I’d said.
It is a week before my twenty-fourth birthday when Frankie shows up to one of my fights. Guess he hadn’t been able to find the location of the fight right away.
Two months has also passed since the incident with Bambi, who still continues to show up to the fights. She also continues to try to sink her nails into one of the fighters every night too. It’s actually revolting to see and I’d have felt bad for Frankie, picking the girl he had, if again, he wasn’t such a whore himself.
So while I kicked Arden’s ass to once again move onto the main event, Frankie had stood beside Cecelia, chatting with her, and no doubt trying to flirt with her. She’d always ignored him and any advances he’d tried. And as long as he wasn’t making her uncomfortable, I let her handle it herself.
“Chace, Rogers, you guys know the rules. Pot tonight is a one-five. Don’t make me yell at either one of you,” Spike had yelled at us.
“Looks like your squirrel is checking out a different nut tonight,” Rogers, a guy who’d only been fighting for a few months now, suddenly decided to tell me. “Think I saw her talking to Schuler the other day too.” He’d sneered at me like his words were going to rattle me.
No one knew the new addition talking to Celia was my roommate. He hadn’t made any indication that he knew me. So I’d just roll my eyes. Sure she’d talk to Schuler. Right after his drunk ass had walked into her. It was completely innocent.
“Oh yeah, she talked to him all right. Though unless reaming his ass for stepping on her toes is now considered foreplay, I don’t think anything is going on there.”
“Never know. Don’t think you’re guaranteed every win; she might just be going home with me tonight instead.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah. Squirrel like that only takes it from a real winner. You can b
et when you’re not here, she’s scouting someone else. Her loyalty to you isn’t even real. Just wait. You’ll see whose arm she’s hanging off of at the end of this fight.”
I’d laughed. Hard. And then I’d kicked his ass.
As he’d sat on the hard, still warm concrete trying to stop his bloody nose, I’d counted out my winnings and then smiled as Cecelia slipped against my side, pressing a kiss against my jaw. “Looks like your wrong. On both accounts. Nice try though.”
That is the first night the trash talk against me turns more personal. While I’d always gotten shit, because that’s what you do to throw off your opponent, most of it involved my fighting. Occasionally some would be about Cecelia, the guy questioning my relationship with her, telling me she is only with me because I win. But this night is the first night anyone has tried to suggest she is playing me.
It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
And the next night, it hadn’t abated as I’d pushed past each match to the final round. Spears, my final round opponent had only added to the stream of nonsense. Though his words didn’t end with the start of the fight. He’d had the stupidity to continue taunting long after punches were thrown. Saying everything from how he was going to kiss her right in front in me, tongue and all, to how he would make it so that come the next Saturday match, she still wouldn’t be able to walk because a ‘real man knew to leave his bitch wounded.’
It’d been my most brutal fight ever.
I’d knocked him out in the end.
I hadn’t been able to help it. It was the thought of how he’d essentially hurt her. The thought of how he didn’t care about her one bit, she was just a notch, just a way to ‘stick it’ to me. I didn’t hold back. And he didn’t wake up for a few minutes.
I’d pocketed six grand that night, took Celia’s hand and left without a word.
I also avoided Frankie for a few days until he cornered me as I came in from work the following Tuesday.
“How long have you been fighting for?”
He’d never asked me before. “Two months before I turned twenty-one. Remember I’d been laid off? Well, I couldn’t find anything in construction during the cold months so I decided to check this out.”
“Wow. So like four years then?”
“Give or take.”
“Huh. I mean I don’t check you out or anything, but it’s obvious you’ve bulked up a bit. And I’ve noticed Cecelia wearing more of your shirts lately.”
That had irritated something fierce. The idea of him looking at her, of him checking her out in any way raised my hackles like no other. And while I’d blown off the bullshit during the fight, I’ve always known Frankie lusted after Celia. His eyes always follow her, focus on her even when someone else is talking to him. It’s unnerving and irritating and having him openly admit to noticing her clothes pisses me off.
“Yeah, so a few years now. It’s not every weekend I’m picked, but when I do, I do well,” I comment to bring the topic away from Celia.
After that, Frankie attends a match here and there. Nothing consistent, but enough to watch me take some new opponent down, chat up Celia alone for a few minutes – which only manages to fuel the talk, and then depart after my win. Brock never comes and as summer approaches, he ends up moving to Iowa or some shit for his job.
As far as I know, he never finds out about my fighting.
“Saw your girl at Coco the other night,” Fife, a guy who began fighting last year when a new wave of guys rolled through, quips as we trade punches. “Think I’m gonna have to change my water cooler. Maybe make her realize what a loser you really are.”
See, from the moment he started fighting, Fife hasn’t liked me. I don’t know if it’s because I win and he can’t figure out how to beat me, or if he’s jealous of me or what it is. All I know is he talks shit, dirty shit, with nothing off limits, and is always trying to get under my skin. It doesn’t really work. And that only makes him try harder.
Which in turn, makes me go harder.
“She flirted me up real good, too,” he continues on when I don’t say anything. “And I mean come on, you saw how she checked me out once she got here.”
I did see her look at him. But where Fife saw interest, I saw recognition. And now that I know he made an appearance at her job, her reaction makes sense.
“If you say so,” I reply before slamming my fist against his left cheek. He cusses at me before stabilizing his stance to try and get me back.
“Oh bitch, I fucking know so. That whore you take home every time, she may be the hottest pussy here, but you ain’t the only one she spreading it for.” I get another hit in, this time to the other cheek. Fife stumbles back and shakes his head, perhaps to clear his rattled vision. I have no real intention of letting him get his bearings and land a punch to his gut. He doubles over and I wait to see his next move. With a wheeze Fife lifts his eyes to me, a twisted smirk on his face, as though he’s the one winning this match. “I heard she likes it two at a time. Maybe I’ll get all her holes plugged when I take her.”
And that’s it. He obviously has a death wish. I slam my fist once more onto his face and watch him fall. With Spike now “retired,” his nephew is now in charge of dishing out the rules and money. Brees is a damn near identical twin to his uncle, too.
“Winner; Chace!” He raises my hand into the air, kicking Fife as he moves to reach me.
“Jesus fuck,” I hear behind me. “All that fucking talking, when you shoulda been fucking trying to beat him.”
“Whatever. He’ll get his one day. And so will that bitch of his,” Fife says, anger and wounded pride evident. I ignore him though. He’s not worth my time.
Slipping my shirt on, I pocket my winnings, and move to Celia. “Hey, baby.” She slips her small hand in mine as we walk off into the dark late spring night not concerned about anything but celebrating.
EIGHTEEN
We celebrate Celia’s birthday at Rocka Bell, a rhythm and blues bar on the east side of town. It’s the first time I willingly and comfortably step into a bar in, well, ever. I am good to avoid all alcohol, and have for years now. Even when it comes to the parties my roommate’s feel it’s necessary to throw. But at a bar, it’s hard to avoid it. That’s the point of a bar, after all, the serving of alcohol. So I make sure to keep a bottle of water in my hand all night so that I don’t allow the temptation to take over. Not that I really feel the urge, but just in case.
There’s a band, Three Ravens, playing that Celia had heard about. She’d wanted to see them and though I’m more of a rap and rock fan, it’s her birthday. I can deny her nothing.
I’ll admit, the band is good. They play some covers, songs everyone knows and some of their own stuff too. The sound is amazing. It’s sultry and steamy. It’s smooth and intoxicating. Or maybe that’s just Celia, because it sure isn’t the water I drink.
She stands in front of me, dancing seductively, raising her arms above her head, letting her fingers trail to mine, to wrap around my neck. As if the stimulation of that isn’t enough to drive me crazy, she brushes her ass against my dick with every swing of her hips and by the time Three Raven’s set is over, I’m practically dragging Cecelia back to my place to fuck her.
She giggles the whole way home.
“You think this is funny?” I motion toward my crotch, my erection pressing hard and proud against the fly of my dark wash jeans. She just giggles some more as I move to cage her against the wall as we wait for the train. “You think the way you were moving against me, practically pushing all of my limits away, is funny? Hmm? You think grinding your ass against me, making me want to take you, fuck you right there in that room, in front of all of those assholes, is funny?”
She sobers quickly, her laughter dying at the same time her eyes heat. “I think it’s fucking hilarious.” Her fingers slip through my belt loops, pulling me flush against her body as she claims my mouth. It’s late, after one in the morning, so there’s not many people around waiting. Lifting
her leg to wrap around my hip, Celia grinds against me as I thrust against her.
I want to take her here. I want to be buried balls deep inside her right this second. Just like this. But the only way for that to happen is if I strip her, peeling away her skin tight jeans. While appealing, and the fog of lust is suggesting I do just that, common sense tells me getting arrested for not only indecent exposure, but also having sex in such a public place, is not a good idea. So I pull away, my breathing heavy, my heart racing, my dick even harder.
Dropping her leg down, I close my eyes to calm my lust. “It might be a good thing you opted not to wear that skirt tonight after all.”
“And here I was just thinking it was too bad I didn’t,” she whispers at me as I open my eyes to see her smirk.
“Minx.”
“Tease.”
“Never,” I murmur, once again caging her in. “I’m going to take you so hard. I’m going to take you soft. So slow and so fast. I’m going to fuck you, make love to you, until you can think of nothing else for days. You won’t be able to move without thinking of me.”
“You promise?”
“Have no doubts.”
We don’t come up for air until she has to leave for her shift the following day.
I make her come so many times she loses count.
When she walks out of my apartment to head to work, her neck is adorned with a delicate lily pendant that I give her for her birthday present. She’d cried her thanks when I gave her the small box, filled with a silver chain, and the soft white flower dangling from it. Then she’d tackled me to thank me further. All in all, it is a very good birthday. For both of us.
I’m not selected to fight for a couple of weeks following Celia’s birthday. I stay for a bit to watch some of the early rounds, wanting to check out any new guys coming in, seeing if any regulars are changing up their technique.
Some guys are “retiring” now, moving on from the call of the fight to start families. To focus on futures that don’t involve bruises and broken skin. So there’s a lot of new faces for me to get used to. Some, like during my first match, walk away after their first loss. Some, like during my first match, have the chance to be good, but either let too much pride get in the way, or don’t trust their ability enough to stick around.
The Bitter (Addiction #1) Page 14