Obsession

Watching men fight doesn’t turn me on, but there is something I can’t help getting excited about when I see Liam move. It could be the way his muscles flex, the way the sweat shines in the halogen lights, those gorgeous smoldering eyes, that bulge that makes the front of his shorts look like they are begging me to remove them, or simply because now I know he knows I’m watching him. Whatever it is, it’s certainly more than I can control.

Pitbull is slowing, but he still refuses to give up. In the meantime, the crowd has gotten even more animated and boisterous. They want to see this ended now, Pitbull has been outclassed and needs to be put down, even though he refuses it.

Liam is circling like a vulture ready to pick meat out of a carcass that’s on the edge of death. I can see in his eyes he’s looking for the way in, to turn this fight into a victory, assuage these bloodthirsty fans, and pick up his well-deserved prize money.

There are bruises where he’s taken hits across his ribs and chest, a more serious wound underneath his eye where Pitbull landed his illegal haymaker, but it’s not enough to stop him and nothing close to the injuries Pitbull has suffered.

Liam’s opponent is dragging his feet and his hands, his whole body heavy, his head swimming with the intensity of the situation.

“Fucking finish him off”, I hear someone shout from the crowd before Liam looks briefly at me and moves in.

No one sees it coming. Liam has demonstrated a whole range of different moves, but even so, no one expects him to have this one in his locker. It happens so fast I almost miss it, but as much as I can tell, Liam wraps half of his body around the Pitbull, and there is literally no way for the man to escape being smashed head first to the ground.

There, Liam is quick to neutralize him, and with an arm wrapped around his neck, and the crowd baying for him to rip it off, he chokes the man mountain out.

The fight has lasted less than three rounds, which I believe is kind of normal for this kind of thing, but never enough to satisfy the crowd.

While Liam salutes his supporters, those that have come to cheer on their now flattened champion drag him into the shadows.

It’s been a comprehensive win, and despite Pitbull putting up a tenacious challenge, the better man has clearly won.

I watch Liam take his hoody, count the money the referee passes him and make his way towards me.

“Let’s go”, he says, as though we’ve come here together.

Knockout puts his arm out to protect me and Liam looks up to the man that’s even bigger than the Pitbull as if to say, you probably don’t want to do that.

“It’s okay”, I say. “I know him.”

Liam takes my arm, and the crowd part to let us through.

Liam

I take Jasmine as far away from that toxic environment as I can, embarrassed already that she’s seen what I do. I made a conscious decision not to involve her in my life one year ago because I didn’t want to expose her to that, and here she is in the very front of the crowd, the only girl I think I’ve ever seen in a fight crowd, balls as big as brass.

We make our way to a nearby café just to talk this out. I can’t not, especially now she’s seen me at my absolute worst.

The waitress gives us both a worried look as she takes the order, my black eye and swollen hands clearly making her feel ill at ease.

Jasmine doesn’t seem as bothered, though. She’s certainly not the same girl that bolted back to her house after I stopped three men from helping her get there. If anything, she looks like she enjoyed that.

I have a million questions, none of which seem right to begin with.

“Sorry you had to see that”, I eventually decide to say.

“So, what is that, a hobby or a profession?”

The waitress buys me time to think how to answer when she brings over the coffee, her eyes still flitting between us as though trying to decide whether to call the police.

“It’s good money”, I say to explain it. “That’s the only thing I like about it.”

“You’re good.”

“It’s a horrible sport. I don’t like what I do, I just need to do it, that’s all.”

Jasmine turns the coffee cup around in her hands, the liquid still way too hot to drink.

“I didn’t know”, she says.

“Nobody knows”, I say. “I’m not proud of kicking the shit out of people. That’s why-.”

It’s hard to continue but the look she gives me suggests I don’t need to anyway. “It’s good to see you”, I say instead.

“It’s good to see you too”, she says.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly were you doing there?”

Jasmine’s smile makes me think she’s been caught. “Research”, she says.

“Research? What are you like a female bare fist fighter or something? After that shit last year have you been training for a life in the ring?”

Jasmine shakes her head. “Why would I need to do that with you to protect me?”

“I haven’t exactly been around much”, I confess.

“I’m a writer”, she says. “Or, at least, I want to be. That’s the idea.”

“A writer?”

Jasmine nods. “When I’m not waitressing, of course. I majored in English, you know, so I keep pretending.”

“And that, what I do, how did you even know that exists?” I say.

“It’s not exactly a well-kept secret, not here in Brooklyn, at least. I read about it online and I’ve been wanting to write something all year about it. It’s an environment that fascinates me.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

“Seriously. It’s so raw and animalistic, I don’t know, there’s a dichotomy there I wanted to explore, and finally I found someone who could get me in. Tonight was the first event I’ve been to.”

“The first event you go to, I’m on the roster. That’s a little weird”, I say.

“I think I’m to blame for that as well”, she says, nodding at my swollen eye.

“Got to let the crowd think the opponents have at least half a chance.”

Silence falls between us momentarily, while Jasmine sips at her coffee. She looks older than when I saw here last, just as beautiful if not even more so, but more mature. It’s exciting for me to see her, I’ve thought about her a lot over the last year, but I guess a year is such a long time we’ve undoubtedly both moved on from where we were.

“So”, I say. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

“One night stands tend to be just that”, she says.

“I know, I’m sorry about that, I wanted to call. I just-. You see what I do for money, it’s not exactly everyone’s idea of wholesome recreation”, I say.

“I didn’t get the impression you wanted anything more.”

“Did you?”

“I think we had a connection.”

“Maybe we still do”, I say.

“Maybe it’s already too late for both of us”, she says.

I feel like it's time for a confession. “I was scared of getting involved with you. In that short time we were together, I could feel myself falling for you.”

“Full disclosure”, she says with a smile.