Fighting Pride

by Jennifer Miller

  “His fight?”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow night. You’re going right?”

  He has a fight tomorrow night and he didn’t tell me? Maybe he doesn’t want me to go. He probably didn’t ask because he doesn’t want me to feel obligated to attend. “Oh yeah, I can’t believe that is tomorrow night already. Where and what time is it again? I know he said, but I completely spaced it.”

  “This one is at the main Top Team Sporting Center complex in Phoenix. Cole’s round is supposed to start at 8PM.”

  “I’ll definitely be there. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Yeah, we are too. He’s up against a tough opponent, but if he concentrates and shows no mercy, he’s got it in the bag. Should be a good fight.”

  Before I can comment, Cole returns to the table. His demeanor is distressed and tense. “Is everything okay?”

  He nods, but won’t make eye contact. He must be gritting his teeth because his jaw muscles keep tightening and releasing, evident on the side of his face. And then I see his blood vessel in his forehead pulsing. I’m not sure what to do, what to say, I don’t even understand what’s going on.

  Everyone disperses and I wave goodbye at everyone and receive a few hugs and “nice to meet you’s.” As Cole and I walk back to his place, I can’t help but take his hand into my own, “I don’t know what happened, but I know whatever it is, you’re upset about it. Can I help in any way?”

  He looks down at my face and holds my gaze for a moment. He takes a deep breath and I can see some of the stress leave his face. He holds up our joined hands and looks at them, “This helps. Thank you.”

  I give his hand a squeeze and don’t let go all the way to the parking lot of his apartment complex. “Thank you for dinner. I’m going to see you tomorrow, right?”

  He nods and I can see the muscles in his throat working as he swallows, “Yeah, your last day.”

  “Yes,” I practically whisper, an ache in my chest at the thought.

  “I have something I have to do tomorrow night, but I can stop by your place to take you to lunch tomorrow, would that work for you?”

  “Yes. That sounds great.”

  “Okay, good night, Tatum.” He brushes the hair away from the side of my face and places a soft kiss on my cheek. As the hair from his chin tickles my face, it gives me chills and I want so much to kiss him. To kiss the stress and worry right off of his face and out of his body. I want to throw myself in his arms and pretend that I’m not leaving. I want to feel his body pressed against mine, feel the way he used to love me one last time. I want to be with him intimately, close my eyes and pretend that we have all the time in the world.

  Instead, I smile, nod, and whisper good night.

  I watch in my rearview mirror as he stands there and watches me drive away. Thoughts of turning back around enter my mind, but I continue on to my hotel. Once there, I pick up the phone and dial.

  “Tatum, hi. I was wondering if I would hear from you tonight.”

  “Hi Blaine,” I sigh, not sure how to begin to say what I need to.

  “How was your day today? Did you do anything fun?”

  “Blaine, I will always be grateful for everything you’ve done for me. You helped me work through my problems when I was frightened and scared in a new place. You helped me come to grips with the loss of Hope and to learn to love myself again, or at the very least to take the first steps on the path to forgiving myself. I can’t ever repay you for that.”

  “Tatum-”

  “No, please let me finish. I believe that you came into my life exactly when I needed you most. I don’t know, and can’t imagine what I would have done if I hadn’t had your guidance, acceptance, and strength these last several years. But, Blaine, I’m ready to move on now. Being here has made me realize that my heart and soul aren’t ready to be given to you, maybe I’ll never be able to give them again to anyone else, I don’t know, but it’s not fair to you for me to continue this relationship any longer.”

  “Tatum,” he sighs wearily, “we can discuss this when you get home. When you’re away from there. You’re surrounded with a history that you have fond feelings for and it’s all likely overwhelming and confusing you. And it makes sense that you would have some confusion over the future given the past staring you in the face right now. It’s the first time you’ve been back to Arizona since your loss and honestly, I’ve been waiting for this.”

  “No, Blaine. You’re wrong. Being away from here isn’t going to change how I feel.”

  “I think it will, and we can talk about this when you get back like I suggested. We will have a healthy conversation, evaluate your visit, and determine where exactly these feelings are coming from. I’ll see you when you get here, okay?”

  “Good bye, Blaine. Thank you…for everything.”

  I can hear him start to say something else, but I press the end button on my phone and then shut it off completely. As I change into my pajamas and wash my face, I feel lighter than I have in…I don’t even know how long.

  Maybe on one hand Blaine is right, maybe being here and remembering my history is making me resurface feelings that will fade away when I leave. Maybe I’m just caught up in being around Cole again and remembering what used to be. I don’t know. What I do know is that I want to be in a position where I’m free to find out.

  I’m nervous about tonight’s fight and I’m not sure why. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that something is about to hit the fan. Jerry showing up in a drunken rage like he did last night certainly doesn’t help – it’s only managed to emphasize the feeling. My initial reaction was to freeze, I could feel the panic welling in my throat, closing it, making me want to run and hide. I hate that I allow him to make me feel weak and worthless, but he owns me. At one time I fought against it, still tried to push him and remember I had rights, but little by little he’s worked at and succeeded in stripping the old me away. If I’m honest, I just quit trying and let him. Giving in was easier than fighting a losing battle.

  Surprisingly, things went easier and even better with Jerry than I initially expected last night. All it took was a threat from Jax to call the police and have him arrested for drunken disorderly conduct to get him to calm down and listen. I know Jax had no idea why Jerry showed up there and caused a scene – no idea what Jerry would get out of doing something like that. But I do. It was all a charade for my benefit – him trying to prove a point. He wanted me to remember that he’s always there, always watching, always making sure that I’m holding up my end of the deal. The thing is, and what scared me last night, is that I’m not. I’m not holding up my end of the deal at all – not since I’ve been with Tatum. Fortunately, we got him out of there, but I know that I’ll end up being the one to pay for Jax’s words with Jerry over his antics as if it’s all my fault.

  I’ve been both looking forward to and dreading seeing Tatum all day. She’s only here for a matter of hours and then she’s leaving. Gone from my life again. This time though, maybe I can get her to share her phone number with me, keep in touch. Just thinking that makes me shake my head and laugh at myself. I keep having this delusional thought that Tatum and I can be friends with each other when I know that isn’t possible. We can never be just friends.

  Grabbing my keys from the table by the door, I turn to leave so I can pick Tatum up from her hotel for our lunch date when there’s a knock on the door. Frowning that someone is going to delay my plans, I swing the door open and quickly feel my expression change to confusion when I see Tatum standing there. “Hey. I was just leaving to pick you up. What are you doing here? Did I confuse our plans?”

  “I just…can I come in?” she asks and the look on her face makes me step back to let her in immediately.

  “Of course.” When I do so, she walks inside a few steps and I shut the door. When I turn to her, she’s simply standing there staring at the floor. She’s biting her lip and picking her nails, plus her breaths appear to be coming quickly. Worriedly, I ask, “Tatum,
what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

  “Yes. Yes, something’s happening. I’m leaving tomorrow,” she says and then stops and looks at me. Then she closes her eyes and swallows heavily. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but whatever it is, her demeanor is making my chest ache. “And I find that I’m feeling torn, Cole. Part of me is ready to go home. This week has been…unexpected, sad, and draining, yet somehow it’s also been exciting, promising, and fun. The truth is, a part of me, and I think it’s a bigger part, hurts at the thought of leaving – thinking about going home makes me want to cry.” She clutches her chest when she says this as if she’s feeling pain right now.

  I remain still and silent. Doing so makes my chest burn and my throat ache. Can she hear it? Can she hear that inside my chest my heart is screaming for her to stay? It’s bloody, bruised, and bleeding from trying to get my attention; it’s begging me to voice the feelings it holds trapped inside. It wants me on my knees, to crawl and scrape my way to her feet and beg her forgiveness, to tell her that since she left I’ve been a shell of the man that I used to be. The man that I was before came from knowing her, from loving her. Since I lost her, I rarely smile, I hardly laugh, and I have trouble finding and seeing the goodness around me anymore. It’s gone. But after just a couple days with her, I remember what it’s like to feel again. I don’t want her to leave, god I don’t, but I can’t ask her to stay either. She can’t.

  “When I was with you last night, I wanted so badly to throw my arms around you and kiss you,” she says and touches her lips as if she can feel my lips there against hers. She glances behind her and then begins walking backwards and I follow her mesmerized. “I wanted to press my body against yours, lose myself, and remember what it was like to feel passion again. The kind of passion we had before…” she doesn’t finish that thought, but I know what she was going to say. Before we lost Hope. We were never able to get enough of each other before that. “I broke up with Blaine,” she blurts out and I stop walking, and instead watch, and wait. “I can’t be with him when…when my heart still belongs to someone else.” She opens the door to my bathroom, looks inside and then closes it. She moves toward the next door and her words have me so stunned it takes a moment for me to realize her intent.

  “I want to remember, Cole.” With those words she swings open the door to my bedroom.

  “Tatum!” I say, “Wait!” But she’s not listening.

  “I don’t know when I will get the chance again, and this morning when I woke up, I thought to myself, what do I have to lose? I want to be-” her next two words, “with you,” are spoken softly because her eyes are already taking in the room around her and it’s clear she can’t comprehend what she’s seeing.

  “What?” She spins little by little taking in the room. My mind is reeling. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to her. I don’t know what I’m going to say. How can I explain that every wall of my room is covered with pieces of her art? That she’s never been far from me all this time. I’ve always kept abreast of where she’s been, what she was doing – as much as possible - I demanded it. When I could, I had pieces of her work sent to me through a contact at her school. Discarded homework pieces, or when the school would have mini showings and make them available for purchase, I was sent some. I’ve even bought some from a gallery before when I was told they were there. Anything I could get, I obtained and tried to imagine her painting each one. I did anything I had to for a piece of her. When she was telling me about her school dictated showings and sales, I made sure I didn’t react, already knowing full well about them.

  “I don’t…I don’t understand.” She looks at me and her eyes are huge in her face. Tears threaten to fall and disbelief paints her face red. “How? How do you have these?”

  “Tatum…” I walk toward her with my hands out as if she’s a deer I’m trying not to frighten.

  “Cole!” she says loudly, her voice shaking, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Cole, I don’t understand.” She keeps turning around and around, and I imagine maybe she feels as if she’s seeing things.

  “I know,” I tell her because what else can I say?

  “No. That’s not good enough.” She stops and stares at me wide-eyed and the look in her eyes could bring me to my knees if I let myself drown in it. “How do you have these?” She enunciates each word as if speaking them takes great effort.

  “I can’t-”

  “NO!” she screams. “NO! No, goddamn you. How the fuck do you have these paintings? This one,” she runs to the side of my room and points to a painting of a vase holding red roses, “I painted this not long after I started at art school. And this one,” she points to an abstract painting that she titled chaos on a label taped to the back. I could almost feel the turmoil in her heart and mind when I received this one and pictured her painting it. Hair piled on top of her head, brow furrowed, random paint coloring her face and arms, oblivious to the world around her. It made me hurt for her in a way that was almost debilitating. “I painted this one a couple years ago. It was selected by an art gallery to display for sale, it sold quickly and-” her voice cuts off. She spins around and looks at me, shaking her head; the look in her eyes rips me to shreds – betrayal, confusion, and anger.

  “Explain this to me, Cole! Right now! I don’t understand!”

  “I know. I know you don’t. But, I can’t. I can’t explain. I’m sorry.” She runs to me and slams her fists against my chest.

  “No! No! You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to keep this form me. Not this. Not anymore. You don’t get to make me more confused that I already am.” Her fists hit me in the chest over and over and over again as she yells, as she cries. I’m not sure that she’s even aware of the fact that she’s now sobbing. I just let her. I hold the top of her arms and ride it out. I let her hit me; I let her take out her anger, bitterness, and feelings of betrayal, as she should. It’s been a long time coming.

  “It’s okay. I know. I know,” I whisper to her like a mantra over and over until her forehead rests on my chest, and while gripping handfuls of my shirt in her hands, her knees buckle. Sinking to the floor with her in my arms, I hold her tight and rock her back and forth as she lets it out.

  Eventually her cries stop, and a while after that she pulls away from me and her face is smeared with tears, her eyes convey loss and confusion. I wipe away what I can with my thumbs and we stare at each other, words not passing between us, yet so much is said. I tuck her hair behind her ear on one side and kiss her cheek, closing my eyes at the feel of my cheek rubbing against hers. When I pull away, we hold eye contact. I don’t know who moves first, and I don’t care, I just know that my lips are suddenly on hers and she’s kissing me back. She moves her lips against mine quickly, and through her kiss I feel passion laced with anger and longing. It’s in the way she begins to cry silently as she kisses me, the salt from her tears lingering on her tongue. It’s in the way she clutches my shoulders in desperation, and in the way she presses her body against mine.

  Pulling back from me, she scrambles to straddle my lap, then finds my lips again. Her tongue slides against mine her lips silently asking for more. Her hands find the bottom of my shirt and she tugs, I move away from her and hold her gaze as she moves the shirt over my head. Her eyes scan my torso and turn heated, when she spies a tattoo on my left side over my ribs, the heat wanes and her eyes fill with tears again. “I didn’t see this the other night,” she says.

  “It was dark, and my shirt wasn’t up high enough,” I shrug.

  She takes a finger and traces Hope’s name, then leans down and kisses each letter. When she sits back up, she stares at me before slowly removing her own shirt. Her breaths come quicker now; her breasts straining against the white lace bra she’s wearing with each inhale and exhale. She watches me as she moves her hands behind her back and unsnaps her bra. With deliberate slowness now, she slides one strap down her shoulder and then the other before pushing it aside.

  She doesn’t ne
ed to say a word, what she wants, what she needs, is evident. Taking my face in her hands, she kisses me on the lips, and presses her body against mine. I inhale sharply and moan at the feeling of her skin on mine. My mind, my heart, my soul, and my hands are full of her.

  The rest of our clothes quickly follow the others and when we are bared to each other it’s as if we’re in a race. Before I can barely blink, she’s astride me again, has me in her hand and I’m inside of her. For a moment we simply allow ourselves to feel our connection. Taking her face in my hands this time, I tell her what’s on my heart, “You’ve always been with me, Tatum. These paintings…well you’ve always been on my mind and in my heart. Always.”

  A tear falls down her cheek and I lean forward to kiss it away. When we begin to move, every touch is weighted, every push and pull ignites, and every stroke and cry marks my body with a memory to keep with me always. I feel everything - her skin like silk as it rubs against mine, the ends of her hair as it tickles my chest, the carpet and her nails as they scrape my skin, the sweat that begins to bead on our bodies, and the way she feels while connected to me.

  When we finally climax, we do so together, my shudders of ecstasy are breathed into her mouth combining with hers. Long after, I hold her tightly to my chest, scared, worried, and not willing to let go. Eventually she pulls away from me, and I’m relieved when I see there’s no regret in her eyes, only contentment.

  We spend the rest of our time together naked and on the floor wrapped up in each other. At one point we grab food from the refrigerator and bring it right back to the room and eat it picnic style. While I know she has questions, she doesn’t ask them. Instead, she points to each painting and tells me their story. What inspired her to paint it, why she chose the colors she did if it isn’t obvious, the grade she received for the assignment and anything else that may go along with it. I soak it all up, all the while reveling at the fact that she’s here with me again.