Survival (Twisted Book 1)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer as I cried and his grief became palpable. As it swirled around us, our connection deepened and we shared the pain. We shared the relief of having each other.

  “One day, when he was fifteen, his aunt packed his things in a bag and drove him to a little building on the outskirts of town. He met Geoff. Geoff was short and fat and had a weird cockney accent. He took the boy’s bag and led him upstairs. He showed him a little flat and told the boy he could have it for free if he kept it tidy, mopped the floor of the gym and learned how to fight properly.

  “He put the kettle on and turned to the boy. “I’m going to help you with the pain, Curtis.” He said, “I’m going to teach you how to turn it into power. I’m going to train you to be a great man.”.”

  He stopped talking and stared at the wall opposite.

  “And…?” I asked.

  “And then the dryer stopped,” I looked at him confused, but he smiled at me and all hint of the hurt I heard in his voice disappeared. “Our clothes are dry.”

  Nine

  Sometimes hope is all you have.

  February 14th, 2003

  Valentine’s Day. I hadn’t yet reached a point in my life where I would get excited about such a day. My father would buy me a card when I was a kid, with a teddy bear and packet of Love Heart sweets, but I’d never had a real boyfriend. It was all alien to me; boy meets girl, girl swoons and loses her tongue, boy woos girl until she is powerless to his charm and then they become inseparable. In the blink of an eye, two lives become one. It was a great idea, a beautiful romance that would stand the test of time, but that’s all it was. Idealism. It wasn’t real. And I had no idea how to talk to members of the opposite sex without getting tongue-tied and looking like I’d never had a day’s schooling. It didn’t matter, really. I was convinced it wouldn’t happen for me. I was content with watching it in movies while I gorged on ice cream to try and stick it to my depression.

  My mother had a date. It was the only thing she had spoken to me about for weeks. I'm sure she told me just to gloat – the forty year old drunk could get a date, but her nineteen year old daughter would be at home, simultaneously shoving popcorn and spoonfuls of Nutella in her mouth.

  I felt sorry for any man walking into the eye of that storm. My mother was a ticking time bomb; the poor fool had no idea what he was getting into but I had no intention of warning him. She was his problem now. Good luck to him.

  I stood in the kitchen, microwaving my popcorn when she walked in. The buttery smell of my popcorn mixed with the smoke from the cigarette that hung from her lips made my stomach turn. At least she had washed her hair. Maybe her date enjoyed making out with an ashtray.

  She pulled a little bottle of cheap vodka from the cutlery draw and downed it in one.

  “Dutch courage,” she shrugged and grinned, showcasing her decaying teeth. I was ashamed to be related to her. “Have a wonderful Valentine’s.”

  I watched as she left. I didn’t tell her she had the bottom of her dress tucked into her knickers.

  My evening was as uneventful as every other day. I’d wake up, spend the day with Curtis if he wasn’t working, participate in life as much as I had to, and sleep. Sometimes I spent evenings with Curtis, but he was a serial dater. At least, I thought he was. I saw the looks from women, and the tender side I had caught a glimpse of made him quite a catch.

  I was busy watching a movie and eating Nutella, sucking every trace of it off the spoon after each mouthful, when there was a knock on the door. I forced myself off the sofa and looked through the peephole. Curtis. Sweet Jesus. I scrubbed my finger over my teeth to remove all evidence of my pathetic night in and opened the door.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he smiled and held out a single red rose.

  “What’s this for?”

  He shrugged, “Ollie wouldn’t want you alone on the one night you’re supposed to be shown how special you are.”

  Oliver. It was easier to talk about him, especially around Curtis. We weren’t at the sharing anecdotes point; the pain was too raw, but we reminded ourselves why we had each other.

  “Thank you.”

  “You can't go out dressed like that,” he nodded towards my old pyjamas and I noticed he was in jeans and a shirt. I didn’t think they made Hulk sized button-ups. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  I didn’t ask questions. I scrambled to my room and changed into the nicest jeans I had, paired with the pink blouse I wore when I graduated college. I was surprised it still fit – the Nutella had been nicer to me than I deserved.

  I pulled the only bag I owned over my shoulder and took some money from the shoe box.

  “Wow. That was quick,” Curtis looked at his watch as I returned, and opened the door for me.

  “Why don’t you have a date tonight?” I asked as we sat at our table in the restaurant.

  “I do. You’re my date.”

  I laughed, “This isn’t a real date.”

  “Of course not,” he shifted and half-filled my wine glass.

  “So where’s the harem?”

  “I gave them a break,” he winked at me and picked up his menu.

  I picked up mine, but couldn’t concentrate on the words. Curtis carried his pain well. I knew he harboured as much as me, if not more, but you couldn’t tell. Anyone who looked at me could tell I was a finger snap away from falling apart, but Curtis was a soldier. I had a feeling I had only reached the tip of the iceberg when it came to his sorrow, but I would only know about it if he told me. His poker face was incredible; I needed to work on mine. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel he needed to hang around me while I floated through life and he could make something of himself. Geoff had already made him a great man, he was destined for greater things than hanging around and babysitting me.

  “Skye?” I looked up to see Curtis and the waitress waiting for me to order.

  “Spaghetti bolognaise, please,” I ordered the only thing I knew would be on the menu. I hadn’t even looked.

  My father used to make a great bolognaise.

  I had never been drunk before. I tended to steer clear of alcohol, knowing what it did to my mother. Even when I had gone out with the few friends I had, I didn’t drink much. A glass of wine was enough for me, but Curtis and I shared a few bottles of wine over dinner while we talked. Hours passed in no time and I noticed the effects of the drink as I stood in the bathroom and washed my hands. I didn’t know what kind of drunk I was. Was I the giggly kind? The kind that got aggressive? Or was I going to break down and cry and cover Curtis in snot? I had no idea, but I waited in the bathroom for a while and splashed my face with water to try and sober up. It only made my mascara run and I looked worse than before. I sighed, giving up on concealing my state, and left.

  Curtis was waiting for me at the table and handed me my coat and bag. I rummaged to find some money, but he closed his hand around mine.

  “It’s paid.”

  “I can pay for my dinner,” I argued. Maybe I was an argumentative drunk.

  “I know. But it’s done. The cab is outside.”

  He took my hand and we both ignored the way I jumped at the contact as he led me outside and helped me into the car.

  “Geoff’s?” I asked as the cab pulled up outside the gym. Curtis paid the fare and we climbed out.

  “I don’t want you to be alone,” he said, working to unlock the door. “You can have my bed, it’s clean. I’ll sleep on the sofa. I just don’t want you to be on your own tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  I staggered in through the door and stopped just inside. The gym was dark, only the lights above the ring remained. They illuminated the ring in bright white light and left everything else in shadow. I dropped my bag and coat, and walked towards it. Circling the ring, I ran my hand along the edges of the canvas, and then the bottom rope. There was just something magical about it. It must have been the wine talking, but I knew why Oliver loved it and I was beginning to see why
Curtis did too. I turned to find him looking at me.

  “Will you show me?” I asked as he walked slowly towards me.

  “Show you what?”

  “What it feels like to be free.”

  He stopped in front of me and stared. I waited for him to say something, anything, but he didn’t. I giggled; because of the wine, because of his reaction; I didn’t know but the giggling made me sway. The sway gave my feet a life of their own and I tumbled sideways until my arms were wrapped around a poor, unsuspecting punchbag. It swung a little from the chain connecting it to the ceiling. I went with it until Curtis stopped the swinging and halted my giggling with a similar look to the one he gave Oliver on New Year’s Eve.

  “Let go.”

  My arms fell to my sides and I sat on the floor.

  “I miss him,” I fought back the tears as he sat opposite me.

  “I know.”

  “I really miss him, Curtis. I’m alone and I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

  “You’re not alone,” he smiled weakly. “You’ve got me and we’ll find your path together.”

  I couldn’t respond. I just stared at the floor.

  “You will be okay, Skye,” he rested his hands on my knees. “If you want me to help you, I will. I’ll show you a few things, but promise me something?”

  “What?”

  “You’ll never get in that ring…this one or any one.”

  “Why?”

  “Just promise me.”

  “I promise,” I nodded. “I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  He leaned over and kissed my forehead. I grabbed his wrists before he pulled away and closed my eyes as he kissed the bridge of my nose, then the tip. One eye, then the other. One cheek, then the next, and finally his lips gently touched the corner of my mouth. He moved over my lips to the other corner and I released a sigh. He sat back and I opened my eyes.

  “Come on,” he stood up and helped me to my feet. “It’s getting late.”

  My steps slowed as I walked behind him, watching the way his muscles rippled beneath his shirt. He walked with purpose, like he was on a mission, like he was fighting something…or fighting for something. He was going to help me and I was going to let him. One large hand reached back for me and I set my hand in his, watching as his fingers cocooned mine and I hoped I would find my fight, too.

  Ten

  The attraction hit me like a right hook…and it stung like a hive of bees.

  February 15th, 2003.

  “Okay, first lesson. Stance,” Curtis said. We were in Geoff’s gym and I was standing in front of a punchbag. “Don’t stand like a girl.”

  He had arranged some sports clothes for me, a pair of black shorts, a white t-shirt and thin-soled lace-up boots.

  He shoved a pair of boxing gloves on my hands, black ones. They were lighter than I thought they would be and I flexed my fingers.

  I thought I looked the part, but obviously I didn’t. I was standing like a girl. What did that even mean?

  “What does a girl stand like?”

  “That,” he nodded at me with a hint of a smile. “Weight on one leg, hands on hips. Balance your weight evenly.”

  I dropped my arms and stood up straight. Curtis bent down and pulled one foot forward. He stood up and pushed down on my shoulders so my knees bent.

  “Bounce.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “You have to be light on your feet. You don’t bounce while you fight, it burns energy, but do it now. Feel how light you need to be.”

  I bounced from one foot to the other, “Like this?”

  “Just like that,”

  I was impressed he kept his eyes on mine, although secretly, I wouldn’t have minded if he lowered his gaze slightly.

  “Keep going. Right or left handed?” He grabbed my gloved hands and lifted them up. I nodded to my right hand and he pushed it back. “Dominant hand goes back.”

  He pushed the creases of my elbows so my hands came up in front of my face. I liked having his hands on me, but it was hard to focus and take in what he was telling me, and keep bouncing, with him so close.

  Curtis took a step back to look at me. His eyes darkened; it was a dangerous look that almost made me stop and kneel before him. What was wrong with him? His eyes had turned to a chocolate storm and his arms came up, folding over his chest. I didn’t know if he was angry; I thought maybe I wasn’t bouncing properly. I concentrated on being light but I felt weighed down by the tension that had consumed him. I saw it, as his eyes moved over every inch of my body, leaving a burning trail that made me feel like marked territory: it was the gloves, the fight. His eyes kept returning to the ominous black leather that my hands were encased in; whatever he was thinking was torturing him. My instincts were telling me to go to him, to comfort him, to clear his mind in whatever way he needed, but as I prepared to go with my instincts, he spoke.

  “Once you start, you can't stop,” he said, his eyes glassed over. “You have to battle on forever. From this moment on, there’s no excuse to give up. You have to believe you can do this before I can teach you how.”

  “I’m ready, Curtis,” I breathed as his eyes fell on mine. I held my ground. “I’m ready to fight.”

  A shiver rippled through him and I watched his eyes change; they lightened. He had returned from wherever his mind had taken him.

  “Stop bouncing. Dip your chin, look over your gloves,” he watched me intensely as I did, and smiled softly. “You look cute.”

  I gasped, “Uh…”

  “The most important lesson is to relax. And breathe,” he patted my back and I let out the breath I was holding.

  “Got it,” I sighed. “Breathe.”

  “Good. Now, jab.”

  “What?”

  “Jab.”

  “What the hell is jab?”

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose but smiled, “I’ve got my work cut out. It’s a simple punch with your left hand. The most important punch in boxing.”

  He moved my left hand slowly as he explained it to me.

  “Keep your body still, just straighten your left arm. Turn your fist so your hand is palm down and exhale.”

  He let go and I tried on my own. I noted his smile as my fist connected with the punchbag. It felt good.

  “Again,” I did. “Good. Again, but with power. Exhale sharply, focus on your breathing. Stay relaxed, just tighten your fist as you punch.”

  He watched as I continued to punch the bag, keeping his eyes on my hands and adjusting my posture when I let it slack. I was enjoying it; I wasn’t doing much, but I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I might.

  “You’re doing good. Another?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, the right straight. Your strongest punch,” he stepped round to the other side of me and extended my right arm like he did with my left. “With this one, you need to pivot.”

  “How?”

  “Like this,” I jumped as he placed one hand on my hip, the other on my shoulder, and turned the top half of my body. I had the sudden urge to close my eyes and savour his touch. I did, just for a second but the coolness in his voice made me rethink and open them again. “Same as before, but move your body into it. Keep going.”

  I was soon doing it by myself, but Curtis set his hands on my hips and that’s where they stayed. I let the power I felt from him move through me until I was worn out. I was breathless, shaky and hot from the warmth of his hands cupping my hips and applying gentle, intoxicating pressure. I stopped punching and closed my eyes without thinking, to concentrate on the feel of him so close. I enjoyed it more than I should have; I was heady, floating, fuzzy.

  I held my breath when his lips whispered over my shoulder and a whimper escaped when he kissed the crook of my neck.

  “I think that’s enough for today,” he let go of me and stepped back.

  “But-”

  “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? Let’s eat.”

  I watched him disappear out the front door of t
he gym as a couple of fighters made their way in.

  ***

  Curtis taught me a few moves and how to put them together over the next couple of weeks. It was nothing like what I saw the other guys doing. Their tricks were fancy yet seemed as natural to them as tying their shoe laces, although I wondered how half of them managed to fold their bodies to tie them without muscle getting in the way. Curtis and I kept to ourselves; we said hello and goodbye but the others left a corner of the gym free for us and we just stayed there until Curtis decided we had done enough for the day. He always said it after he touched me. Things were fine while he was standing next to me, checking my posture and telling me what to do. But something always changed when he put his hands on me. I loved it, craved it, but the light switched off as soon as he did it and it was a matter of minutes before the lesson was over. I knew it was because he felt my body change for him. It reacted in a way that was almost entirely new for me and I knew he sensed it. He didn’t want me to want him, when he didn’t want me back. It was too late; I did want him. Badly. Madly. I was borderline crazy while I waited for every little electric touch.

  I felt stronger. I don’t know if it was my improved fitness making me physically stronger, or if having something to focus on besides the pain made me a mental warrior. Almost. I was clever enough not to delude myself into thinking Curtis wanted me like I did him. I was fearful enough that he would leave me like everyone else, if I told him the truth. How much I ached for him. How every second of a day spent with him would be my only source of light. I was his dead friend’s sister; he wouldn’t forget that, so neither would I.

  “Do you want to train?” He asked one night as we arrived back at the gym after dinner.

  “Can we spar?”

  “You want to spar? With me?”

  “Sure,” I hesitated, waiting for the rejection. I knew he didn’t want to touch me. “I mean, the punchbag doesn’t duck. And…it could be…fun.”