SICK HEART

by Huss, JA

  She’s been tired and cranky for a few days, but this breathing stuff is new this morning. Even Maart was eyeing her at breakfast. But he doesn’t have time to worry about Ainsey. Not today.

  Twenty fighters. Ten fights. Ten winners, ten losers. And Ainsey.

  One by one Maart calls up kids in pairs and they duke it out. Jafari ends up fighting Oscar from Rainer’s group, and the whole time I’m wondering what Maart is up to. I really thought Anya would fight Oscar. So who? Please, tell me it’s not Budi. He might only be eight, but he will kick Anya’s ass.

  Jafari loses, of course. But Oscar helps him up and gets off the mat while Rainer cleans up the blood.

  I’m fixated on Maart because Anya is the only one left in my group. So I am watching his mouth as he calls Irina’s name. But it takes me whole seconds to catch up with the fact that she will be Anya’s opponent.

  No.

  Rainer intercepts me, pushing me back as I try to make my way across the mat towards Maart. “Let it go,” Rainer says. “Don’t you dare interfere. She needs this.”

  Fuck that! I sign. Fuck that! Irina will kill her!

  Rainer leans into my ear just as Maart catches my eye from across the platform. Anya, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she is about to take the beating of a lifetime, is already in the middle of the mat, bouncing a little and shadowboxing, like she’s got a chance in hell of making it out the other side conscious. “She needs this,” Rainer repeats in a whisper. “Yesterday, after she fought Jafari and won, she walked off the mat and high-fived a four-year-old in celebration, Cort. She needs this.”

  I look at him, shaking my head. Not Irina. That’s not fair and you know it. Irina could give me a run for my money. Hell, she could kick your ass, easy. This isn’t fair.

  “Life isn’t fair,” Rainer whispers. “Anya has two months. And I don’t know what happens to her after that, but I do know this. It’s gonna be a very dark time for her. It might even be the end of her. She needs this, Cort. And if you have any feelings for her at all, you will let her learn her lessons.”

  And by this time, it’s too late. Because Maart has already started the fight and Anya and Irina are circling each other on the mat.

  Irina toys with her like a cat playing with a mouse before the kill. She swipes at Anya, allowing her to block, building her confidence. And then that first kick across Anya’s cheek is so powerful, Anya literally spins in place before falling over on her knees.

  Irina backs off. Patient. No gloating from her. She isn’t here to fight Anya. She is here to teach Anya a lesson.

  You are nothing. You do not matter. Your life has no value.

  We are all going to die, but you? You’re going down sooner than later.

  Anya is stunned, but she’s already up on one knee. I want to tell her to stay down, but I already know Maart doesn’t care. He has instructed Irina to keep this fight going for as long as possible. And that’s exactly what happens.

  There are no rounds in this ring. There is no resting. You fight until it’s over.

  And this one goes on for nearly nine minutes before Anya is unconscious on the mat, one eye swollen shut, the other one quickly following suit. Her lip is split in two places and every time she exhales, a little bubble of blood forms around her left nostril.

  Maart and I meet in the middle of the mat at the same time. I am filled with rage, my breaths coming hard and fast. And I would knock him out right now. But a part of me knows… I’m not sure if I could.

  And besides, I need him to stitch her back up.

  He waits for me to figure all this out, his dark eyes daring me to be stupid.

  And then I nod at him and we pick her up by the arms and drag her inside to the clinic.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - ANYA

  I am not fully aware of everything happening to me. But I know two things.

  One. I got my ass kicked by a ninja girl who is nearly half my age.

  And two. I have swallowed so much blood, I am now puking.

  Rainer’s calm voice is in my ear, telling me to relax, I’m fine. Then Maart, snarling at me to stay still as he stabs my eyebrow with a needle and suture.

  Cort is there too.

  At least, I think he is.

  Because someone is playing with my hair.

  I drift after that. Maybe they gave me drugs or maybe I fell unconscious again. Hard to tell, probably doesn’t matter.

  But now I am lying on something very soft. So, so, so soft.

  This is when I realize I’m dreaming. Because there is nothing about the Rock that is soft. It’s all concrete and steel. So different from how I grew up.

  Everything about that place was soft. My huge bed. My comfy chairs. The thick rugs under my bare feet.

  I lived like a little princess for the past… what, ten years? No sleeping on concrete for Anya Bokori. No swallowing fish whole. No rehydrated chicken bits. No saltwater baths that never wash that sweat off, just add to it, so that each day you are stickier and filthier than you were the one before.

  My life was clawfoot tubs filled with champagne bubbles. It was fancy dinners. Food cooked by a private chef. It was long rides on luxury jets and weeks spent wandering foreign cities with pockets lined with money. It was fresh fruit, and special dresses, and pretty hair and nails. Only the best for Anya Bokori.

  But that was only half of it.

  It was dank, wet tunnels filled with the smell of shit. It was iron locks on wooden doors and screaming kids behind them. It was bright lights over beds and strange faces watching.

  It was sickness.

  Even the good parts, if there ever were any good parts.

  It was all just sickness.

  I wake to the sound of a voice I don’t recognize. A deep, throaty voice that rumbles into my head and weaves its way into my chest, and down my body, and then back up where it settles in my heart. It makes me want to leave the truth behind and keep this miserable fantasy going just a little bit longer.

  I know it won’t last. It always catches up in the end. But I figure it can pass me by for all I care, and go back to sleep.

  A wet cough pulls me up from the depths. And for a moment I think it’s me. I think, Shit. Now you’re sick, Anya. Lazar is gonna be mad if he has to take you to the doctor. So I try to stop the coughing. But it keeps going—on, and on, and on—and it’s so thick and wet, I clear my throat.

  That’s when I realize it’s not me coughing. It’s someone else.

  “There she is.” A cool hand flattens on my forehead. “Anya? Can you hear me?”

  Who is that?

  “Anya,” he whispers. “Wake up. It’s been almost two days. You have to pee. There’s no way you don’t have to pee.”

  I try to laugh, because that’s true. I really do need to pee. But the pain that shoots through my face is enough to make me choke. And at the same time, the coughing is still happening.

  “Can you open your eyes? Come on, Anya. Enough is enough. You need to come out of this. Maart wants to call for a ’copter to take you to the mainland. And you can’t leave now. Not yet.” This last part comes out like a plea, which is so confusing, and this voice is not Rainer or Maart, so…

  Oh. Ohhhhhh. It’s Cort. He’s talking to me.

  I squirm, trying to open my eyes and sit up. But there is no way this is happening. My entire body aches. No, that’s the wrong word. Every movement causes my muscles to scream in protest. And try as I might, I cannot open my eyes.

  “Here,” Cort says. “Lemme help.”

  I wince and then cry out as he helps me sit up a little. He presses a hot cloth to my eyes, wiping the sandy crumbs away. It’s only then that I realize my eyes are open, but they are so swollen, just a sliver of reality gets past my lids.

  I see him. His smile is fake, but I think that’s because he’s worried and not because he’s about to lie to me. He lets out a long breath. “Fucking hell, Anya. You scared me. Maart wanted to take you back to the village and leave you with Udulf.”
He pauses, stares at me. “Do you know who I am?”

  I nod. Then force a small smile.

  “Yeah. Good.” He smiles back. “I’m pissed at him, by the way. We fought over this. I didn’t know he was gonna pair you with—”

  I place a hand on his arm and he stops. I don’t have the energy to sign anything, and I’m sure as hell not going to speak. But we’re past that, I think.

  The outcome of the fight doesn’t matter.

  I lost, and I don’t care.

  Because for the first time in my life, I feel… alive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - CORT

  Her hand on my arm is a signal. She’s OK. I don’t know what’s really going through her mind, but she’s OK. That’s all she needs me to know.

  Anya’s eyes migrate down to the limp body of Ainsey in my arms. I let out a long breath. “She’s sick. Again. Third time she’s caught pneumonia since she came to live with me last year. There’s something wrong with her.” I sigh. Because it all feels so pointless.

  Anya tries to sit up, her distorted face registering a look of concern.

  “No. She’s fine right now. Maart gave her some antibiotics and she’s actually breathing a lot better than she was yesterday. But he says there has to be a reason for it. Probably an undiagnosed heart defect and poor nutrition when she was little.”

  Even with both of her eyes swollen I can see the judgment.

  “I know, I know. We’ve put her on a new diet. Her training is over. I don’t know what else to do. I feel like a fucking failure.”

  I haven’t said these words out loud to anyone. Not even Maart. And for good reason. Because the idea of leaving Ainsey behind is cracking my heart right down the middle.

  Who knows how many of these kids in camp are mine? Just because they don’t have the gray eyes doesn’t mean they didn’t come from the girls I won in the fights. I would never know. Because I don’t know what happened to those girls after they were taken away.

  So it feels like a copout to suddenly care about Ainsey because she has my eyes. It feels very fucking dirty.

  And I’m starting to understand that the reason I didn’t want to fight for Ainsey wasn’t because I thought I’d lose, and then we would all lose everything. It’s because then I’d have to face reality and admit that I left the others behind by choice. That I picked and chose who would live and who would die. And that all of this was my decision, not Udulf’s or the people who run this sick world I’m a part of.

  It was all just me.

  I’m not gonna lie, not even to myself. Rainer’s decision to stay and train them was a blow. It was a slap in the face. One of those genuine wake-up calls that ends up being a punch in the gut. Because how do I leave Rainer behind?

  Two knocks on the doorjamb make me look over and find Maart standing there. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  His eyebrows go up. “So you’re talking now?”

  I sigh and shrug. “Seems like a more efficient way to communicate now that everything is falling to shit.”

  Maart’s eyes migrate over to Anya. He squints at her. “Is she awake or not? I can’t tell.”

  He can’t tell because her eyes are practically swollen shut. “She’s awake. I’m just about to help her to the bathroom.”

  I almost ask him to hold Ainsey while I do that, but before I can he says, “Good. I’ve got Irina making dinner.” He nods to Ainsey. “Should we make her something? Or is she gonna sleep?”

  I hate the coldness in his voice. I don’t want to admit it’s there. But it is. He resents Anya and he resents Ainsey because these two girls are fucking everything up.

  He thinks Rainer is staying behind because of Ainsey. And he thinks Anya is making me question things.

  He’s not wrong, so I get it. I understand his judgment. But I don’t like how it’s changing my opinion of him.

  Before Anya came, it was me and Maart. For so long, it’s been just me and him. And yeah, Rainer has been here the whole time. And the girls back at camp. But Maart and I were a team. He’s always had my back. And everyone knows you do not get this far into the game the way I have without a Maart at your back.

  My success is his.

  “I’ll make sure she wakes up to eat,” I say, finally answering his question.

  He nods, then disappears down the hallway.

  I push everything that just happened during our silent moments away and get to my feet, still clutching Ainsey to my chest.

  Anya is looking up at me. “Come on.” I offer her my hand. “I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

  It takes several minutes just to get Anya standing. But I’ve been there. That first time you get up after getting the shit beat out of you is the hardest. But once you start moving it gets better. So I don’t let her dwell on her slow pace. Just keep her moving out of the game room and down the hall.

  When we get to the bathrooms, I help her sit on the toilet then linger for a moment. I put her in one of my shirts and no shorts just so when she got to this point, it would be easier to pee.

  I sigh. The things I know and plan for. Makes me sick.

  “I’ll be down the hall, Anya. You get a bath today.” I waggle my eyebrows at her, hoping for a smile. But she just nods and braces herself with one hand on the wall. “Right,” I mutter, then leave to start the tub.

  Ainsey is stirring in my arms and she starts signing to me. Begging for a bath too.

  “You can talk, Ains. Fuck the rules, right?”

  But she doesn’t. Figures.

  Everyone’s strong after the weakest link breaks.

  And today, I am the weakest link.

  Once the water is running, I go back down the hallway and wait for Anya. Irina is busy in the kitchen. She looks over her shoulder at me a few times, wondering if I’m gonna bitch her out.

  But I’m not. That’s the first rule of camp. Both here on the Rock and back in our little training village. You do not ever apologize for winning.

  Irina knows what she did was wrong, but it’s not her fault. It’s Maart’s.

  He’s the one who told her to fight Anya. He’s the one I hold responsible.

  Anya appears, struggling to hold the door open. I help her into the hallway and then suddenly Irina is there. Signing to me.

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

  I hold up a hand. “Stop it. We’ve all been Anya, right?”

  She is surprised at my voice, but she just nods, nervously looking at Anya, who is not looking back at her. She signs to me, I will bring you guys dinner in the game room.

  Maart hasn’t cleared Ainsey for a bath, so after I help Anya in, I take Ainsey back to the game room. She’s crying and this makes her nose run, and that makes her cough, which makes her cry harder. So I settle down on the couch and pick up a book from the pile I’ve been reading to her over the past two days and eventually she settles and falls asleep.

  And so do I. Because the next thing I know, Irina is helping Anya sit at one of the tables. Our games from last month are still open and Anya is sitting at the Connect Four table.

  Irina moves it to the next table over, then hurries from the room as Ainsey and I take the seat across from Anya.

  “Sorry. I fell asleep. Irina should’ve come and gotten me.”

  No big, Anya signs. And I smile. She looks better. A lot better. She notices me watching her. Irina washed my hair.

  “Oh. Well, fuck. I missed out then, huh?”

  It comes out… flirty. Which is not something I do, so… I don’t know what to think of that. But Anya blushes. So apparently, she does.

  Irina comes and saves us, putting a giant strawberry protein shake in front of Anya with a straw, a bowl of canned peaches and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of Ainsey, and a bowl of rice and rehydrated chicken in front of me. She shrugs when I look up at her, then leaves without comment.

  Ainsey is awake and excited about her peaches. She eats them with her fingers, getting the sticky juice all over me. Anya looks acr
oss the table at me, sucking on her straw. And even though her face is still swollen, she looks a thousand times better than she did just an hour ago.

  Finally, once we’re all done and the silence is getting awkward, I say, “I think your training is done.”

  Anya points to herself, then shakes her head, spelling out the words F.U.C.K. Y.O.U.

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “You know what?” I point at her. “I’m gonna get the story about you and sign language real soon. But first, why the fuck do you want to keep going? There is no fight in your future, Anya. You don’t need to do this.”

  Her explanation is simple. I like it.

  “Which part?”

  She thinks about this for a moment. Then shrugs. All of it.

  “The black eyes?”

  She points to her eye. Do you think this is my first?

  Fuck. “No. But… listen. I don’t know why you’re still alive or how you managed to do that. But you did, Anya.” I reach across the table and take her hand in mine, trying not to notice her bruised and scabbed knuckles. “You did. You are. And you didn’t use your fists to get here. If you try to fight a guy like Udulf using your fists, he’ll always win. So whatever weapon you’ve been using to defend yourself, keep using that. Don’t change what works.”

  She stares at me for a few moments. And at first, I think she’s taking this to heart, but then she signs, It’s not working anymore.

  “What’s not working? How did you get here? Why didn’t Lazar kill you a long time ago?”

  She looks away and draws in a deep breath. Then she straightens her back and signs, I understand seventeen languages.

  “Really? Fuck. That’s… impressive. And I guess that explains how you know how to sign.”

  But she’s shaking her head. No, she signs. You don’t understand. No one taught me these languages. I just pick them up.

  “Huh. That’s… like… genius-level shit, Anya. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

  I have heard things.