The trainer looked up as the young man removed gear from his bag.
“It is for me, sir. I try to fight at least once a day, and I train five days a week,” the young man responded.
“At that pace you’ll burn out quick,” the trainer responded as the young man pulled his shorts on.
“Sir, do you expect you’ll train me?” the young man asked as he handed the trainer a roll of tape.
As the trainer looked the young man’s hands over and began to tape them, he responded, “I might. We’ll see how you do. This fella you’re gonna fight will be a tough one for you. He’s never been knocked down, never been knocked out, and never lost. We’ll see how you look against him.”
The young man looked intently into the eyes of the trainer and nodded once.
“Care to ask me what he weighs? Or his age? His fighting record?” the trainer asked.
“No sir,” the young man responded.
The trainer shook his head at the perceived arrogance of the young man.
“God damn, you street fight much?” the trainer asked as he taped the heavily scarred hands of the young man.
The young man nodded once.
“Tattoo mean something?” the trainer asked as he noticed the tattooed knuckles of the man’s right hand.
The young man nodded once, “Yes sir.”
“Bust these hands up too much, and your career will end quickly, son,” the trainer said softly as he inspected the young man’s hands.
“Former military?” the trainer asked as he slid the gloves over the young man’s freshly taped hands.
“No sir, they were my fathers,” the young man responded, making reference to the dog tags that dangled on a chain from his neck.
The trainer looked the young man over.
“You’re built like a brick shit house, kid. You lift weights?” he asked.
The young man nodded.
As the trainer laced the gloves, he nodded his head slowly.
“What are you going to do for warm up?” he asked.
“I pulled the bike over and ran three miles before I got here, I’m ready. Just need to get my head right, sir,” the young man responded.
The trainer raised one eyebrow as he looked at the young man.
“I need to pray, sir. I’ll be ready in a minute,” the young man responded.
“Well, you can’t wear those in the ring,” the trainer said as he reached for the dog tags that hung from the young man’s neck.
The young man immediately jerked his body to the right and raised his gloves in a defensive posture.
“Damn, son. I’m just going to pull ‘em off and put ‘em in the locker with your stuff,” the trainer responded.
“I’ll ask you to remove them before I step into the ring,” the young man responded.
“Let’s just toss ‘em in here with your…”
“I’ll ask you to remove them before I step into the ring,” the young man repeated as he interrupted the trainer in mid-sentence.
“Alright. You do that,” the trainer responded as he slipped the protective gear over the head of the young man.
“You need to pray?” the trainer asked as he put the bag, back pack, and clothes into a locker.
“I’m ready sir,” the young man responded as he pounded his gloves together.
The trainer shook his head and started walking out of the locker room. The young man followed. The swagger of the young man was exaggerated in comparison to the slow steady shuffle of the elderly manager.
The young man stepped up into the ring and leaned toward the ropes. As he lowered his head he spoke to the trainer.
“Keep these in your hand, sir. Or put them in your pocket. Please don’t set them down or wear them,” he said.
The trainer reached into the ring and removed the dog tags from the young man’s neck.
“So, kid’s in the military?” the manager asked the trainer.
“Nope. Said they were his father’s,” the trainer responded as he put the dog tags in his pocket.
“Well, what are we gonna do here?” the manager asked.
“Hell, I don’t know. Wanna have ‘em go ten rounds?” the trainer asked.
The manager nodded.
“Mike!” the manager screamed across the gym.
A very muscular man in his early thirties walked slowly toward the group, stepped under the ropes and into the ring. As he entered in the ring, he stood on his toes and stretched his calves. His body tan, his head cleanly shaven, and his upper torso and arms covered with tattoos, he began to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet as he stared toward the young man. The man looked extremely intimidating as he pounded his gloves together.
The trainer stepped into the ring.
The two men approached one another.
“Fellas, this ain’t for nothing but bragging rights. Both of you are undefeated. Should be a good little sparring match. Mike, this kid just rode a bike here from California. Hasn’t really warmed up,” the trainer took a breath.
“I’m ready, sir,” the young man responded.
“Mike, this is Shane Dekkar. Shane this is Mike Ripton,” the trainer said.
The two men nodded at each other and touched gloves. The bald headed man stared into the eyes of the young man and winked.
“Alright, you two know how this works. I suppose we’ll go ten,” the trainer said.
The two men nodded and separated. Mike Ripton walked slowly to the corner of the ring.
The young man followed the trainer to the opposite corner. The trainer inserted a mouthpiece into the young man’s mouth.
“You sure you’re ready?” the trainer asked.
The young man nodded as he bit down on his mouth piece.
“At the bell,” the trainer stated.
The young man nodded.
The trainer positioned himself beside the manager of the gym and sat down at the table beside the boxing ring. As the two men sat at the table, the young man pounded his gloves together and growled.
“Well, let’s see what this kid’s got. Is he fucking growling?” the manager asked the trainer quietly.
The trainer smiled and nodded his head, “Sure sounds like it.”
Ding!
The two fighters approached each other cautiously. The young man took a stance with his right foot forward and began to study the other fighter. A few flurries of punches to the young man’s body followed.
“Southpaw?” the trainer asked.
The manager shrugged his shoulders.
The young man switched his feet to an orthodox stance, now leading with the left foot.
“What’s he doing?” the trainer asked.
The manager shrugged his shoulders again.
The young man unleashed several punches to the lower torso of the other fighter.
“God damn, he’s quick,” the manager stated as he stood and crossed his arms.
The young man threw a quick right jab, sending the other fighter backward.
“Shit, he’s got the Ripper on his heels,” the trainer said as he stood from the bench.
The young man followed with a left jab, and a quick right hook. Ripton stepped backward and attempted to become stable on his feet. His feet staggered as he stepped. As the young man leaned toward the body of Ripton, he swung a devastating left uppercut.
The glove made a crushing impact with Ripton’s chin.
“God damn, this kid’s….oh, shit. Ripper’s down,” the trainer said as Mike Ripton fell to the mat.
The young man stepped to the side of Ripton’s body.
Ripton’s trainer jumped into the ring and ran toward his motionless body. As Ripton’s trainer spoke, he slowly raised himself to his elbows.
Ripton’s trainer waved his arms toward Kelsey, indicating that the fight was over.
“Looks like you got a new fighter, huh Kelsey?” the manager chuckled lightly.
“Looks like it,” the trainer responded.
“Come h
ere, kid,” the trainer said sternly toward the young man.
“Come here,” the trainer repeated as he held the ropes upward.
The young man, focused on the body in the center of the ring, shook his head from side-to-side.
Slowly, Mike Ripton sat up. As he stood, for stability, he held onto the shoulder of his trainer. As Ripton began to move, the young man slowly walked to the center of the ring.
The young man tapped his glove on the shoulder of the other fighter.
“Good fight,” the young man said.
“Nice shot, kid. I didn’t even see that fucker coming,” Ripton said over his shoulder.
The young man turned and walked slowly toward the trainer.
The trainer held the ropes upward as the young man stepped under them and out of the ring.
“Are you interested in working with me?” the young man asked.
“Kelsey, call me Kelsey. And the answer is yes, kid,” the trainer responded.
“Shane Dekkar, sir. That’s my name. I’d prefer it if you call me Shame On, Shame, Shane, Dekkar, or Dekk, sir. I don’t particularly like being called kid,” the boxer stated.
The manager chuckled as the boxer chastised the trainer.
“Well, Shane. Welcome to Austin, Texas,” the trainer responded as he pulled the boxer’s dog tags from his pocket.
The boxer stepped from beside the ring, bent at the waist, and lowered his head toward the trainer’s hands. The trainer reached over the boxer’s head and placed the dog tags around his neck and removed his headgear.
“I’m going to change and go see the city. If possible, sir, have me a fight for tomorrow afternoon,” the boxer said.
“Call me Kelsey, I don’t particularly like being called sir,” the trainer smiled as he responded.
“Noted,” the boxer said as he nodded his head once sharply.
The boxer turned and began walking toward the locker room. His walk possessed a certain confidence – a swagger.
“Why you suppose he walks like that?” the manager asked as he watched the boxer walk away.
“Because he can,” the trainer responded.
Chapter 1
KACE. Trying to figure a way to get out of a relationship and not feel like a complete failure is difficult. Most people would never understand why I had stayed in the situation with Josh as long as I have. As much as I hate the way he’s treated me, I can’t imagine giving up on us or giving up on our relationship.
I don’t think I know how to be alone.
When I think of it, my head gets all jumbled up and I get scared. Sometimes when I consider leaving him I begin to shake. As soon as I start shaking, I change my mind. I often wish someone would simply decide for me.
Each time he has beaten me, I’ve deserved it. I remember the time when I was eighteen, right after high school. Josh was twenty-one. He had to work overtime on that day, and he came home exhausted from a long day at work. He asked me about dinner, and I back talked him. He just lost his temper. He never would have hit me if I hadn’t talked back. It was a really long day for him.
Each time he hit me, he later reminded me it never would have happened if I hadn’t deserved it. He always told me he wished he didn’t have to do it. He explained if I would just learn my lesson and learn to respect him, he wouldn’t have to hit me. Sometimes I wish I would learn my lesson - and other times I wish I was with someone else - someone who didn’t have to hit me.
Josh and I met when I was sixteen. I’ve never been with anyone else. I doubt, from what he’s said, anyone else would ever want me. I have no idea what it would be like to touch another man or even talk to one for that matter. Josh doesn’t let me talk to other men, and he monitors my text messages and phone calls. He doesn’t allow me to have Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook, or Twitter. He takes my cell phone and goes through all of the files in it whenever he wants to, checking for pictures. He said it teaches me to be honest and loyal. I suppose he’s right, but it still bothers me.
When I am at work, I think about what it would be like to have a man treat me like the men in the books I read. I doubt those men really actually exist. If they did, I’d love to have a man like that. One who cherished me and told me I was beautiful. Maybe he would hold my hand and take me to a movie. It would be nice to feel wanted. Josh had not had sex with me for several years and I felt ugly because of it. A woman needs to feel wanted. Even if she doesn’t feel loved, she needs to feel as if someone wants or desires her.
Because Josh didn’t make me feel loved at all, and had not for years, I often daydreamed about other men. I would never cheat on Josh, and even though he wasn’t nice to me, all I wanted was for him to simply want me. I consistently wished he desired something I had to offer him. His desire, however, never comes. I don’t ever daydream about a book boyfriend saving me. I’m not like those girls in the books.
I don’t need to be saved.
I choose to be in my relationship with Josh because I want it to eventually work, and I don’t want to give up on us. I don’t want to be a failure. I only want to be loved. I’m a strong woman, and my persistence stands as proof of my strength. I simply need to be strong enough to make it last until he loves me.
For the last few years I have been thinking about my book boyfriends more frequently. I often daydream about them and what it would be like to actually be with them – to have what it is that’s depicted in the books. To have the hardship, the recovery, and the relationship that I often read about. It really started when Josh held his knife to my throat and told me I was a dumb bitch. We had been arguing more than normal because he quit making love to me. The first time I asked why, he slapped me and said it was because he wasn’t attracted to me any longer. He said I was ugly inside and out. He never slapped me once whenever he chose to slap me. He slapped me until he was tired of slapping me, or until I learned my lesson.
The second time I asked about wanting him to make love to me, he choked me and held me against the wall by my throat. I blacked out and later woke up on the floor.
The third time I asked, he held his knife to my throat and told me to never ask again. Josh has a temper, and I don’t want to learn any kind of lesson that has to do with a knife. I just want him to love me the way I love him.
I try, and I try, and I try, but I can’t seem to ever make the right decisions with Josh. I have continuously made bad decisions which eventually make him mad. I wish just once he would be happy with me, and maybe tell me he liked what I cooked him for dinner. I often wish he would just tell me he liked how I looked or notice when I got my hair cut or colored. The people I work with notice, but Josh never does.
I try so hard.
He used to tell me those things, but not anymore.
Not since he held his knife to my throat.
I have been excited all week for this day to get here. Josh told me if I didn’t do anything stupid all week, he would rent a movie on Friday and we would try to watch it together. Maybe it will be the night things turn around for the better. If we could get along for just one night, I would hold on to those memories for ever.
As I sat in the truck with my Kindle, Josh got out and walked toward the Red Box to get the movies. I sat quietly and read quickly as Josh looked through the selection of the available movies. Reading had become my form of escaping. It allowed me freedom from everything by living through the stories I read. It was easy for me to dream of being the female character in the books I read. A good book could make me laugh, cry, or get so aroused that I had to touch myself. Without reading, I would go completely insane.
My Kindle had become my savior.
“They ain’t got Black Hawk Down or Pulp Fiction,” he said over his shoulder as he stood in front of the Red Box, staring at the screen.
We haven’t watched too many movies over the ten years we’ve been together, but we had seen those two movies no less than a dozen times a piece. I like doing anything with Josh, but sometimes I wish he would think about me and my
desires. I’d like to watch The Notebook or something similar. Maybe Safehaven.
“Well, fuck. They ain’t got nothin’ to watch at this shit-hole. Fuckin’ pisses me off. Maybe we should just hit the liquor store and get a thirty pack and hang out at the house,” he said as he got into the truck.
I slipped the Kindle into my purse. My heart sank as he started the truck. Josh drank a lot. When he drank, it made me nervous. When he was drunk, he was always mean. He felt he deserved to drink; because I either drove him crazy or he had a tough day at work. I tried to hide from him when he drank, but hiding tonight would be impossible to do.
“Why you got that shitty look on your face?” he muttered as he shoved his lip full of tobacco.
I shook my head slowly.
“What? You got something to say? I really ain’t in the mood for your mouth, you little bitch,” he barked as he wiped his hand on his jeans.
I wanted to tell him to get a different movie. I felt like crying. Why couldn’t we have a night together and not fight? Why did he have to drink so much? Why did he have to chew tobacco? It made his breath stink and his teeth brown. To have him be kind to me for one night, I’d let him beat me for a week.
A week of having my face slapped and called names.
In exchange for one night of calling me beautiful and kissing me.
“I asked you a fucking question,” his jaw tightened as he shut off the truck.
Oh no. Not here. Please not here. Please, Josh.
“You see what I mean? You fuckin’ ask for it. It’s like you want it. I’ll never understand what drives you to fight with me, woman,” he yelled.
My muscles tensed as he opened the truck door and stepped out and into the parking lot. He slowly walked around in front of the truck and around to my door. After glaring in the window at me, he opened it.
“Gimme your fuckin’ purse,” he snarled as he held his hand out toward me.
“Gimme that sum bitch or I’ll slap your mouthy little ass right here in the parking lot,” he growled through his clenched teeth as he spit tobacco juice into the parking lot by his feet.
I handed him my purse.
He opened my purse and looked inside. He reached into it, shuffled through the contents, and pulled out my Kindle.
FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME Page 39