The Savage Sinner

by Harlan, Christopher

  “You really are a fight fan. That’s amazing.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “But back to the name thing. Why don’t you name yourself?”

  “It’s considered a dick move to anoint yourself something tough sounding. Your nickname should be given to you—so I can’t tell you how I came up with Sinner, but I can tell you how Lucas did.”

  “Lucas? He named you?”

  “You make him sound like my father or something,” I laugh.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No, it’s fine, that’s actually how it is at the gym—we’re equals now. But I am a little younger than him, and I was the new guy at the gym for a long time, so he was like the father figure even though we are close in age.”

  “So what happened?”

  “There used to be a fighter at the gym named Ryan, he’s retired now because of an old shoulder injury. Even though he was on the back nine of his career, he was still considered the man. And here I was, this snot nosed, hard-headed kid who loved to strike and thought that he was better than everyone.”

  “I can definitely see that side of you.”

  “You have no idea. I can be a cocky asshole in that cage—especially when I get loose. Back then, I was even more confident in myself because I had never lost a fight.”

  “So then what happened with Ryan and you?”

  “It was a normal day. We were sparring like normal—or at least I thought it was. I was basically helping him get ready for a fight that was coming up—giving him good looks and fighting him in the style that we thought his opponent was going to bring.”

  “Sounds generous of you.”

  “I thought so too, but apparently Ryan was an old school guy. Back in his generation, it wasn’t good enough to have the new guy be a sparring partner and clean the gym—you had to teach him a lesson to show him his place.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Yup. Old Ryan—and I mean that literally, he was heading towards the end of his career—thought that he’d be doing me a favor by teaching me a lesson during our sparring session that day.”

  “I’m not a fighter, but that doesn’t sound like a great idea.”

  I smile at that one. She knows where the story is going before I even get there, I love it. “Nope, it wasn’t. It was the opposite of a great idea. We were going easy, just working on technique, when, all of a sudden, he blitzed me at full speed and strength with a left hook to the body. I wasn’t expecting it, so it hit me clean and I fell to the canvas in pain. The whole gym stopped.”

  “Holy shit. What did you do?”

  “Mostly held my side while I listened to Matt yell about gym culture and all that.” I stop, remembering him lecturing me and Lucas about that same thing the other day. “But then I got up. I recover fast. Now, normally, at least from the old school world that Ryan came from, I’d just take a lick like that and move on. But that’s not our gym, and that sure as hell isn’t my personality. I don’t take free shots, but I’m not about to be put in my place by any man.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I knocked him out. Like out cold. I called his name, told him I was going to hit him, and told him to defend himself.”

  She laughs. “Wait, you said that you were going to hit him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Doesn’t it work out better if the person you’re going to hit doesn’t know? I’m no expert, I’m just asking.”

  “You’re funny,” I say. “And yes, in a street fight you want the element of surprise, but this wasn’t a street fight. I didn’t want to hit him and have him claim that I cold cocked him and that I was being a pussy. So, I gave him fair warning—the asshole was just too arrogant to believe me.”

  “So you hit him?”

  “I hit him. I hit him so hard I fucked up his fight. It was kind of a big deal—it’s still a sore spot if you mention it to Matt. He almost threw me out of the gym, but Lucas stepped up to defend me behind the scenes. He explained what had happened and basically told Matt that Ryan was the one who should go, and that I was in the right.”

  “Aww,” she says. “That was sweet of him. And he was right.”

  “Lucas is great like that. I still think of him like that mentor figure even though we’re so close in age, we could have been in high school together. But that event is where he gave me my name.”

  She makes a confused face. “I don’t get it—why?”

  “Since neither of us had a fight coming up, he took me out to a bar to get wasted after that whole thing with Matt calmed down. And that’s when he said it.”

  “What?” she asks.

  “After a few stiff drinks, and some bullshitting, he turned to me and said, ‘Kid, if I was your priest I’d offer you absolution right on the spot, because the way you knocked Ryan out was a mortal sin’.”

  “And that’s when you became “The Sinner”. I get it now. That’s a great story.”

  “I love that story. I haven’t ever told anyone that before. It’s fun to remember.”

  “Can I put that in the piece I’m doing on you, or would you rather keep that private?”

  “Oh, right.” I forget sometimes that this whole thing started over a story that she wants to do about me. For me, it was never about that—it was about getting to be around her for as much time as possible. I don’t much care about publicity—I want to make my name through what I do in the cage, but I’m going to honor what I said I’d do out of respect—and out of the fact that it gives me an excuse to keep seeing her. “Of course, you can absolutely use that in the profile. I’m sure Lucas will love seeing his name in print.”

  She laughs. “Is he vain like that? I can tell already, from doing interviews at the fights for my website, that some guys love to be asked questions and be in front of the camera—and by ‘camera’ I mean my iPhone because I don’t have money like that and I work independently.”

  “Oh, hell yeah. You think fighters are all rough and tough—but a lot of them are straight prima donnas.”

  “Yeah? And you? Are you a prima donna?”

  “The spotlight is the last thing I crave—the only thing I’ve ever wanted was to be the best fighter in the world. Nothing more or less. Sure, I want the fame and I want the money, we all do. But if I had to choose between being a mediocre fighter who was famous for his personality and a great fighter who most people don’t know, I’m going to choose to be unknown every time.”

  She smiles one of the most genuine smiles I’ve seen on a woman in a long time.

  We eat our meals and talk some more. This isn’t an interview, but I can tell that when I talk about the fight game she’s honed in on my every word. What I can’t tell is if she’s into me the way I’m into her. She’s being flirtatious, and I’m definitely making her laugh, but I really don’t know if she’s feeling me like that. Usually the girls who I like just come out and let me know that they’re into me. This one is different.

  As we head back to her place after we finish our meal, I think about what I want to do, but, unlike myself, I don’t act on my thoughts. What do I mean by that? I mean I want to grab her sexy ass, throw her against the wall, and smash my lips against hers. But I still don’t know how she’s feeling about the whole thing. I get a signal that she’s into me and then it goes away. I’m not a hesitant man—it’s not even in my personality, but with this girl, I’m afraid that if I act too soon I’ll screw something up that I’ll regret, and that’s the last thing I want.

  We pull up in front of her place and she asks me to walk her in. “There have been some robberies in the area. Nothing crazy, but I’d feel better with a big, strong fighter walking me to my door. I live on the 3rd flood so you can burn some calories going up the stairs. It’ll help with your weight—you know, burn off those salad calories.”

  “You’re never letting me off the hook for that salad, are you?”

  “Nope, never. Best I can do is leave it out of the article. Small favor.”

  “We
ll, at least there’s that.”

  A few short flights of stairs later, we’re in front of her door. I still don’t know what to do so I’m going to treat it like a fight and counter punch based on whatever she does. “Thanks for walking me up, I really appreciate it.”

  “You don’t have to thank for me for that,” I tell her. “And I had a really good time tonight.”

  “Me too.”

  Then we have that awkward pause in between the last words said and whatever’s going to happen next. She looks up at me, and I see that look again—the glimmer that tells me she wants me in the same way that I want her, and then she looks down.

  “I really love Chinese food,” she says, still looking at her shoes.

  I have no idea how to respond, so all I say is, “Oh, cool, me too.”

  She smiles. I guess she realizes that she’s being awkward, so I smile back. “It’s been a while since I’ve had it, though. I tried to go with my brother the other day, after his doctor, but he doesn’t like Chinese.”

  “What?” I say indignantly.

  “Yeah, I know, long story. But it sure would be nice if someone took me to get some good Chinese food—I know a place in Queens that has the best dim sum.”

  Then she looks up again, and this time the look is unmistakable. I can be a little slow when it comes to subtle cues like the ones she’s giving me, but I finally understand. “My fight is in a week. If I win, I’ll take you out for Chinese—just you and me. How does that sound?”

  “God, I thought you’d never ask. And if you lose, I’ll just go by myself. Win-win.”

  This time, I look down and laugh. I really did have a great time, and going out with her again is something I didn’t want to end the night without arranging, but I wasn’t sure where she was with this whole thing. Now I know. “Well I’m not going to lose, so you’ll have to go with me.”

  Before I look up, I feel her hands on my face. After that, her lips on mine. It happens so fast that it takes me a minute to realize that she’s kissing me. But I adjust fast, and grab her around the waist like I wanted to before. Her kiss is soft, gentle, and turns me on so much that my pants get a little tighter than they should be. I don’t know how long it lasts, but it’s over way too soon.

  When we separate, my heart is beating a mile a minute. I want to do more—to put her against the wall and have her wrap her legs around me. I think about all of that in a nanosecond—of what it would be like, of what I’d do to her, of what she’d do to me, but before I can take another step forward she breaks the silence.

  “Goodnight, Damien Reyes. I’ll be at the gym Wednesday at ten, if that’s okay.”

  I’m so bewildered by what just happened that I just stare at her. “Yeah. Yeah, Wednesday works great. I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”

  “You’d better.”

  Then she turns around and goes inside. That all happened so fast that I didn’t even have time to process it, but my dick is still rock hard and my heart is beating a mile a minute.

  As I get back to my car, I can’t stop thinking about all the things I want to do to Harper. I hit the gas to go home, but first I jack up the A/C—I need to cool down.

  15

  Harper

  Holy shit, I can’t believe I kissed him!

  Oh my God that felt amazing, and I didn’t think I’d have the balls to make the first move. That wasn’t planned at all, but now that it happened I need to call Emmy.

  It rings three times as my heartbeat starts to come back to normal.

  “Hello.”

  “I just kissed him and it was amazing!”

  “Your phone skills could use some serious work. Just saying.”

  “I don’t care about my phone skills right now—Em, I can still smell him. I can still taste him on my lips. It was so...”

  “Slow down, slow down. Walk me through the whole thing.”

  I feel like I’m being selfish. I’m definitely being selfish, I’m just really excited. “I’m sorry, are you in the middle of something?”

  “Only if being halfway into my fifth episode of 90 Day Fiancé on TLC, home alone on a Saturday night, counts as ‘something’ — otherwise, nope, this is a nice respite from thinking about how sad my life is.”

  “Stop,” I tell her, coming back to reality for the first time. “Your life is not sad—your weekends might be, but your life. . . definitely not.”

  We laugh and I tell her about our date. I tell her everything, and she listens like the amazing friend that she is. When I’m done, I’m out of breath again, mostly because I’m reliving it as I’m telling her.

  “Holy shit,” she says. “When you said you kissed him, I didn’t think that YOU kissed HIM. Someone’s got balls.”

  “I don’t know what came over me,” I tell her. “That isn’t like me at all. I never make the first move. But the way he was looking at me, I just needed to kiss him.”

  “This might be a stupid question, but how was it?”

  “OMG, it was amazing, Em. Like, the best.”

  “It definitely wasn’t the best.”

  I can’t believe my ears. My best friend is insane. “I think all that shitty TV is rotting your brain. What do you mean it wasn’t?”

  “If that was the best—an unexpected kiss in your hallway after your first date—then there’s nowhere to go but down. The best will be the next one. Then the one after that. Then the one after that. The best better be yet to come.”

  “Okay I take it back—90 Day Fiancé isn’t making you dumb after all. That actually made a lot of sense. It was still amazing, though.”

  “That’s a great thing. I’m glad that happened.”

  “Me too. I just needed to tell someone.”

  “I’m glad it was me. Always call me. I can pause 90 Day Fiancé anytime. It’s on DVR.”

  We hang up.

  I’m going to go to sleep in a few minutes, but first I need to wind down. I think I might take an extra long shower. Maybe close my eyes and think about what would happen if Damien was in there with me.

  16

  Damien

  Today was a grappling day.

  Don’t get it twisted—I’m a striker—I enjoy punching people in the face if they agree to get in the cage with me, but I’m no slouch on the ground. There are lots of people better than me, but I can hang with any of them. Lucas is back in Vegas shooting some press videos for his upcoming UFC debut. He’s really the training partner I want, especially as I get closer to my fight, but I’ll settle for the guys here today.

  After training, I take a shower in the back and meet Matt in his office.

  “You called Master Splinter?”

  I love starting these conversations with Matt agitated. He makes this expression like he wants to reach over and grab us when we call him that, and it’s taking everything in his being to not do it.

  He doesn’t even address the name, he just gets right down to business. “I wanted to game plan about your fight.”

  “Isn’t game planning more your thing? I like to just go out there and fight—read my opponent, react to him, let it flow. I’m not into watching old fights over and over looking for some weird tendency he has that no one has caught yet — I like focusing on myself.”

  After my little anti-game planning speech, Matt just looks at me like he’s the teacher and I’m that kid in class who just let something supremely stupid fly out of his mouth. It goes on for so long that I finally say something to break the silence.

  “What? I take it you don’t like my analysis?”

  “Analysis? Damien, I know it’s been a while since we’ve worked together in this capacity, but ‘letting it flow’ isn’t a game plan. Lots of guys let it flow right before they get knocked out. You need to know your opponent—this one in particular. You need to know what you’re going to do when he does what he’s going to do. That’s the only way to win.”

  I respectfully disagree, but Matt is the boss. I’m not going to argue with him, but I’m stil
l going to try and do things my way. It’s just the way I operate. I can listen to authority figures but only so much. I respect Matt, and that respect means that I’ll always give what he tells me a try, but at the end of the day—or the end of the training session—it’s me and me alone in that cage. It’s my brain that gets rattled around, my body taking the blows. I have to go with my gut.

  “Yeah, okay, we’ll game plan. But I’ll leave that up to you. You can be the field general—I’ll be the soldier. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds like you think game planning is bullshit.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you Matt—I think that a little bit. Maybe ‘bullshit’ is the wrong word—I think sometimes this thing we do has evolved so far that we’ve forgotten that we’re fighting another man in our underwear in front of thousands of people. Sometimes this sport has a little too much sport in it—it needs a little more savagery. And you can’t game plan that. You have to go with your gut.”

  Matt listens like he always does, but I can tell he’s none too thrilled with what I’m saying to him. He’s giving me those skeptical, judgmental eyes. The skeptical, judgmental words follow right after.

  “Look, if you want to go it on your own that’s fine, but if you want me to coach you that means giving up some control and being coachable. That’s up to you.”

  Matt’s right, I’m being a little bit of dick. It’s not even that, really, I’m just an independent guy. That’s what made me fly to Thailand in the first place. It wasn’t that I didn’t win my first few pro fights and a handful of amateur ones, and it’s not because I was trying to escape or find a new trainer. I flew to Thailand because I have this wanderlust inside of me that never quite goes away - a longing to see the world and learn techniques from all over the world. That kind of thinking doesn’t lend itself to taking orders. I guess I need to conform a little here.