My knees give up this time and I fall on them, ignoring the throb that radiates to my shins. My sobs keep coming, tears pouring down my face.
No way can Victor fight in his condition. Could he have incurred a career-threatening injury? I hope not. Would he be able to have a rematch? My shoulders droop and my hands, palms down, fall on the carpet. I’m choking on my sobs, unable to take a breath.
I’ve made such a mess of everything. I won’t have the money to pay Charlie, which means I have two choices now—either run away or give myself up to the monster. But if I leave and hide, Charlie can hurt Abi or Alek next. He knows I care about them too. And he’s on a mission to hurt every person I love. Now I’m paying the cost of loving people, of allowing myself to get close to them. These are the consequences of letting my heart overrule my head. I should have run away to New Orleans a long time ago, but my heart felt full when I was close to Victor, demanding I stay.
There’s one way out of this. Once I give my body to Charlie, Victor won’t be able to live with my decision, with me, to look me in the eye and not see the monster. Victor loves me and he’d never accept my decision. His wounds will heal, at least physically, but not his wounded heart.
I don’t know if Charlie will ever leave me alone. He can have my body, but never my heart. My soul may burn with pain, but my heart will always belong to Victor.
I take a deep breath but air doesn’t get in my lungs. My chest feels crushed—as if a thousand pounds of dumbbells got dropped on it.
I don’t know how long I stay on the floor, and I don’t care. Alek and Abi come to my room when daylight breaks. They exchange worried glances and do their best to distract me with movies and junk food. Our flight is not until tomorrow morning. I listen to music with my headphones on, playing over and over the songs that Victor chose for me.
In the evening, Alek starts flipping through the sports channels, reminding me of my own actions not too long ago.
“I don’t think the fight is canceled.”
“I’m checking the website, and there’s nothing about canceling it,” Abi says while reading on her phone.
Maybe this one time in my life, the stars will smile upon me and fate will bless me with a little bit of luck. If Victor is still fighting, then doesn’t it mean that he’s okay? He has to be cleared by a doctor first. Some weight lifts off my shoulders.
We leave the hotel with lightning speed and Alek drives us to the arena. The VIP tickets Victor gave us are in the first row. With every minute that passes, my energy withers slowly. I hope I have enough strength to stay through the entire fight.
The announcer screams the names of the two fighters of the next fight. It’s Victor and Milkovich. My breath hitches. Milkovich climbs into the octagon first and starts pacing while punching the air. Victor is on the other side of the octagon, right in front of the stairs, but he’s not going in. He and his dad are talking to an official-looking man, waving their hands. And then Victor turns, climbs the few stairs to the octagon, and the small door closes behind him.
From my seat, I have a clear view of the middle of the cage. Victor’s face is swollen and a huge purple bruise spreads across the side of his chest.Ohmigod. He can’t fight like that. Why are they not stopping the fight? I frantically scan the rows of officials to my right and wonder which one is the doctor. But then it occurs to me that the doctor was probably the man Victor had been talking to before he got into the cage. Victor had been arguing to be allowed to fight. I gasp as this thought doesn’t want to leave my mind. Victor wants to win so that I can get the money.
My ears are beeping and I can’t hear the announcer’s words or the crowd’s shouting anymore. It all fades away as my vision focuses only on Victor. The fighters touch gloves and the bell dings for the beginning of the first round.
Victor doesn’t charge toward Milkovich—he’s not going through his usual routine. Instead, his back is to the metal net, hands up. Eyes on fire. The other man approaches, and they both unleash a flurry of punches and kicks at each other. Victor’s posture changes and his hands drop down. He must be tired at the end of round one.
That’s not the Victor I saw on the YouTube videos with the stamina of a bull. The other guy lunges forward and slams Victor’s body on the ground. I gasp. I watch helplessly from my seat as the love of my life gets the air punched out of his lungs. His face scrunches into a painful grimace—no doubt Victor is trying not to show the pain from a broken rib.
The bell rings and the two men disentangle. Milkovich goes to his corner while Victor is on his knees and hands, barely able to push off to stand up. He finally gets to his corner where his dad yells a bunch of things to him. The man they talked to before starting the fight approaches them and Victor’s dad yells something at him. The man leaves and the bell sounds again.
Round two. Victor waits for the other man to get to him and places his fists to the side of the bruise, trying to block the kicks. But Milkovich is relentless and doesn’t care about Victor’s condition. He cares about getting a win. So after a powerful kick to the side, Victor falls on his knees and the other man pounces on top of him.
After few punches to his bruised chest, the ref stops the fight. Victor’s body is still on the ground while the ref lifts Milkovich’s arm, declaring the winner. I jump up and stand on my seat to get a better view. Victor is surrounded by several officials, his coach, and teammates. They help him get up and walk him down the tunnel where the fighters came from.
I can’t breathe. My legs are buckling. My head is pounding. There’s got to be a rule about this. He can’t fight when he’s already injured. I can go up to the ref and explain what happened last night. They won’t count this fight, and they’ll let Victor do a rematch after he recovers.
But what am I going to say about Charlie? I don’t have any evidence he did it.
I should have walked away from Victor when I was given the choice.
“I need to see him.” I don’t care if I’m begging.
Alek nods, and I appreciate he’s not asking me questions at the moment. Our passes allow us to go back in the tunnel, following Victor. I’ve been so absorbed in the action I’ve forgotten that Abi and Alek were seated next to me.
It’s not difficult to find Victor’s room, with various people walking in and out. A man carrying a thick black case rushes into the room. Maybe he’s the doctor. I hope.
Alek moves closer to me and Abi. We’re leaning against the cold wall away from the room.
“Hey, I’ll stand close to the door and let you know when you can go in,” Alek says, and reaches for my hand. He gives it a gentle squeeze.
I want to hug my brother at this moment, but he disappears before I can move a muscle. Abi is standing next to me, both of us silent. She takes my hand and just holds it. No words are needed.
The boos and awws from the crowd are now echoing from the arena. The next fight is starting. My muscles are tense.
