There is always peace in familiarity. I’ve spent my whole life trying to find out what I should be doing - what I was born for. When I found fighting I knew that was it. Time to call off the search. Even now, I know it as my fists pummel the bag. I begin to mix it up, elbows, knees, shins, palm strikes. This is elegance and mastery of the most brutal sort. But, where I once practiced my art in front of thousands of screaming fans and attracted sponsorship offers like blood attracts sharks, I was now a shirtless no one in a forest, trying, forever trying, to drive the thoughts away.
Andrew stepping into the octagon for the first time, smiling as his name was introduced.
I punch faster and faster. My wrist wraps are coming undone and my wrists are going to be unsteady if I don’t ease up, but I can’t.
Andrew taking the center of the octagon as soon as the opening bell blew. We had prepared for nearly a year for his debut fight. He was more than ready.
I feint, bob, weave, and then slam a shin into the bag so hard that it swings up and nearly hits the rafter to which it is chained.
I can’t think about Andrew anymore. It never leads anywhere good, although it did lead me here to whatever this is...my so-called sanctuary. But I’m still haunted by it, every fucking bit of it. It is hard to find refuge from yourself …. unless you have someone to take you out of the shit hole you created for yourself.
Now this is a welcome train of thought. Sam. Upstairs in bed. I slowed my pace and focused on her. On the way her body had looked as she had twisted her way out of the poncho. On the delicate movement of her throat when she tipped the bottle back. On her insistent but somewhat unsure flirtiness, and how good it had felt to know that she was both interested in her story and in me.
I have everything I need. Money. A home. Solitude. Talent.
Almost everything.
She is so close and it has been so long.
A familiar urge overtakes me and suddenly I’m not hitting the bag anymore.
CHAPTER SEVEN: SAM WASHINGTON
The sound of thunder wakes me shortly after I fall asleep. Then it comes again, and again, but I realize it’s happening too quickly to be thunder. The entire house is shaking. A smattering of dust leaves the rafters and drifts down onto my upturned face. W
hat in the world is going on?
It’s dark in the room and I have to struggle to remember where I am.
And to remember who is downstairs.
Boom. The house shakes again just as another bolt of lightning splits the sky outside the window. I go to the pane and look out, expecting to see nothing but darkness.
It’s Hugh. Downstairs on the back deck, pivoting and weaving as if he is a fighter. He’s throwing punches at nothing. No, in a new burst of light I see that it’s a heavy bag. His pale skin glows against the dark and even though I am the greenest novice when it comes to fighting, I can tell that this is a man well-practiced in his art. He hits the bag so hard that I wince with the impact. Then he backs up and throws a kick that lands near the top of the bag where it is fixed with a chain. That’s when the house rattles.
Good Lord, what a brute. I think of his books downstairs, of him throwing the ax, and the thoughts are all punctuated by the spectacle unfolding on the deck as his muscles ripple and flex. But this looks like more than a workout, more than blowing off steam, and more than simple practice.
Hugh looks as if he is trying to fight something he can’t see. Trying to get away from something that is chasing him.
That’s when I realize who he is. Holy shit!
I’m about to run downstairs and confront him with my microphone when he slows his pace and puts his hands on his hips. Just watching him breathe makes my heart race. A crazy thought comes to my mind. I think of Owen 2.0, nearby in my suitcase. Maybe if Hugh just stands there for a bit I have time to grab my trusty gadget and see if I can make it work even better than last time. This seems like it would be the perfect visual aid.
Or so I think until Hugh suddenly reaches below the waistband of his shorts and pulls them down slightly, exposing his cock. But the light was poor and I almost laughed at how disappointed I was in my poor view. I had never felt like this with Owen. It had been odd to tolerate his body, to have it on my own, inside me, but never to know what it was like to crave it.
I’m not sure I’ve ever craved anything the way I’m craving Hugh’s body. It’s making me feel like an animal, unmoored, uncaring, nothing but appetite and a burning need.
Obviously, it doesn’t help matters when he starts to stroke himself and I can almost literally see him getting harder and longer every second. I can’t stop myself. I open my suitcase, sacrificing the view for a few precious seconds so I can take Owen 2.0 out of the suitcase.
Back at the window, Hugh is still working on himself. I wonder what he’s thinking about and decide that it has to be me. Now there’s a story I couldn’t write. I pull down my flannel pajama pants and touch myself. I’m so wet that it surprises me. Again, something that I didn’t experience in the past.
Now it’s like I can’t touch myself hard enough, or fast enough. I grind myself against the vibrator, check the settings, and am surprised to see that it’s on the highest output. Still it’s not enough.
There is another flash of lightning and I can see the muscles standing out on Hugh’s neck. I start giggling, punctuating my gasps with little yips of laughter as I get closer and closer. Between the rain and my wetness and his hardness and the pane of glass out in the middle of nowhere between us, not to mention who I now know he is, it is impossibly hot and surreal. There is a feverish dreamlike quality to the whole thing. But when I start to climax, there is nothing dreamlike about it. It’s like an earthquake combined with a volcano. As I come, I fight to keep my eyes open so I can watch Hugh.
His back is arching with the power of his own orgasm. The tendons are standing out on the backs of his legs. His mouth opens as if he’s yelling, it is swallowed by another thunderclap.
When I finish, I fall backwards onto the floor. The vibrator hits the floor with a thump. I don’t know if I have ever felt so emptied out. A horrified thought crosses my mind.