Fighting Hearts

by Annabeth Saryu

  Usalv freezes on the bed next to me. Literally, he looks like a fucking zombie. He’s motionless for what seems like an eternity. Okay, so I didn’t know what to expect.

  But it sure the hell wasn’t this.

  I’m about to ask him to say something, anything, when someone knocks on the bedroom door. He turns over and sits up, putting distance between us in the process.

  “Fuck off!” Usalv shouts at the door.

  The interloper responds by twisting the knob impatiently.

  “Hey!” Usalv shouts. “Go the fuck away!” He picks up my college mug from the bedside table and hurls it at the door.

  The plastic handle sheers off and flies across the room. It hits my dresser then skates across the floor and stops next to the daybed at his feet. The loud fast clicking of stiletto heels retreating across the tile floor fills the air. Something tells me they belong to that drunk bitch from the living room.

  He picks up the broken mug and studies it in silence.

  “I’m sorry, Louise.” His tone is so odd that I don’t know if he’s talking about the mug or something else.

  “It’s okay.” I hop off the bed and retrieve the handle from the floor. “I can fix it.”

  “Listen.” He stands and starts gathering his clothes. “Get dressed and come out to the party for a while. I’d like you to meet some of my friends.”

  Is this good or bad?

  “Um, thanks, but it’s late.” I’m feeling shitty at the lack of acknowledgment of my feelings, never mind the lack of reciprocity. “But I’m kind of tired and really don’t feel much like partying right now.”

  “Believe it or not, neither do I.” He tries to laugh, but the pain in his ribs cuts it short. “But it is what it is, and you can’t stay in here hiding all night. Besides, they’ve seen you… You should come out.”

  I delay my response to watch him dress in record time. His shorts and pants go on all at once. Then everything gets smoothed out and down, and he’s ready to go.

  Damn, who knew a man could get dressed that fast?

  “Um, yeah. Sure,” I tell him.

  “Good.” He plants a chaste kiss on the top of my head. “See you in a bit.”

  I nod in response, and he’s off like a prom dress.

  Damn. So much for my candid bravery. Just…oww.

  28

  By the time Louise’s bedroom door slams behind me, I’m already in the kitchen headed for my secret stash of vodka in the freezer. The frosty cold bottle hides behind a wall of ice packs and some frozen shot glasses. I pull out the bottle and set one of the glasses on the counter.

  I fill the glass too full, then knock back the bracing ice cold shot in a single gulp.

  Louise loves me? What the fuck does that mean? And what the hell am I supposed to do about it?

  “I love you Usalv,” my mother had told me. “Don’t make trouble for your Uncle Paskal while you stay with them. And when everything’s okay again, you’ll come back.”

  And then she’d sent me to the US and I never lived with them again.

  “We love you Usalv,” my sisters Marija and Milena had told me before I moved to Chicago. “Don’t cry. We’ll all be back together soon.”

  But then we never were.

  “Don’t be afraid, Usalv. I love you,” Emily had told me before we had sex for the first time.

  Then I’d taken her to the hospital and she’d never spoke to me again.

  I take a few deep breaths, then knock back another shot. Does this mean Louise will leave me, too? That’s not the way it’s supposed to work, but that’s how things usually turn out for me.

  Does she expect me to tell her that I love her, too? Because I can’t. It’s not that I don’t. But those words change things superfast and I’m not ready for that. Aside from some recent bullshit about my training, things between us are good. Really good. There’s no need to change things up.

  Damn, it’s hot and loud in here, and I won’t be alone for long. I’m trying to figure out my next move when a very unwelcome voice calls my name.

  “Oh, Usalv. There you are.” The click-clack of stiletto heels marches into the kitchen, invading my space.

  “Kylie.” I take a deep breath and fold my arms. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I heard you won.” She approaches me and I tuck myself behind the corner of the counter. “And that there was victory party was at your house.”

  “Kylie…” I shake my head. “You should have known not to come here.”

  “Why? Because of that tall woman with the long curly hair?”

  “Because you and I are done.”

  “Okay, but that doesn’t mean we still can’t be friends, does it?”

  Oh, for Chrissake. “Wouldn’t we need to be friends in the first place for that to happen?”

  She huffs and rolls her eyes before ignoring my question. “So…is she just a hook up or are the two of you hooked up?”

  “Kylie, she lives with me.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise, but instead of accepting the obvious reality of the situation, she gears up to screw with me. “Yeah, she said something like that before. Funny thing though, none of the guys mentioned you were with anyone when they told me about the party.”

  Typical Kylie, ignoring everything she doesn’t want to hear. It’s one of many reasons that I’d decided to slam the brakes on our dysfunctional relationship.

  “Because they didn’t know,” I explain.

  “Exactly!” She pounces. “You moved in with someone, and those guys didn’t know?” Kylie shakes her head. “Come on. That’s bullshit.”

  “My plan was to introduce her tonight. And you being here makes it very awkward.” I gesture toward the door. “I really wish you’d leave.”

  “Why? How come I can’t meet her?” Her familiar combative tone sends a heated rush of anger to my face.

  “Why are you hell bent on making this painful, difficult, and shitty for everyone?”

  There’s strained silence between us as Kylie processes my request. We’ve always had an on-and-off relationship. It’s funny, but looking back now, I’d ended things with Kylie the same night I met Louise.

  The fucking merry-go-round that my personal life had turned into was a disorientating ride that I wanted to get off. At least that’s what I’d told myself at the time. But now I realize the truth. It was because of Louise. I wanted her in my life, there and then. No one else.

  “Is this one of your friends that you wanted me to meet?” Sweet Lou calls from the doorway.

  Holy shit.

  Louise isn’t wearing nursing scrubs and a tired ponytail anymore. Nope. She leans up against the door jamb wearing tight skinny jeans and black ankle boots, with a smoke colored sheer shirt and vest that has see-thru cut outs.

  Damn, Sweet Lou looks good.

  I can tell Kylie’s intimidated. She should be.

  “Yes,” Kylie replies. “I’m Kylie.” She comes around the corner and stands straight.

  “Louise.” Sweet Lou replies. She hesitates a moment, then enters the kitchen.

  “Do you want a drink, Louise?” Kylie asks, grabbing the blender. “Looks like a frozen margarita.”

  “I’m not a fan,” Louise replies.

  “Too bad,” Kylie tells her.

  “Any scotch in here?” Louise ignores Kylie and asks me.

  “It’s on the table,” I answer. “Out there.”

  Louise shrugs. “Never mind then. I’ll get it later.”

  Kylie puts the blender back and opens the refrigerator. She’s trying to give Louise the impression that this is her space, that Kylie knows her way around. I know, because she’s done this before, causing major cat fights in the process. But so far, Louise is keeping her cool.

  “Do you have any pomegranate martinis, Usalv?” Kylie asks.

  “Not any cold ones,” Louise answers. Her voice is clinically calm, but her mouth is set in a hard line. Kylie has finally set her off, but I’m not sure how.


  Just kill me now.

  Kylie shuts the refrigerator doors, leans back against it and gives Louise a bitchy smile. “So how long have you been living with Usalv?” she asks.

  Louise shrugs. “About three months.”

  “Oh.” Kylie gives her a bitchy pout. “Was that before or after we stopped sleeping together, Usalv?”

  Enraged, I try and speak, but my throat is parched and no words can escape. Instead, a half wheeze, half choking sounds escapes. Louise looks over at me for a second then turns back to Kylie.

  “After,” Louise assures her in a calm, collected voice. “It was after.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Kylie taunts.

  “I am.” Louise walks past her to the pantry alongside the fridge. “When I moved in, your pomegranate martinis were in the fridge. About two weeks later, it was obvious Usalv wasn’t drinking them, so I put them in the pantry.” Louise opens the folding door and pulls out three warm bottled cocktails and sets them on the counter. “They’ve been here ever since.”

  “Sweet Lou.” Fuck. I hadn’t even thought about that before she moved in. “I—”

  “He hasn’t asked about them or touched them. Neither has anyone else.” Louise takes a warm bottle from the counter, twists the top off, and sets it down in front of Kylie. “Help yourself, Kylie. Cheers.”

  The heels of Louise’s boots strike a slow confident rhythm as she heads for the door. She stops before turning around to stare at me. “I’ll see you later.” Then she’s gone, without so much as a backward glance.

  Goddamn it.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I explode at Kylie. “Then you wonder why we can’t be friends?”

  “I was only—”

  “No, no, no. I’m not listening to another goddamn word. Get the fuck out of my house and don’t ever come back.”

  Before Kylie can say anything, I haul ass after Sweet Lou. Her bedroom is empty, which sends me racing down the hall to the living room. I try to navigate through the sea of friends and other familiar faces quickly, but it takes time. Too much time.

  When the hellos, the selfies, the jokes, the promises to be right back are finished, I’m just in time to see Sweet Lou pouring the last shot from a whiskey bottle into her glass. She glances around the room and our eyes lock for a moment. Then Louise shakes her head at me before downing the contents of the glass and heading out the front door.

  I run out after her, chasing her down the cement walkway to the street.

  “Louise? Louise! Wait.” To anyone watching it must look like she put my balls in her purse before she left, but it takes me less than a second to realize I don’t give a fuck how whipped this makes me look.

  “Let me go, Usalv. Please.” She tells me without stopping and continues at a rapid pace down the street.

  I hurry to stand in front of her, forcing her to stop and look up. Tears stream down her face and she rubs them away with angry ferocity.

  “Oh Christ. Please don’t cry, Louise.” I smooth her hair down. “I never stepped out on you with Kylie or anyone else. Never ever.”

  “I don’t think you did.” Fresh tears fall again. “But it bothers me that you invited her here on a night when you thought I’d be gone.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

  “No, no I didn’t invite her.” My voice pleads. “Hell, the party wasn’t even my idea. When some of the guys heard I’d come home today, they spread the word and showed up.”

  “And yet here she is,” Sweet Lou mumbles and brushes past me.

  “Don’t take her seriously. I’m begging you.” I take hold of Sweet Lou’s arm. “Please. Kylie doesn’t want to be with me, but she doesn’t want to let me go until she finds someone first. I know it’s fucked up. Kylie just turns into a bitch when she’s scared.”

  “Really?” Louise asks. “And what about you?”

  “Me?” I’m defensive. “What about me?”

  “Is this how you act when you’re scared? Or is it something else?”

  “Scared?” I shift from one leg to the other. “I’m not scared.”

  “Whatever,” she mumbles and resumes walking.

  “Wait,” I explode. “What the fuck, Louise?” My pace matches her as I walk alongside her. “I have no idea what you want me to say.”

  “You want sex.” She throws her hands in the air and shrugs. “And that’s pretty much it, right?”

  “Goddamn it.” I pause and collect myself. “I can’t imagine any way to answer you that’s not going to get me in a shitload of trouble.”

  “Why did you let me sofa surf at your place?” she asks.

  “Because you were in a tight spot and needed help.” I push my hands down into the front pockets of my jeans.

  “And that’s it? Just being a good guardian angel?”

  “Something like that.” Her question makes me squirm. “Back then, I just wanted you to be okay, whether you slept with me or not.”

  “Why?”

  “The truth is, I liked you.” It’s honest. “I liked spending time with you. You made me feel like I wasn’t alone, like I belonged somewhere when we were both home.”

  “Okay, so you and I get along well enough when we’re not flat on our backs. But that doesn’t mean it’s any different than how it was between you and Kylie.”

  “Look, you’re talking crazy right now.” This conversation is way too upsetting. “Kylie and I got together because we were both lonely but didn’t want to be alone.” I grasp her shoulders. “But being with her never stopped the loneliness. It stopped with you.”

  “Well, thank you for that. But no matter how things started, I think you’re happy with the way things are between us right now.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with that?” I explode.

  Tears well up in her eyes. “I’m not.”

  A cold wave of pure, primal fear rushes through me. “Why not?” I sound hoarse.

  She wipes a single tear away with the back of her hand. “I have a harder time living in limbo than you do. Maybe it’s a character flaw, but I can’t help it.”

  “You know what?” Panic swells inside me. “This is crazy, having a conversation like this out here on the street. Let’s go back home and we can talk it out. Please.”

  “Talk? About this? At party central?” She gives a short laugh. “I don’t think so.”

  “So that’s it? You don’t want to talk? What the hell do you expect me to do?”

  “Not a thing. There’s not anything more to say. In fact, I should probably move out.” Louise hugs her shoulders, dislodging my hands from them, breaking our physical connection.

  “Move out?” My world grinds to a halt. After a long, stunned silence, she continues her soul crushing edict.

  “Thank you for letting me stay. You did me a huge favor, and I’ll always be grateful. But you need your space and distance, and I need to move on with my life.”

  No. No, no, no. No.

  “It’s been a stressful few weeks for both of us.” The calm certainty of my voice cracks. “I think we need to just, just chill out a bit and not make any decisions in the heat of the moment. Let’s go back to the house. We don’t need to say anything.” I’ve broken out into a cold sweat. “Besides it’s a little chilly, and you shouldn’t be walking around without a jacket. Come on,” I plead like I’m talking to a wounded animal.

  “I’ll be fine. I need some fresh air to clear my head.” She starts to walk away then turns around one more time. “Usalv?”

  “What?”

  “You can just forget about what I said it earlier. I didn’t really mean it. It was just…afterglow.”

  “Afterglow?”

  She nods. “Just forget it.”

  In another moment, she fades into the darkness.

  29

  “How could I be so fucking stupid?”

  A couple casts alarmed looks in my direction, then quickly hurries past me.

  Stop acting like a lunatic, I admonish myself for sp
eaking aloud while hurrying down the street. The instinct to run six minute miles and quell my rocket-high stress levels is tanked by these idiotic high heel boots.

  I wipe fresh tears away as I’m forced to admit this evening appears to be an unfixable disaster. What the hell possessed me to tell Usalv that I loved him?

  It’s the God’s-honest truth, my inner voice tells me. I needed to be honest, to let him know my feelings. Truthfully though, the hopelessly unrealistic optimist in me believed he felt the same way.

  But what happens instead? Disaster, that’s what. Usalv got up and dressed so fast it had made me wonder if the smoke alarm went off. Then when I go look for him, he’s chatting it up with his ex. The one with the porn star boobs three times too large for her size two frame.

  Why can’t I fall in love with a good man who loves me back?

  The cold stillness of the night distracts me from my distress. It’s late summer in Chicago and the nights get cool now. My thin filmy shirt provides zero warmth against this cold, damp breeze. The weather forces me to admit it’s time to return home, and I look up to study my surroundings for the first time in a half hour.

  That’s when reality hits me. I’m kind of lost.

  My route began where it does when Usalv takes me running, but somewhere along the way I’ve missed a turn. When my path runs across a street that’s vaguely familiar, I veer down it, hoping to run across a recognizable landmark or intersection.

  Shit.

  It’s after one a.m. in Chicago, I’m cold, lost, and my feet are aching from these damn high heels. There isn’t a cab in sight, and my phone is charging back home. As I stand in front of a row of closed shops looking lost, the sound of footsteps creeping cautiously toward me become audible.

  When my head turns, no one’s there. The skin on my forearm puckers as the hairs stand straight up, and I hurry toward the corner streetlight, hoping to find people, a passing car, or a cab.

  There’s no one here.

  No people, no traffic. And why would there be? The only things here are stores that closed up hours ago. My instincts urge me to bolt, but these damn boots prevent me. I don’t want to run and risk falling, and now isn’t the time to stop and fiddle with their metallic heel zippers.