Chapter Four
The two days after Paul went to the hospital…leading up to his fight; we talked as little as possible. He knew I wanted him to forfeit and I knew he wanted me to let it go. We met in the middle and just didn’t talk about it, until that day. I woke up that morning with butterflies the size of dragons in my stomach. I swear, you would think I was the one fighting for the championship. I stretched out and realized Paul was already up. I found him in the kitchen making himself a protein drink.
“Morning,” I said.
“Good morning,” he said. “How did you sleep?”
“I slept okay,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a champion,” he said with a wink. He was so damned cute…that was my downfall.
“You look like a champion too,” I told him. “I’m going in to work this morning, but I’ll be there rooting for you tonight.”
He came over and took me into his arms. With his lips so close to mine I could feel the vibrations he said, “I’m going to do this tonight for us. You’ve done so much for me, Jessie…to help me get here. I know that you’re worried and I’m sorry for that. But pain or no pain, I got this. I’m going to win.”
I put my hand on the side of his face. His skin was so warm and I was starting to tingle in places that neither of us had time for right now. “I know you are,” I told him, simply. He lowered his lips down to mine then and kissed me and then he left me standing in the kitchen with wet panties and a nervous flutter in my chest.
******
I was holding my breath as I watched Paul make his way down the long, narrow aisle between the seats of the crowd that cheered and sneered and chanted his name. He didn’t look hurt. If you didn’t know he had two broken ribs and had hardly slept in a week…you would never guess. He looked energized and alive and his eyes shown with determination and excitement and I tried to breathe it in as he passed because I felt wiped out. I wished that I didn’t know how hurt and exhausted he was. Without those two things against him I’d be the most confident person in the room. Instead, I was a nervous wreck. I was reminded that I wasn’t alone as I felt the not so subtle pain of Marie crushing my hand in a death grip as she watched her brother enter the octagon. We both watched with trepidation…we were praying for the best and fearing the worst.
I kept my eyes on Paul as he picked up the plastic water bottle and leaning his head over the bucket his trainer would offer him to spit into, he poured half of it over his head. I guess that was my proof that no matter how cool, calm and collected he looked, he was burning up with anxiety as well. I used the last trickle of water as my focal point while I willed my breathing to slow down. It ran from his head down along the side of his beautiful face and then it cut a path across the well-defined muscles in his broad chest. I watched it slowly migrate across his chiseled abdominal muscles as they moved up and down in an effort to suck in a lungful of the thick air that surrounded him.
The sound of Trent’s name loudly reverberating off the walls brought me out of my reverie. I looked towards the back of the auditorium and my eyes landed on the mountain that was Paul’s opponent. It wasn’t that he was more muscular than Paul…it just seemed like there was a lot more of him somehow…maybe square footage wise. His arms and legs were longer and that meant a wider arc when it came to throwing punches and jabs and kicks. It would mean that Paul would have to be in constant motion…for five rounds. Trent was taller than Paul…not by much but enough so that it would be a reach for Paul to connect with anything from the neck up he would have to be up on his toes and that would set him off balance…I took in these seemingly innocuous details and I let my over-active mind imagine how they were all going to spell defeat for the man I loved.
My heart sped up as my anxiety levels increased. It was slamming against the inside of my chest and now as I watched Paul’s opponent pacing on his side of the cage I was reminded of a hungry lion that was going to be ready to pounce as soon as his cage was opened. I looked over at Paul. He was rising up and down on his calves and he was glowing with desire. He was filled with the yearning to be victorious…he wanted this so badly that he could taste it, and so could I.
I saw him close his eyes for a second. Paul and I had never really talked about our spirituality, but when I saw his lips moving silently as well, I wondered if he was saying a final prayer before going into battle. The bout was ready to start and once again the sound of Paul’s name boomed across the auditorium. He raised his gloved hands in the air and I saw him take a deep breath. My eyes searched his face for the wince but it wasn’t there. He looked like he was at the top of his game.
As soon as the bell sounded, the mountain that was Trent bolted across the floor of the octagon and his fists connected with Paul’s flesh in an all-out assault. I would have to guess he’d been practicing his kick-boxing as well. I had to close my eyes and concentrate on the vise grip that Marie had on my fingers once Trent started landing rapid, solid blows to Pauls’ midriff. I heard the sound of his gloves connecting in places that had to be causing nothing but pure agony on every level of Paul’s being. I opened one eye just a slit and peeked out just in time to see him sink a right hook into Paul’s stomach causing him to double over in pain. As quickly as he did that, his left came flying out, connected with his head and sent Paul crashing to the floor.
I wanted to close my eyes again but I was afraid that if I did, I’d miss that last bit of light disappear from his eyes. I saw blood splattered in tiny little droplets across the mat. I couldn’t see where Paul was bleeding from, but since he had yet to land a punch, I had to assume it was his. They were wrestling now…admittedly not Paul’s strong suit. I could see him scrambling to get his bearings. He was using his left arm, trying to pin his opponent as the right arm covered and tried to protect his ribs. This round was lost already. It was just about not tapping out or passing out now until the clock ran out. I closed my eyes again and waited for the bell.
The sound of the bell made my eyes pop open. I watched as the trainer helped Paul over to his side. His lip was split open, explaining the blood on the floor. He stood, unsteadily as the trainer poured water into his mouth and then went to work on the cut. The excitement was gone out of Paul’s eyes already, but the fire was still there. He wasn’t ready to be counted out yet. That right arm pushing tight against his side was what hurt me the most to watch and when the next round began; I closed my eyes once more and concentrated on the sounds of the blood-thirsty crowd around me and the desperate cloying of Paul’s sister against my arm.
The second round was pretty much a repeat of the first…what I saw of it anyways. Paul was able to stay on his feet, but Trent didn’t relent on the assault. He busted out the roundhouse kicks and landed at least one on Paul’s wretchedly abused right side. Paul threw out a couple of kicks of his own, but they were wild thrusts of his legs and feet and they didn’t seem to go anywhere. When the blessed buzzer sounded at last I literally had no idea if I could make it another three rounds.
I let myself look at Paul. I had never wanted to cause a scene so badly in my life. I saw a scene from a B grade movie playing out in my head. I would stand up and scream out his name. The film would slow down and one frame after the other would show the white towel in various stages of flight as it made its way over the top of the octagon and landed in the floor at Paul’s feet. He would come out into the audience, take me into his arms and….the bell signaled round three.
Paul had changed up his tactics this round. He came out as the aggressor blocking with his left and throwing punches with his right. I can only guess that because of the pain on his right side, the normal force behind the upper cut he landed on Trent’s chin wasn’t there. Trent’s head snapped back, but only slightly. He recovered quickly but as he came back towards Paul he got a foot in the center of his gut and he went stumbling back. While he was still trying to catch his breath, Paul was able to land a right hook to Trent’s head that he never saw coming. Trent was dazed and although he managed to stay on his feet he finally got to feel the brunt of Paul’s fury as he unleashed a flurry of hooks, jabs and uppercuts that had his head snapping back and forth like it was attached by a spring. I thought it had to be time for the buzzer just about the time Trent spun around and his foot connected with the back of Paul’s head knocking him forward. The crowd was screaming so loudly over the illegal strike that the bell was almost inaudible. Paul took the water from his trainer’s hand and squirted it across his face and over the back of his head, and then I watched him wipe the fingers of his left hand across his chest, leaving a trail of dark, crimson blood in their wake. I think I heard the announcer say something about Trent losing a point for the illegal kick before the crowd volume once again almost exceeded what my ear drums could stand and the bell sounded once more.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Marie whispered.
“I know,” I said. “It’s awful. But he won that round, so he’s coming back.”
She laughed, but nervously and said, “Spoken like a true trainer. I know you hate to see him in pain, but you’re at least able to think about it at more of a “clinical” level that I can. I just want to run up there and scream at that big bully to stop hurting my little brother.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. “Don’t let any bravado I might be faking fool you. I want to do the same thing.”
The bell signaled round four and Trent was waiting around to see if Paul came out fighting this time or not. Trent hurtled his six foot four frame across the expanse and grabbed Paul around his shoulders. Paul was facing us and I winced when I saw his face, he was going down again and he knew it. I saw him moving his feet before they crashed to the mat. Paul was on top but Trent still had his grip and judging by the way he was putting pressure on Paul’s arms that were bound to his sides I would say that my lover had to be in agony about now. I watched in horror as Trent pulled his right arm out and hooked it underneath Paul’s arm, getting him in an arm lock. Paul was doing his best to fight back but probably less than a minute passed before he was face down on the sweaty, bloody slippery mat with his arm twisted behind him at an unnatural angle. The rowdy crowd was suddenly quiet. Everyone was waiting to hear the snap I think. I was praying for the bell. Thank God this once I got my way.
I looked over at Marie. The poor thing looked like she was about to hyper-ventilate. I tried to give her a smile, but judging from the way I felt inside and the look on her face…it wasn’t my prettiest one ever. The sound of the next bell was a double-edged sword. Paul looked completely done and I couldn’t see so much as a trace of that fire he’d brought out with him tonight. I hated that he had to go another round…but I was happy as hell that it was the last one.
They met in the middle and circled around each other for a bit. Trent looked spent too and I knew enough about this to know they were both looking for an opportunity to take the other one down. Trent tried going in for a clinch again like he had in the last round, but Paul was ready for that. When Trent came at him he twisted around and used the momentum to land a kick on the other man’s flank. While Trent was recovering from that, Paul moved in and tried to sweep him off his feet. Unfortunately the two tired men’s limbs twisted up and when they went down Paul landed on his back and Trent was able to get into a “side-mounted crucifix position.” He was lying sideways across Paul’s chest and abdomen. One of his legs was pressed tightly against Paul’s hips and his left arm was underneath him pressing down against Paul’s chest. He brought his right hand up and began a “ground and pound” assault. Paul’s arms were basically tied so he couldn’t even use them to block the punches that were coming at the side of his face and head. Paul’s head was the only thing he could move and since his spine was basically immobilized he could barely move that. I had to close my eyes again as punch after punch pummeled Paul’s gorgeous face and the blood from his freshly split lip splattered against each blow, making the floor look like a crime scene. When I managed to force my eyes back open, the referee was moving in. It was about to be over for Paul…or so I thought.
Just before the ref interfered, Trent pulled back hard to deliver a heavy blow. When he did, his chest released some of the pressure on Paul’s right arm. That was Trent’s first big mistake. Paul twisted his head out of the way and then in a shocking move he was able to grab Trent’s arm and swing his legs over and around it. He was suddenly in control with Trent trapped in an arm bar… for a second. I held my breath again as I watched Trent manage to wriggle his way out of it. That would be his fatal error. As he released his arm from Paul’s grip on it with his legs, it freed Paul’s leg to come up and strike Trent hard with his foot on the side of the head. It was almost like watching in slow motion as Trent was thrown back and landed with a thud on his back. He was out cold. The crowd was screaming and after a few seconds I realized I was one of the ones who were screaming the loudest. Paul won! I hugged Marie and watched as the referee held Paul’s arm up towards the sky. Paul’s usually bright white smile was tinged red from the blood. The referee handed him the title belt and he held it up and smiled again. I caught his eyes with mine then and I could feel the energy pouring out of him.
I watched him take the water the trainer was offering him. He swished and spit and then made his way out of the octagon and straight over to me. I was suddenly in his arms and as we kissed, the crowd around us cheered us on.