Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

I don’t understand this man. At all.

He feels very human. But I saw him. With my own eyes. I saw him drag that knife across Pavo’s neck, then down the length of his torso, then literally rip his heart out and throw it at Lazar before dragging Pavo across the helipad and throwing him off the ship.

And fine. I helped him with all of that. But my role in that night was circumstance. It wasn’t something I do for a living.

He looks over his shoulder at me, like he can feel my gaze. He nods his head at me, smiling, then beckons me with a crooked finger.

I get up, grab my mat, and follow him down the stairs. We drop our mats off, then he goes inside the kitchen. I follow, holding my breath to see if we will get breakfast. And we do. Not rice—he must not be in the mood to cook, because he hands me a strip of dried fish.

I look at it dubiously. Yesterday I would’ve gobbled this up, no questions asked. But I’m not that hungry today. Still, if I refuse, he might not feed me tonight. So I take it, smile, and begin gnawing on it like jerky.

Cort finishes his food quickly, letting the long strip hang out of his mouth as he pokes around in the clinic, and by the time he points to one of two chairs, directing me to sit, he’s done eating.

I sit on the chair and he maneuvers a rolling table between me and the other chair and orders me to put my hands on it. I do, and he sits and begins peeling off the old wrappings. Then he fills a bowl with hot water and salts, motions for me to place my hands inside, and gently rubs the dried blood away. When my knuckles are clean, he begins massaging my palms, the pads of his fingers and thumbs pushing into the muscles, kneading them and loosening them up.

This feels quite nice and I begin to question my conclusions about him. Maybe I was being overly cynical last night about his motives? Maybe he isn’t a monster?

It’s so hard to tell. It’s so hard to know if I should assign malice to the things he does. That game room, for instance. It could mean he cares about the kids he trains. And that’s probably everyone’s first impression.

But I’ve seen things like that before. I’ve seen how tricky predators can be with children. Think about it. What better way to lure a child into the demon’s den than to entice them with innocent, childish things? That game room could be the equivalent of a man in a white van asking a kid if they want some candy.

Nothing is what it seems. Not where I come from.

And I hate that. I really hate that. I wish I could just look back on yesterday and appreciate the puzzle and games as something innocent. I wish I could just enjoy the way he’s touching me right now. But instead I have all this suspicion.

When I glance up at him, he’s not looking at me, all his attention focused on my hand. He drops it back into the bowl of hot water and picks up the other one, repeating his slow massage. And I can’t help it. My shoulders drop and I begin to relax a little.

He glances up at me, noticing the change in my posture, and offers me a small smile.

I look away. I’m not going to fall for it. I’ve seen too much to fall for it.

After about a minute, Cort takes the bowl away and places it in the sink. Then he comes back with a towel and pats my hands dry.

He motions to me with his fingers. Stand up, I think he’s saying. So I do. And he turns my chair around so the seat back is facing him, then directs me to sit and rest my right forearm on the top.

I do this and he begins wrapping my wrist and hand with gauze, stopping briefly to add a thick wad of cotton padding over my knuckles. He motions for me to make a fist, and open my fist, and make a fist again dozens of times as he carefully winds the gauze through my fingers, over my knuckles and thumb in a figure eight, and around my wrist. It takes several minutes for him to finish and by the time he’s done, everything is tight with tape.

He does the other hand as I watch, then he stands up, puts his chair back and begins to box the air, bouncing on his feet, twisting his hips, and making hissing sound effects as he punches. Then he points to me and I roll my eyes, embarrassed. But just as I do that his hand darts towards me and slaps my cheek.