Sucker Punch (The Submission Fighter Book 2) (6 page)

She waited for him to pull out of her, but instead he remained. She eased herself away, using her arms to move him out of her as she inched up the carpet. He lowered her legs back to the ground, allowing her enough space to move slowly away from where he was kneeling and panting.

Her body leaned against the leather couch as she drew her legs to her knees. Every inch of her body tingled in a dull, distant pain, a completely different feeling than ever before. The two looked at one another unsure of what to say or do next. Alice stood, grabbing her tank top and shorts from the ground next to Micah. She slipped them back on and headed towards the bedroom.

He followed soon after. Without any words, the two lay down against each other. He spooned against her back, an arm folded up against her chest and enveloping her body. He fell asleep first. She could feel his breath against her hair and neck. But for Alice, there would be no more sleep. She instead remained awake, counting down the hours till morning.

The apartment door stood like a barrier between her old life and the one she had left behind at Micah’s place. She took a deep breath in as she began to search her keychain for the door’s key. She fumbled around with the lock, her hand shaking a bit as she finally got the mechanism to move. The door swung up, and she walked in on her tip toes.

As she had predicted, Caroline was nowhere near up and awake this early in the morning. At six in the morning, she had only returned from work several hours earlier. Alice couldn’t help but walk to her roommate’s door to check to see if she was there. The roar of Jace’s snore and the pile of clothing around the apartment’s living room all were positive signs that Caroline had indeed come home after her shift.

Alice headed backwards towards her own room. It had been almost a week since she was last there. She had practically abandoned the place, instead seeking refuge with Micah. But as the days passed it became clear to Alice that it might be Micah who needed the space. He had grown distant since his first invitational fight. With round two of the quarterfinals coming up, he had used it as an even better excuse to take longer nights at the gym, to spend his nights watching old fight videos of his competitors, and to have little engagement with Alice.

She had tried to do her own thing, too. She once again focused on work, picking up shifts here and there. After finding out what Micah had done to Pete, she felt she owed it to her boss to show him that he had nothing to fear with her. So, Alice showed up on time every single day with a smile on her face and a positive attitude for every situation. It had helped pass the hours, but what she had longed to do was to return back to her apartment and finish her paintings.

Now, with the paint in front of her and the early morning light shining in on her bedroom windows, she was at a loss of what she wanted to accomplish with her artwork. The piece she had begun almost a month ago still sat unfinished in her room. Its shape and vision were still unknown to her. It wasn’t a landscape or even a portrait. It was an expression, one that she hoped she could get out as she explored the rough canvas.

Alice grabbed her brushes and placed her headphones in her ears. She selected a playlist of several pieces of classical music, as she attempted her best to focus her energy. The sounds of the violins and the swelling drums were soothing, but she found herself further lost. Her brushstrokes felt off—almost too gentle for the vision she had in mind.

She stopped, switching her music to the playlist Micah had put on her phone a while back. It was a list of tracks he listened to before he went into a match. It was a mixture of the thumping bass in hip hop and the steady drums of rock. She found herself swaying to the pulsing music, her head nodding with the beat. Her hands steadied as she attacked the painting. It was unlike any painting exercise she had ever done. Instead of diligently filling in the colors, she splattered and spewed paint carelessly. The red, black, and golds mixed and mingled further as lines became even more blurred.

Hours passed, yet Alice remained content at her easel and chair. Her music had drowned out the sound of Caroline and Jace waking early in the afternoon to make their breakfast. She had even missed the messages from Micah checking in from his practice at the gym. Instead, Alice had become transfixed on finishing the work she started.

Alice jumped. The room of her bedroom door swung open. She removed her headphones, as Caroline stood waiting for her response for something she had said.

Caroline repeated, “What are you doing here?”

“The last I checked, this was still my apartment. I’m here for my day off.” Alice was in no mood to have to justify her presence in her own bedroom. “That gonna be a problem?”

Caroline walked further into the room, looking around at the bed and covers. “As long as
he
isn’t here.”

Alice fumed. “And what if he was? He’s as welcome as Jace—or whatever random dirtbag you brought home last night.” Alice had never been this bold, especially with Caroline. Her roommate was the sassy, outspoken one with the tongue that couldn’t be controlled. Alice had seen her wordy mouth get her in trouble in the past. But now the scene was flipped as Caroline backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Alice listened for what Caroline had in store next. But, instead of coming roaring back, she could hear Caroline mutter something to Jace and grab her high heel shoes. The sound of the clips of the heels grew louder as she walked the length of the apartment’s old wooden floors. And then, without warning, the two left the apartment, slamming the main door behind them.

Now completely alone, she returned to her painting and the blasting music. She added more black and red, pushing the paint hard into the edges of the canvas. As she contemplated her next move, she stepped back to take a look at her hours of work. Drips of watery paint were running down the side of the easel and pooling at the floor. The mess stained her small blue area rug.

She cursed when she noticed the mess she had made on her own floor. Alice ran into the kitchen, grabbing a handful of paper towels and napkins soaked in water from the sink. On her hands and knees, she carefully soaked up the colorful liquid from the rug’s fabric. The water cleared the black mess quickly, but the red and gold dried paint had refused to budge.

As she threw her paper towels away, she searched the apartment for something to protect her rug even further. She found a stack of old newspapers in the trash and a handful of junk mail on her dining room table. As she went through the envelopes, looking for anything that could be trashed, she noticed a yellow post-it note standing out from the white of the mailers. The masculine handwriting was messy and illegible, but Alice could make out most of the note:

David Sumpton
MMA Backstage
555-542-2149

Johnny Spears
Fighting Chance Press
[email protected]

D. Meyers

555-577-9911

The pit in Alice’s throat grew larger and larger, as she glanced at the papers the note was stuck to. There were printouts of images of Micah. In one of them, he was surrounded by young groupie girls, another one showed him leaned in close to the girl she had seen on television after his last match. The captions read, “Micah: MMA’s Newest Playboy.”

Further in the stack, there was a yellow envelope containing more images. Alice dropped the stack as actual photographs of her at the Invitational match fell to the ground. The photos were taken as she attempted to sneak into the locker room pre-match. She could spot herself looking tense as the security guard to let her in. In the corner of the image, the press had begun to circle in as she waited unknowingly. A small card read: “Thanks for the tip. -- D.M.” It was dated for yesterday.

She quickly and carelessly placed the pictures back in the envelope along with the card signed by the MMA journalist. Unsure what to do with the evidence, she placed it in her purse for safekeeping, though she was fully aware that the damage had probably been done. The fallout would soon follow.

Someone had betrayed her, and she was almost certain she knew who it was. Jace’s face popped up in her mind, as she remembered her last conversation about the man. Caroline herself had said that his plan was to sell her and Micah out to the press. Now, she had the cold, hard proof that the couple had abused their relationship with her. Jace had made a buck spilling secrets. She could only imagine what he had to say about her and Micah.

Furious, she returned to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The bedroom windows rattled from the force. She stood in the center of the room, shaking violently in rage with her hands clasped tightly in fists. She spotted her black cell phone discarded on her bed. She walked over, grabbing the phone and turning the screen off of its sleep mode. Her first thought was to let Micah know what had been done. But she knew that it would only push him further away from her.

But what about me?
she thought.
Shouldn’t I be the angry one? After all, this is his job to be a celebrity surrounded by hot, slutty women. This isn’t my life! I never asked to be put into this position where I am trying to juggle keeping him happy and keeping our relationship alive.

She threw her phone back on the bed. She wasn’t going to be the one who told Micah about the photographers or the fact that her roommate’s scummy boyfriend exposed them. He could figure that out on his own and she would deal with the fallout later. For right now, she wanted to concentrate on herself.

She pulled her laptop out from under her bed and logged in. The desire to do something drastic came over her fast and strong. She began a web search for apartments in her area. Knowing her price range, there wasn’t much she could choose from. But if she was ever going to be independent and her own woman, she had to do this. She had to get out of the shadows of her roommate and her famous boyfriend. Building a new life away from them was her best and only option.

She went through listing after listing. Her head spun from all of the information, the pricing, the details. Yet, the thought of it alone lifted her spirits. She made lists of things she would need to buy and the amount of money she would need to save to make her own space possible. But she knew that if it came to buying her own couch and television versus not moving at all or delaying a move, she’d rather live without furniture. Her new priority would be on her happiness.

A buzz came from her bed sheets followed by a loud ring. Micah’s face popped up on Alice’s caller ID lists. She pushed the ignore button and waited for it to go to voicemail. He called again and again. Each ring took Alice out of her apartment searching bliss, but she was dead set on keeping this moment to herself for as long as possible. When the phone rang for the fifth time, she decidedly turned her phone completely off for once and for all.

Micah was alone tonight to figure out what he wanted. She was not about to give in again to his beck and call. After all, his freedom had mattered so much that he had effectively begun shutting her out after the last match. He had played around with her emotions and had left her feeling like she was 100 percent responsible for his happiness.

She loved him. She loved him with the deepest parts of her heart. She loved him wildly, madly, passionately. However she felt like him, it didn’t change the fact that he was still the fighter.  His career was on the rise, and she had to play a background part in the acts of his life.

She would love him. She knew she could not let go and leave it all behind so quickly. Instead, she would love him while still being her own person. Like the paint on the pages, she needed time and focus. She needed her own colors, her own paint strokes. So if she was going to be a supporting role in the life of her famous fighter, she was going to do it her way, on her terms. No one, not even Micah himself, was going to stop her from finding out how to do so.

“Hi! You’ve reached Alice. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave me your name and a brief message, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

Micah slammed the cell phone down on the side of the wooden bench he sat upon. It was his fifth call to Alice that day and she still had yet to call him back or answer his calls. He looked through his texts once more—nothing. It had been radio silence for the last two days since she had returned to her apartment.

It wasn’t like her to be unavailable, much less unavailable to him when she said she would be. Her perky voicemail message just made the scenarios about what was going on or where she could be even more personal. But he knew that he didn’t have the time to figure it out on his own, at least not now. The second session of his practice was waiting to begin, and he had to find some semblance of focus before he went into the public.  

He slipped off his sweat pants, revealing his training boxers. Slipping in his mouth guard and placing on the fingerless gloves, he headed back out to the ring. His sparring partner for the day was there, stretching and limbering up for the fight. Coach Dean was leaned in over the boxing ring ropes, chatting away with a man in a dark suit and tie.

As soon as they spotted him, the journalists took notice. Their photographers’ cameras were on standby and their laptops were open, waiting to take notes. He slipped in the ring and began reviewing the drills he was about to practice. The two men would run through takedown maneuvers, flip overs, and then end with a pseudo-MMA sparring match based on tomorrow’s opponent’s weaknesses and strengths.

Micah moved to the side to stretch and prepare. But as he was about to get ready to go back in, a reporter approached him. “Micah!” he said jovially. “What does it feel like knowing that you will face eighth seed, Rory Callahan? Think you have a shot?”

Micah started at him blankly then turned towards Dean, who was still preoccupied with the man in the suit. Instead of giving an answer to the journalist, he let out a groan and a grunt. The man took the hint, sinking back to his seat.

But as soon as the first journalist fled, another, a blogger for the MMA organization’s website, approached him with a big grin. “Micah! Can you talk about your practice today? What do you plan on doing to train?”

As Micah tried to ignore him, a photographer ran up, snapping a picture with his oversized camera, sending flashes of light into Micah’s eyes directly. The fighter’s tension began to speed up, mixing with the anxiety he was already feeling about Alice. The blogger repeated his question, louder and more persistent.

Micah had had enough. “You know what I’m trying to do?” Micah lowered the tone of his voice, but sped up his words. The rest of the journalists leaned into hear what he had to say, their computers ready to take his quote. “I am trying to get fucking ready for this fucking match. But since I cannot work out without playing a game of twenty questions, I guess I’ll just answer your dumbass questions!” Micah was now screaming, spitting with rage, as the blogger slowly backed away.

Another photographer snapped a photo from his seat. The sound of the click and the pointed light triggered everything in Micah. Like an animal, he shouted viciously and incomprehensible. His sparring coach and partner ran to his side, holding him back and talking him down.

It was only then that Dean appeared ready to scold Micah. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I thought you understood that we have to play nice to the press, give them what they want.”

Micah’s breathing was still off the charts. He paced the small space his coaches allowed him to have, as he was shielded from the eyes of the press pool waiting on the bench. “You’re gonna ruin everything, you stupid twat,” Dean continued. “You either play this game, or you don’t.”

Dean stared at him waiting or a sign of comprehension. Micah stiffly nodded, realizing that Dean was ultimately right. The journalists, while annoying, were doing their job. This was an open to the public practice and an invitation to the media to see him work. He couldn’t just drive them away because he was having a bad couple of days with his girlfriend.

The mood eased up as seconds passed. The coaches set him free, allowing him to once again return to a spot to stretch and shake out his frustrations. This time the journalists or photographers didn’t leap to bother him. They had enough to write, apparently, as they typed away furiously on their keypads. Micah watched as Dean stepped out the ring and joined the group—assuring them that Micah was not as crazy as they were likely planning to portray him.

The fighter turned his attention back towards his actual job. His first move to practice was the double leg takedown, a very basic and simple move for Micah whose first love was the wrestling component of MMA. His sparring partner would go in to reach for his shoulders, just as he had practiced thousands of times before, but instead of being able to find an empty space for him to move in and pull the man to the ground, Micah was stuck feeling as if he was trying to pull down a large wall.

He attempted it again and again. Each time, it became even harder to find any ounce of strength to get the man to even move an inch. Micah could hear Dean and his sparring coach in the background yelling at him, giving him directions. It was insulting and infuriating, yet Micah couldn’t seem to get past it.

He moved on to single leg takedowns and hip throws in hopes it would be easier, or at least hoping he would be able to reclaim what he had lost in the time spent working on the first takedown. But his sparring partner continued to remain the unmovable mountain unable to fall no matter how Micah approached him. Each attempt became more painful, as Micah’s body crushed under the weight of both the pressure and the depth of the challenge.

Micah circled the ring in frustration, slapping his fists against his chest. A million sounds and images ran through his head. The clicking of the keys on the laptops, Dean chatting wildly with the men in suits, the photographers’ digital cameras chirping away all beat like an off-beat drum. All Micah could do was attempt to drown it out, to find focus again. He called his sparring partner forward again, ready to try to get his groove back.

As he snatched the leg of the man, a sound of a cell phone going off, the same ring tone as his, filtered over the gym’s sounds. Micah stopped in place, releasing his grip, and looking around for the source. His first thought,
Alice.

“Hey, Dan! … No, nothin’. Nothin’ at all. Just at the gym.” Another fighter passed by his ring, silver cell phone plastered to his ear. Micah watched the man walk away towards the door and outside the gym. The reporters studied Micah as he was in his transfixed state, unsure of what to make of the man who could be distracted by something as simple as a cell phone beeping.

Micah jumped out of the ring, unable to take another minute of it. Dean followed, throwing out explanations to the journalists as he walked. “He’ll be back. Just taking a short break. Give us five minutes, guys!”

Micah sped up, heading towards the locker area. He opened the metal compartment, grabbing his bag and the pile of clothing. Dean whispered to him in a panic, “What the fuck do you think you are doing?”

“I’m leaving,” he said flatly, pulling a brown V-neck t-shirt over his head. “This isn’t working for me today.”

“Excuse me?” Dean demanded. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘this isn’t working for me?’ You’ve got another two hours here, you smarmy son of a bitch.” Dean practically jumped in the air, wildly throwing his hands around, as he gestured to the crowd gathered around Micah’s former ring.

Micah looked Dean directly in the eyes with a ferocity that even scared the coach. His voice sounded like a thump with each syllable. “I. Don’t. Care.”

As Micah grabbed his things to leave, Dean stood firm, calling out, “What do you expect me to tell
them
, huh? You looked like shit out there, and now you’re leaving. What do you think they’re gonna be writing about tonight?”

Micah stopped just in front of the door. “I don’t know, Dean,” he admitted, his back still turned to his trainer. “Tell ‘em I’m injured, or I’m sick, or that I’m a pussy. I really don’t fucking care.”

“Well you
better
care,” Dean fumed. “Roy Callahan sure does!”

Micah shook his head and looked at Dean over his shoulder. “Let him think he’s fightin’ a weaker opponent. It’s—it’s a strategy.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Micah had already walked out the door. He passed the journalists and the deserted ring, hearing Dean clomping behind him. Shouts of
Micah! Where are you going? What happened?
were all around him, but he ignored them. Over his shoulder, he heard Dean address them: “All right, folks, practice is done. We’re callin’ it early. Micah’s—”

Micah exited the gym, not even stopping to hear what excuse Dean ended up using.

***

Outside, the sun had lowered and the sky had become cloudier. The crisp air nipped at his head and chest as he made his way to his car. The streets were practically empty, giving him his first taste of silence all day. Slamming the car door behind him, Micah took a deep breath and pulled out his cell phone. Still, nothing from Alice. Not a text or a call, nothing to tell him that she or they were fine. He checked the time, it was just about six in the evening, which meant that Alice was most likely at work still. His first instincts were to go home, but he found himself driving towards the Tick Tock Diner like a mad man possessed by purpose.

He pulled into the small lot, parking his car between two larger beat up trucks. He ran inside, slamming the glass door behind him. The diner’s patrons turned to face him, their tired faces looking annoyed at the sudden jolt of noise. All eyes were upon him.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a woman in the uniform green shirt and black shorts bending down to pick up a piece of fallen silverware. He quickly walked towards her, lifting her by the elbows. The woman shrieked, “Hey!” as she broke free from his grasp. Her short blonde hair gave her away, as Micah quickly whispered an apology.

“What are you doing, man? Leave her alone.” Micah spun on his foot to find the source of the husky voice. He recognized Pete first before Pete had a second to move away. He cowered, returning quickly to his position behind the countertop. Micah followed, his eyes piercing and stern.

“Where is she, Pete? Where the fuck is she?” He shouted at Alice’s boss not caring if the rest of the diner heard him or not.

“She’s...uh…in the alley...taking out some trash.” Pete had backed himself up to the kitchen counter, totally in fear of the giant of a man that stood before him.

Alice watched from the side door as Pete shook violently. Caroline was right; Micah had beaten up Pete. There was no doubt in her mind that Micah could do such a thing all in her name. She ran inside, knowing that it was her job to stop whatever was about to happen next. She grabbed hold of Micah’s bare elbow, as he turned to face her.

“Come on. Outside.” She dragged him back towards the side door before he could say another word or do any more damage. He followed her like a child, his weight pressing against her grip.

When she reached the darkened alley, she let go, bursting away from him like a shot. “What the fuck are you doing, Micah?”

“Where have you been the last two days?” Micah shouted at her, crazed and excited. He watched her, as her delicate face transformed to a stunned, put off look.

“I turned my phone off. I needed some…I dunno…space.” Her hands flew from her sides as she motioned at the physical distance between the two of them. She was being honest. She wanted to be alone to contemplate her next move, to work things out on her own.

“If you needed space, you should have asked for it! Do you know how worried I was about you? Do you know what you do to me when you leave me like that?”

“Leave you?
You
were the one who told me to stay away.
You
were the one who banned me from your fights.
You
were the one who spent the last five days sulking around me like I was some spare weight you were trying to lose.
You
did this, you bastard, not
me
!” The words stuck to the back of her throat.