18+ | sugar daddy/baby relationship. age gap. (implied) mafia au. dom!Price. (slight) dubcon breeding. breeding kink one so insane you can hear Mormons applauding in the distance. contraceptive control. implied financial control. rough sex. infidelity*. dad!John Price. cheating (not between reader and John). Old Money Rich.
What you have with Price is entirely transactional.
His job—the nuances of which he keeps out of the bedroom, the bed—eats up the bulk of his time, and you—pretty little tchotchke that warms his sheets, keeping him cradled between soft thighs, head nestled on the enticing swell of your chest (weary heads and all, you suppose); a homecoming he can sink his stress into—lap up the scraps.
It's an arrangement that works for both of you, really.
Your rent is paid. Closet bursting with clothing. Always tripping over more shoes than you know what to do with. Food in the fridge. Financial worries are swallowed down quickly when they arise (along with a whiskey-tinged glob of spit when he grips your throat and tells you to open wide). He takes care of you. And you—
You take care of him, too.
a simple creature, really: he just wants dinner on the table when he comes over (home), a pretty thing to stare at while he eats, humming around a mouthful as you prattle on about your day (non-negotiable—his appetite is archaic, oppressive: the man grunts around a piece of meat his woman cooked for him as her bare feet slide teasingly up and down his leg, and she fills the stifling silence with inane chatter), and at the end of the obligatory meal, he gets to vent his frustrations out on the wet, warm embrace of your cunt as it squeezes his bare cock (also non-negotiable).
It's an effortless synchronicity.
When you need money, you send a picture of yourself in lingerie he bought above a coy pretty please, daddy to soften the grump up, and after a few exchanges of him lamenting the unnecessary purchase (a part of you, wishful, idealistic, clings to the idea that maybe he just wants an excuse to talk to you, to let you lap at more of his time than think he can afford to give), he relents. The money is sent to your account. You walk out of the department store with an ache in your belly that no amount of expensive wine or truffle could ever hope of filling and bags dangling on the crook of your finger, and he gets to thicken in his trousers over the idea of spending his money on a pretty little thing he can bury his cock inside of whenever the mood strikes. A patriarchal sort of preening. Masculine ego stroke. The role of a dutiful provider all wrapped up nice under the hum of ownership, sex.
(Then he really gets his money's worth when he bends you over the settee. Bought and paid for.)
And you're fine with it. It works. It makes sense because this is the only way that the two of you, together, do.
He's older than you are (salt peppers his hairline; wisps of smoke slither out of the tips of wry, umbre curls. No laugh lines, but his eyes crinkle when he smiles). He has a career. A good one. The second bottle of Violet Sapphire he bought on a whim for you after you whined about running out of the first (a gift—sales lady said you'd like it, sweetheart) isn't cheap. Neither are the handbags. The Tuscan leather shoes. The teardrop pearls. A good man, too. Upstanding citizen, and all that—
(the thin line of pale, creamy skin against ripened peach: a married man. a crayon shoved in the pocket of his trousers: a father.
blood under his nails. ghosts in his eyes. the smell of gunfire and madness clinging to his skin: a monster, too.)
—and you barely finished community college. Scraped by with a degree you're almost entirely certain he paid for, too. But you get to float around a meaningless job doing empty, vapid things to fill your days when he isn't around.
(An ornament doesn't serve a purpose if it isn't being gawked at.)
An imbalance, you suppose. Or a ballad: the timeless tale of a stupid, greedy girl sinking her teeth into a grown man's wallet like a dog with a bone. In his hand, the leash. A tug. Be good.
And you are.
You let him slide inside of you as many times as he wants, and pretend the burnished seaglass staring down at you isn't filled with longing. Kneel on your satin cushion at his feet as he stretches out on his throne, and guides your pretty, empty head to his cock. Good girl.
Always.
Even when you shouldn't be. Even when he's gone for long periods of time. don't wait up, peppering the air as he goes. Nothing but an empty bed. Rumpled sheets. The scent of sex and tobacco. Leather and motor oil. Smoke. Sage and stale sweat on your pillowcase. An ache between your thighs. The tattoo of his teeth seared into your skin. An envelope full of cash (just in case). The card he left behind (anythin' you want).
Little tchotchke put back on the shelf. Tucked away so the reason for that pale strip of skin and the broken crayon in his pocket won't ever see you. A dirty secret. Another skeleton in an overstuffed closet.
Predictable, really.
You know your place in his world even if he doesn't say it.
(until he does—)
Just not in so many words—a paradox considering how much he loves to boss you around, growling commands under his breath (on your knees, open up, suck my cock, pretty girl, want me bad, mm, missed my cock inside your cunt, didn't you? show me how much)—in fact, they don't even come from him.
It comes from the pharmacist when you duck inside to pick up your prescription for birth control, and instead of handing it over, he just shakes his head.
"You don't have any refills for this month."
He's gone for two months.
MayoClinic warns that this is the estimated window needed for the hormones to dissolve from your system. The risk of a pregnancy after this, it reads, is likely.
You ponder that in a penthouse suite, sitting pretty amongst shredded wrapping paper. A Dior Turtleneck Sweater wrapped around your throat instead of his hands. An apology—according to the embroidered card, the tight, messy pen strokes mention something about an unexpected business trip.
The return address on the box is in Liverpool.
It's listed for sale on Zillow. The asking price is just over a million dollars. A family home on a vast plot, it reads. Six bedrooms—five in the main home and an additional inside a detached coach house. A gated driveway. A secluded courtyard with a suntrap. Something called a self-contained annex seems to be the main focal point of the sale. It has five reception rooms and a sprawling garden.
Perfect for a family, it adds.
You thumb the alpaca wool on your knit sweater, and wonder if this is the leash being cut—
Or pulled tighter.
He doesn't bring it up.
And so, neither do you.
It sits like an oafish, gaudy elephant in the background as he walks into the apartment, fingers digging into his tie. Ignored. Dismissed. He grunts when the knot loosens. Shoulders falling lax. Calmed without the clench of something around his neck.
You place his plate on the table when he wanders closer, offering one of those simpering 50s era housewife smiles when his big, bearish hand swallows up your waist. The scent of char and gunsmoke clings to his collar when he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple. Acrid. Metallic. Beneath it, you catch stale sweat. Animalic. Unwashed man, leather.
And nothing else.
There's old, greasy sweat on his nose. His hair is slicker than usual. Darker. Blood under his nails. Smoke between his teeth when he hums, offering a low, rasping missed you, sweetheart that scratches along your skin.
He didn't shower before he came to see you.
You hide the notion of it behind your teeth, letting it grace your smile with something that feels less plastic, rigid. More real. Artless. Clumsy. Like the dress he sent ahead of himself and the matching pair of designer heels that still sit inside their box. You'd never wear shoes in the house, but John Price isn't a man who does things in halves.
(a purse sits on the settee: a complete set.)
His eyes are dark—pelagic: the ocean at night; all dark, no stars, moonless—and when he looks at you (in the clothes he bought, in the penthouse he owns, cooking the dinner he wanted), something ripples across the surface. A frisson. Underwater quake. Deep and dark, and darkly possessive. Hungry.
You like the look on him right now. Maybe even more than anything else he'd ever bought for you, done to you, because Price is, above all else, fundamentally human.
He has rules. Expectations. It's rare he's ever driven by instinct beyond anger—that thrilling thing you'd only ever glimpsed when he peeled back the curtain, tearing the skin he wore with you kneeling at his feet and growled into the phone at whoever stroke his ire. He's controlled chaos. Gruff and uncompromisable.
But the look on his face right now splits that staunch control down the middle until it falls, shattering into pieces at his feet.
He growls m’hungry, sweetheart, and you barely have a second to push the risotto aside before he lifts you onto the table, barely sparing a minute to swipe his hand across the surface, sending dishware and untouched food tumbling to the ground with that same little growl he gave to the man on the phone who disturbed him from the comfort of keeping his cock warmed on your tongue all day long.
You're laid over the jacket he'd thrown down—rich with gunsmoke, tobacco, and something sharp and metallic—legs squeezed together, ankles tossed over his right shoulder.
It's messy. Artless. All animal despite the cocoon of finery bracketed around you.
Plates shake from the jarring force of his thrusts. Cups tip, spilling your glass of Roumier across the table. Something shatters when it hits the ground. But he doesn't stop. Doesn't even notice the chaos happening around him—as if the world ceases to exist beyond the sight of you taking his cock like a good girl. Spread out for his leisure. His pleasure.
He certainly looks like a hellish king as he stands above you. Towering. Terrifying. One hand wrapped around your throat, keeping you still as he slides his gaze from the tilt of your thighs to the tears puddling in the corner of your eyes as he stretches you open with the thick of him. The other looped under your knees, holding firm. Fingers digging into your flesh. Tight. Rutting like a beast.
There's sweat on his brow. His chest heaves. The hand around your throat slides down your collarbones in a damp spill of heat that makes your toes curl above his shoulder. Rough. Sticky with sweat. With you from when he pried your cunt open on three thick, scarred fingers, grunting at the sloppy mess he found between your thighs. Always so fuckin' wet for him.
It wasn't enough, but you think he likes that. Indulges in something archaic, sinister, when he catches the wince on your face as his too-big cock notches against your too-tight hole. Forcing himself inside with a grunt that sometimes sounds like a laugh when you whimper. When you cry and claw at the sheets and beg for mercy—just a minute to adjust, a second to get used to the burning stretch. The poignant ache when he slides down to the root—so deep, you sometimes think you can taste him in your throat.
He gives no quarter then, and he doesn't now.
Price likes fucking you rough. Edging on painful, bordering on too much. It's the juxtaposition, you think, from the way he treats you like a spoiled little princess who has daddy wrapped around her finger to the dressed up little whore he lays out on a table, bends over a settee, and brands your throat with the clench of his paw as he pounds into you like a beast. A little mean, a little cruel—just enough to balance out the rasp in his voice when he hands you his credit card and says buy whatever you want, sweetheart.
(and miss you, sweetheart—when he's tired and alone and already four glasses of whiskey deep; voice ground down to ash from the cigars he burned through. As soft as a man like him could ever get. Can't stop thinkin' about you, sweetheart. Need to see you, sweetheart. Need your pussy. Your cunt. Your mouth. That tight little ass. Want to fuck your throat until you can't speak for days, sweetheart.
(Want to push m'self so deep inside of you that you forget yourself, love. Forget who you are without my cock inside of you. Can't—can't live without me—)
Ash and soot. The next morning, another ten grand sits in your account. A knife slides cleanly, neatly, into your guts when the accompanying text says for listenin' to the nonsense of a drunk old man. don't take it to heart.)
Balance, maybe.
the thin strip of skin on his finger. the broken crayon in his pocket.
Maybe tonight was supposed to be the end. A clean break.
It makes you wonder if she found out about the tchotchke he keeps in his closet. The pretty little thing he begs to stay when he's drunk and alone, and then rips into pieces the next morning when money is promptly deposited into your account. A cruel-edged don't forget yourself, sweetheart.
But he's snarling as he peaks, grunting above you as sweat drips down his brow, heaving. Panting. Lips twisted up into a snarl. Eyes furious. Mad. His hand is a brand over your mound, possessive as he holds you in his palm, feels the way his cock splits you apart. Owned.
Bought and paid for.
Another grunt, and his thumb dips down to rub at your clit, barking at you to come—come on my cock, sweetheart, need to feel it—until you howl, clenching up so tight around him that it rips a molten, liquid purr from his chest. A throaty moan that breaks you into pieces. Tears the veneer of flesh and bone from your consciousness until your body liquifies, spilling out over the table, mingling with the Chambolle Musigny Amoureuses soaking into your back. Wrapped tight around him, as he batters into you without any finesse. Clumsy ruts. Sloppy. Animal. And then—
His cock swells. Throbs.
Over the roar in your ears, you hear him groan low in his throat, deep and brutal; the rumbling of a well-fed bear burying its dinner in the dirt. It sounds like mine now. Like ain't you, mm, sweetheart? gonna keep you nice and full. got all those rooms to fill, don't we—
wishful thinking.
But he comes inside of you. Bare. Raw. Your hands untangle from around his wrist, palm still wrapped around your throat, and drop down to your belly.
Price sees it and groans—
"that's it, sweetheart—"
(ain't gonna be empty for long.)
He's always had this little fantasy of knocking you up.
Used to growl in your ear about how badly he wanted to see you swell with his babies. Little broodmare he'd keep chained to his bed like a queen. Giving him five sons and five daughters because he could never seem to make up his mind on what he wanted—only that it was a lot.
(An improbable thing, really—he might yank on the leash, but you easily talked him down to four; two boys and two girls.)
He comes back (home) some days with fire in his eyes and sets on you like a man possessed, starved. Smothering you into the mattress with the thick of his body, grunting into your ear about knocking you up. Getting you fat and needy with his babies until you forget what it felt like not to be nursing, to be pregnant.
A terrifying concept. Something that made you rush a little faster to pick up your contraceptives, comparing the pill in your palm to pictures online just to make sure they were the same. And maybe at some point, it just became a game.
He'd press you into sheets and fuck you all day long, making you keep count. Each time he came inside of you was another baby to this empty house. A crazy thing, really. Midlife crisis, perhaps.
But you indulged.
Let him press his hairy, thick chest against yours as he folded your knees up to your ears and pounded inside of your aching, messy cunt, gasping out a tally into his sweat-slicked jaw. Laughed as he kept your legs bent and your hips tilted up, eyes riveted to the split of your sore, aching cunt. Growling an awful amalgamation of primal, masculine satisfaction at the sight of him spilling out of you and in anger at the fuckin' waste.
("gonna plug you up next time," he seethed, two fingers buried inside your bruised hole to stem the flood. "Wastin' it all, sweetheart.")
But that was before.
When he'd shower before he came to see you. Sometimes waiting days after he landed before he was back in your bed, grunting around the idea of another trip you wanted him to take you on, pretending to think about it despite the tickets to Egypt already booked. When he'd play house with you. I Love Lucy on the television, dinner in the oven. His hand curled over your nape as you bobbed your head up and down his cock. A dutiful wife taking care of her overworked husband.
Making babies in the dead of night. When he'd grunt say it, sweetheart into your ear, and you'd beg him to give you another one. Tears in your eyes, lachrymal, as you tried to convince your husband that the baby you put to bed in the empty room needs a sibling.
His hand on the leash, but your voice in his ear—paper soft—pleading don't make our child grow up as an only child, John.
(two weeks in Portofino booked. First class. Luxury resort. A Wolf & Badger swimsuit laying on your bed, one with a gold zipper on the front that he wears out by the sixth day and has to run to town to buy you a new one.)
But that was before. When it was just a rich, dangerous man's fantasy. When you had birth control to keep the unrepentant baby fever he had just a dream. Never a possibility. Never a reality.
MayoClinic says the possibility of conception is high.
The period tracker you glimpse on his phone one evening warns that you have two days before it comes.
When you swallow around the idea of it, half dizzy, half sick (six bedrooms), he rests his hand over your nape, tugging on the leash. His eyes are dark again. Midnight blue, almost black. Hadal.
He keeps them fixed on you. A ravenous black hole. Calmly closing the app as if nothing was wrong, as if he didn’t have your cycle locked into his phone. Rough, calloused thumb brushing over the soft patch of skin beneath your ear. Steady and soothing. Like calming a skittish mare.
Unflinching. Unbothered. Entirely unconcerned when he kicks his foot over the line of what's expected, what you want, and fucks you again that night, bare. Raw. Groaning when he comes. Huffing into your ear about how he'll take such good care of you—both of you.
And when he tucks a pillow under your hips, you drag your hand down to your wet, swollen cunt in a clumsy, enticing attempt to keep him inside of you until he fills the empty space with the thick split of his scarred knuckles.
A performance, you think, when he groans like you gutted him. Bought and paid for.
That's all this is.
But he doesn’t book a trip for this performance.
And he's gone when you wake (business, he says, in a messily scrawled note left on the end table), but there's a gift bag on the dining room table, sitting next to the stain you left when he pulled out of you. Dried come. Slick. Tinged slightly pink because he was rough with you last night. Hurried.
The black box inside is an apology for hurting you even though you know he likes it when his come is a little pink as it leaks out of you. When you wince when you sit, and have to press a icepack against your sore, swollen cunt.
(it doesn't surprise you to find a pack already left out for you. coffee in a pot. breakfast warm on the stove.)
But the next thing he left is the real gift.
Divorce papers—already signed by him, the gold band he never let you see on top—sits on a stamped envelope, awaiting another signature. It just has to be mailed out. When you sift through them, the cause for the divorce is irreconcilable differences.
Balm to the shame is the little fact that he hasn't lived with his wife for the last year. The date of separation coincides neatly with that drunken phone call when he told you he wanted to bury himself so deep inside of you that you couldn't breathe without him saying you could.
Domineering. Grossly possessive.
He has you already, but that's not enough.
It'll never be enough.
("wanna—mm, wanna give you everything, sweetheart. and I want everything, too. every part of you. wanna change your fuckin' name to mine—")
You tap your nail against the page labeled custody agreement, not even a little surprised that this docket has everything outlined, itemised. The table of contents says you'll find the prenup on page fifty-six and the proposed split of assets on page sixty-seven. It's thorough and every bit as intimidating and uncompromising as the man is wont to be.
He's serious.
And John wants his kid. Non-negotiable.
That, too, doesn't really surprise you. Even when you were playing house, he'd always been a rather doting father—
("I don't want them to just have a sibling," he'd growl, firm and immutable, adding (intractable as always): "I want them to have a fuckin' team.”)
The address he gives for his primary residence, however, does give you pause. Liverpool. Chestnut Avenue, Moor Park. Six bedrooms. A guesthouse.
The envelope is filled out, too. All it needs is to be tucked inside and mailed out.
Already separated, his lawyer says, neat and tidy, like everything else in the pages. This was the most inevitable course of action, and my client, John Price, is ready to move on with his new life.
Ready to move on. You scrape your tongue against your teeth, hand settling over your belly as you think about that. It's just—
He's always been a rather obstinate man. Stubborn. Once he gets his head around an idea, very little can change his mind. You'd seen it countless times before, but never this cold. Callous.
Dismissive.
Not to you, anyway. Not that you can remember. It's always been silk sheets, gifts from stores that would deny you entrance based on your credit score alone. A new wardrobe. A new place to stay. And that's—
That's kind of odd, you think. Maybe.
He cut your lease the day after you dragged him home from the bar, back when he was just a bad choice after a terrible night out. Had the locks changed. A new lease in your hands—in his name—and a key under the mat beside a housewarming gift. An expensive espresso machine that would be a little too bourgeois in Starbucks. A penthouse that overlooks the ocean. Members only.
There's a valet. A gym. A swimming pool. He joked one night that you'd feel right at home with the sauna it housed. Jus’ like a lodge, mm.
You're not sure how he knew. It's one of those things that he just does. Like your name. The real one you grew up hearing before you moved to the city and changed it to fit in. How many siblings you have. Your parents. Their birthdays. A gift always sent out in your name, arriving just on time.
All of your old things were donated. You didn't need them anymore—not when he ordered a whole new wardrobe from Loro Piana for you. Handed you his card and told you to fill the house up with whatever would make you happy.
(Fitting, you suppose, since you barely have to think about anything except how to make him happy.)
He turned in your resignation less than three hours after you fell asleep on your lumpy mattress, worn out after a night of drinking. A night of him. More animal than man. Too tired to kick him out before you passed out under the weight of him still burying you into the mattress, hips flexing as he fucked you again for the third time.
(the fourth, fifth while you were still sleeping. waking up to the sixth: him inside of you, a slow grind as he rocks in and out; he's bigger than you. too big. with your thighs wrapped snug around his hips, the top of your head barely clips the ledge of his shoulder. he wrapped an arm around your upper back, the other reaching out, gripping the pillows above you. panting into the thick bed of curls covering his chest as he threads his hand over your crown and presses you tighter against him. groaning into your ear. ducking his head down to rasp out how badly he wants to feel your messy little pussy squeeze him tight—
before he leaves, he hooks two thick fingers inside, and fucks his come into you. makes you come on his cum-soaked fingers before he wanders off with a small smile, the scent of tobacco and sex pungent in the air.)
And the ring—
You thought he never wore it because of some misguided sense of propriety. Decorum. The Madonna—a thin strip of pale skin, waterlilies and cashmere, a crayon in his pocket; tabloids dressing her up as a modern day Diana; a divot between his brow that grows and grows and—
and the Whore—
A penthouse. Dior sunglasses. Cucinelli heels. Colombo jackets. Loro Piana outfits that cost more than your parents make in a year. His credit cards left on your bedside table. Trips in a snap of a finger. Luxury a phone call away.
—the divot melting into a brooding, heated stare. Desire drenched across his brow; want so thick, so palpable, you can feel his need throbbing between your legs. Dissolving into ash after, when he loops an arm under your body, cradling you close to his sweat-slicked chest as he leans against the headboard, smoking a cigar. Basking in the scent of sex. Satiety. Your finger curling around a thick whorl of damp, coarse hair. Content.
It’s selfishness. Teeth digging into the man, refusing to let go. But beyond that, you know you’re good for him.
Better for him, you think, and jog the papers on the table, right above that ugly little stain, to neaten up the pile.
It takes five minutes to slip them inside the sleeve, peel the adhesive off of the sticky tab, and walk them down to the mailbox just outside of the lobby. Five minutes to initiate a divorce.
If you had any qualms about falling into bed with a married man—not that he really gave you much room to think about it since he never showed up with his ring, just the mark of her around his neck like a noose; a constant guessing game—it’s put to rest when the metal flap snaps shut.
Shame feels like an elephant. Something in the background. Ignorable.
And besides—
(you place your hand over your belly and hum)
—you have other things to think about, to worry over, than a crumbling marriage.
He must have gotten the notice that you mailed the documents because a text comes later that night. Simple. Succinct.
Good girl.
The elephant slinks away into the moonless night as you pull open the catalogue of engagement rings he left on his bedside table, and circle a few that catch your eye.
All of them sapphire. The same blue as the broken crayon in his pocket.
(The period tracker on his phone chimes a few weeks later.
You don't even bother peeking over his shoulder to know you're late.
You have more things to worry about, after all. Like moving to Liverpool next week when his divorce is finalised, and planning a wedding for the spring.)
summary: A night that could have turned horribly wrong, leads you and Charles to cross paths. You meet again, and again, and your blooming affection has to be confronted with your respective visions of the opposite worlds you're both coming from. You slowly discover that there are more similarities between the two of you than what the parking lot separating you suggests.
pairing: boxer charles smith x woc stripper!reader
rating: general to mature
word count: around 17k... and i am not sorry at all ;)
warnings: it's a slow burn. violence, assault (not by charles), mention of alcohol, non graphic description of blood and violence. fluff, misunderstandings. Implied erotic dancing and nudity, but I put the main focus on the backstages aspects and worklife of the club for this first part. Reader has been written and imagined as a woman of colour, but I don't specify details about her physical appearance and ethnicity to give free rein to your imagination. She wears henna (floral and foliage patterns, no type of henna specified in this first part). English is not my first language, sorry for the typos and mistakes. Charles' pic by rosex715 on pinterest. Dividers by @/uzmacchiato. I am far from a specialist in the boxing or strip-club universes, so there could be a lot of mistakes hidden in there, but I try to portray a faithful representation according to my own perception of these two worlds. Title from the Tomoko Aran song.
a/n: Well, it's here. I made the choice to publish it in one long fic, split into two parts, instead of writing a multichapter fic, because I love long fics, and... I don't know, I thought that separating each scene made less sense. I am super proud of this first part, and I want to thank every single one of you who showed interest and excitement for this fic, and who will stick with me through the 17.000 words to discover their story.
I hope you'll have a lot of fun reading this and will enjoy the choices I made and the way I created this universe. So much love to you all -`♡´-⋆˙⟡
The sound of tightly wrapped fists hitting the leather bags echoes in the background as Charles covers himself with his grey hoodie and throws his bag on his back. He slows down as he walks near the office, waving at a blonde woman sitting in the chair, phone stuck between her ear and her shoulder. She waves in return, pointing at the clock behind her. Charles shrugs with a tight lip smile, hearing her usual reprimands in his mind. It’s way too late to practice, especially when he has an early shift tomorrow. But the day was rough outside and the heat was unrelenting. Charles took advantage of the weather change. The rain is the perfect setting to enjoy a night session at the gym.
The wet asphalt reflects the red neons of the next door building. Charles watches the drying puddles intently, dropping his bag on the railing. His muscles are sore, more than usual. And he knows he would get another scolding about that too… He looks at the empty part of the parking lot, noticing the contrast with the side he is standing on. The tech and accountants offices have been sleeping since the beginning of the evening, the last workers being the cleaning staff and security agents. The highway crossing the city in the background looks relatively calm too. But on the other side… There is the muffled thrum of bass coming from the club, the frantic honking of reckless drivers speeding down the boulevard in search of a night market or a bar where they can stock up on cheap alcohol and cigarettes, and the jeers of patrons queuing on the sidewalk, trying to use their money or machismo to charm bouncers who remain thoroughly unimpressed. Charles notices the queue growing in front of the building. He sympathizes with the bouncers, having spent his own nights opening and closing the door for revelers hungry for human connection and a way to escape their realities. But as the cool night air turns his deep exhalations into swirling clouds of mist, he tells himself he is better off here.
The boxing club door opens silently, bathing Charles in a warm, yellow halo of light. Two of his sparring partners emerge, chuckling; they greet him with a slap on the shoulder before vanishing into the sea of cars parked around the club. It reminds him about his own car, waiting for him on the opposite side near the gas station. He learnt the hard way not to park too close to the Junction, after catching a bunch of drunkards mistaking his truck with theirs.
As he grabs the handle of his bag firmly and steps down to walk away, Charles’ eye catches movement coming from his left. Two people are arguing in the shadows. It doesn’t look like a threatening situation at first, but the woman’s voice starts to raise and Charles decides to approach. When he hears a scream, his instinct kicks in, and he drops his bag on the tarmac, moving quickly, ready to intervene. A groan bounces from the building service’s entrance, followed by insults and the scene unfolds as Charles appears in front of the two strangers. He doesn’t even have the time to tackle the assaulter. The guy is already crouching down on the floor, both knees splashing in a puddle.
“You broke my fucking nose” He yells, both hands holding his swelling face.
Charles pauses and stares at the woman standing before him.
“You better get the fuck out of here” You snap back, hiding your shaking hands in the pockets of your hoodie. Charles notices the tremor and looks back at your face, but you look down quickly, not wanting to meet his gaze. The silent interaction is interrupted by the man getting on his feet and getting ready to throw himself at you. A strong hand grabs his arm and pushes him right next to the door, the dull sound of the corrugated iron sheet making you flinch.
“She asked you to leave.” Charles orders calmly, eyes squinted at the man. He steps before you to prevent any new attempt from him. The guy laughs dryly and walks away, the blood sliding down his fingers staining the mixture of diesel and rainwater soaking the pavement.
You watch him disappear past the line of patrons, relieved that he won’t try to go back inside. You need to go tell John about him quickly, to make sure he’ll be banned from the club. It’s not the first time things get a little complicated with a client. But it usually happens inside. And the team is surrounding you, kicking the handsy men out of the building. Tonight it happened while you were outside, and alone. That guy waited for you to take your break, to catch you at your most vulnerable moment. The thought makes your eyes water. You step closer to the back door, staring at the broken emergency exit sign standing above the frame while you exhale a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” The unfamiliar voice calls out from your right, and you turn your head slightly to acknowledge the tall man it belongs to.
“Yes. I’m fine. I guess he just roughed me up a little but I am fine” You mumble, shoving your hands deeper in your pockets.
Charles nods, not wanting to inquire further. He knows that the blow you landed on that guy’s face probably damaged your metacarpal bones seriously. It’ll be bruising and swelling in the following hours.
You stare at him, noticing the way his eyes drop to the front of your hoodie, and down to your naked legs. A shiver courses through you and prickles on your skin.
“I should… Go back to my shift” You say a little awkwardly as you point your thumb towards the door.
“Of course” Charles’ lips twitch into an empathetic half smile.
The door is about to close, but you stop it with your hand, passing your head through the narrow opening.
“Thank you…” You look at him expectantly.
A flash of surprise crosses Charles’ features before he gives you his name.
“Thank you Charles” You repeat, the gratefulness transpiring through the remains of adrenaline and shock in your voice.
The metallic door shuts right behind you, smothering the memory of your exchange. Charles stands there for a moment, staring at the red neon lights surrounding the building. He shakes his head, smiling to himself when he remembers that you broke that guy’s nose… He walks back to where he threw his bag in the parking lot earlier, and vanishes into the unlit side of the city.
The sun hitting the sea of car roofs blinds Charles as he rushes to the gym. The heat forced him to tie his hair in a low bun, providing very little relief. He doesn’t come in the afternoon often, only when a job gets cancelled at the last minute, or when the weather makes it too hard for his team to work outdoors, just like today. He glances at the club as he passes by, the building having lost its glow in the daylight. The old aspect of the place can’t be masked now that the red neons are off. Charles notices the growing weeds all around the pavement, patches of burnt yellow grass coming out of the cracks in the asphalt, the dead branches climbing between the sheet of metal. It would take less than a morning of work to get rid of this, spray some of that homemade weedkiller he made the other day for a client…
He slows down when he passes the backdoor where you stood a couple days ago. Charles hasn’t seen you around since then. You have been on his mind quite a lot. He realized he had met you before in that parking lot. He even stumbled upon you at the convenience store adjoining the gas station one evening. He just never realized you were working right next door, until last week. He wishes he could see you again, just to make sure you’re okay… The attack you went through can be pretty heavy to deal with after things slow down. He also wants to offer to be a witness in case you’d wanted to press charges. But without your name, he can only rely on his lucky star.
“You’re here early today. I like that” Sadie’s voice comes out of her little office as Charles walks by and heads to the locker room. The blonde woman leans against her doorframe, cigarette dangling off her lips. Charles scoffs, ready to say something back, but Sadie cuts him. “Javier’s here, he could use a bit of help, if you’re up to it”
“I came here to train, not to coach,” Charles warns her.
“Just for half an hour… I need him to improve his foot placement in front of a… bigger opponent. Y’can do that for me?” It’s not a real question, she is already sitting behind her desk, crushing her cigarette into her engraved silver ashtray. “Thank you Charles” She shouts with a smile as she watches him walk away.
“Why does it look so simple when you do it?” Javier’s frustration is noticeable with each passing second. It’s the fifth time Charles breaks down the movement to him, but the other man doesn’t look really focused today.
“I’ll show you one last time… But pay attention man” Charles says, trying hard to remain calm. He knocks on the corner of the ring, waiting for Javier to focus back on him.
“Well Sadie told me…” Javier starts, absentmindedly, his eyes already back on the agitation coming from the main area.
“Sadie said 30 minutes, it’s been an hour. She knows the moves too, she’ll replace me” Charles mumbles, doing his demonstration.
“She can’t. She is giving this self-defense class… you should come take a look” Sean’s amused tone interrupts Charles as he runs past them.
Javier follows and Charles stands there, taking off his gloves with an annoyed sigh. The session is particularly painful today, and not only because of the heat seeping through the poorly insulated roof of the gym. There is this wave of curiosity agitating every boxer’s mind today, and Charles, who came here in a much more focused state, isn’t very pleased.
“Alright ladies” Sadie’s raucous voice cuts through the timid chatter coming from a group of women Charles didn’t even notice earlier. “We ain’t gonna start too hard today so you can take off the gloves” She says, tilting her head at the curly blonde haired woman with the freckles.
“Karen,” The tall dark haired woman sitting on a chair in her formal attire warns her. The others giggle slightly, and Sadie starts again with her instructions.
“We’ll do 15 minutes of your usual warm up routine, a bit of stretching too. You’ll probably have a couple of falls. We don't want anyone injured before tonight right? Then we will practice basic defensive moves, slowly. We got Mister Summers over here who volunteered to end with his face down on the mattress, ain’t that right Lenny?” Sadie smiles at him, and the young man struggles to hide his panic. Sean’s cackles echo in the first room, leading Charles to glance over a couple of times, as he stabilizes his punching bag.
“Let’s go” Sadie shouts, turning the music volume up as you lead the girls and run in circles around the tatami mats.
Sadie walks to the woman in the chair. Abigail stands and shakes her hand politely.
“Thank you, for agreeing to do this… I know it’s not your usual field” Abigail says, grateful.
“No need to thank me for this… Boxing ain’t my only specialty. Besides, it’s a pleasure to teach the girls. Nice change from these two knuckleheads over there” Sadie jokes as she tilts her head towards Lenny and Sean cheering the girls on the side of the room. “More seriously, it’s important to make sure they can ensure their own safety when no one’s around.”
“Yeah… Sadly I know these things can happen, and my security team can’t be everywhere all at once. The girls were pretty shaken after the assault, especially this one” Abigail stares at you as you slow down to talk to Tilly.
Sadie follows her gaze. “Well we’ll make sure they’re prepared for any incident, but God forbid they have to use these techniques outside of this ring” Sadie concludes and walks Abigail to the front door. She comes back minutes later to lead the rest of the warm-up.
Charles walks closer to the group of trainees, chugging at his water bottle.
“Y’don’t want to fight with me for a while?” He asks Javier. The other man doesn’t react, transfixed by the way the girls are rolling down onto the mat to soften their falls.
“Javier?”
“They’re good. This one’s got a hell of a left hook” Javier points out at Tilly who is shadowboxing in Molly’s annoyed face.
Charles finally scans the crowd curiously. He sighs, pulling on the collar of his t-shirt to let the air cool him down. He suddenly stops when he sees you standing right next to Sadie, she is trying to make you fall with her feet. You’re holding both her shoulders, resisting and attempting to turn the situation to your advantage. You start laughing when Sadie flips you down, and the other girls follow you.
Charles starts turning around, ready to go back to his side of the gym.
“It’s too easy if it’s me… Lenny? Come over here boy” Sadie calls out, but Lenny shakes his head. “Come on you ain’t bailing down on me so quickly” She insists. The group watches the scene unfold amusedly.
“Y’should ask Smith, Sadie… He ain’t got nothing better to do, he’s chatting with Javier” Sean chimes in, pointing at Charles silhouette escaping silently.
Charles overhears that, but doesn’t stop. Damn it… He knows Sadie is gonna call him in 3, 2, 1…
“We do need a professional’s help… Charles? Get over here”
Charles can’t pretend he didn’t hear that… He turns around and walks to Sadie’s side.
“You don’t need to butter me up, you know?” He replies with a smirk.
“I know. I am not, but I know you’re very dedicated to your art, ain’t that right? That’s why you’re perfect for the task” She teases, and Charles nods, avoiding at all cost to scan the group of women standing before him.
“Where do you want me?” Charles finally asks, nervously playing with the edge of the bandages covering his hands. Sadie gives her instructions and Charles follows, making sure to break down the movements slowly enough for the girls to assimilate the different steps. Sadie’s keeping an eye on Mary-Beth and Tilly practicing on each other very meticulously, while Karen and Molly bicker over who’s supposed to play the assaulter. The other girls seem to work pretty smoothly.
When Sadie pulls Charles down onto the mat for the next demonstration, insisting on the fact that no matter the size difference, if they do exactly what she instructs them to create an imbalance, they’ll be able to get rid of a big man’s hold, the whole room stops for a moment, gasping in shock.
“I am okay” Charles says, raising both his hands in front of him to reassure the girls.
“You’re only okay cause I am playing nicely” Sadie jests as she helps him up.
“Hey… Sadie… Phone has been ringing for half an hour now” Javier shouts as he passes by to exit the gym.
“I’m coming. Now you’ve got to do the exact same thing, one after the other, you’re already in pairs so let’s not change the groups for now… You can take over for a minute? I’ll be right back” Sadie says before calling your name. “You’ll go with Charles” She jogs to her office, and you’re left there right in front of Charles.
Charles is frozen on the spot, your name echoing in his mind. You smile shyly, and he seems to have forgotten how to move. He doesn’t feel like it’s the right time to ask you any question, but his eyes reflexively check your hand and he notices the bruises that haven’t faded away. The other girls make their attempts, their backs hitting the tatami at irregular intervals. But you and Charles still haven’t moved.
“I think we should probably try too… Right?” You ask a little bit unsure.
“Right… Right.”
You turn your back to him, reproducing the same posture Sadie and he played earlier.
“Let me just… Is it okay if I put my hand there?” Charles asks, showing you the area on his own body. You shake your head in approval, flinching a little when his palm touches your skin. Charles pulls back instantly.
“We can adapt the exercise and do something less triggering if you prefer. I don't mind at all and I am sure Sadie won’t mind either” He offers, concerned.
“No it’s okay… It’s just…” You take a deep breath before turning away. “We can try again”
“Alright.” Charles’ hand finds you again, and you perform the move you are supposed to do, without managing to put him down on the mat the way Sadie did.
“That’s much harder than Sadie made it look like” You point out, a little out of breath.
“Ain’t exactly the goal here, she just likes to show off” Charles smiles and you laugh. He takes his time explaining what you should focus on instead : making sure you get out of the assaulter’s grasp, having a clear view of his face and the things he’s doing, and staying out of reach so you can run away and call for help. You give it another try, and you’re already a little bit more confident.
“I saw that” Sadie says as she approaches. “That was much better than the first one, we’re gonna give it a go with a fairer opponent. Thank you Charles for filling in” She takes over quickly and moves on with the explanations on how the woman's body can be used to your advantage too.
Charles walks back to his side, finally practicing some combat moves now that he managed to get someone to join him up on the ring. Sean’s feisty combat style and trash talk techniques can’t seem to shake Charles today. Lenny’s trying to spur his aggressiveness by outdoing his friend’s jabs, in vain. Charles remains calm and focused, replying with a hit each time Sean crosses a line.
“Think you’re ready for that game of yours big man” Sean says as he pats Charles shoulder encouragingly. Charles takes off his gloves and thanks him for his help, his eyes drifting slowly where you stand, near the entrance of the gym.
The smell of a freshly baked batch of cinnamon rolls invades the little coffee shop as the woman behind the counter starts setting them on a brown plate. You’ve been waiting in line for 20 minutes now, the place is crowded. People are having their coffees while working or chatting. Unlucky patrons have to take their cups back to their offices. It’s the only modern place in the area, and of course it is stormed by the white collar workers. It’s not a sight you see much often, usually stopping by at the end of the afternoon before your shift when the waitress wipes the dried crumbs off the tables and the barista cleans the tired milk foamer on the side of the coffee machine. But today you’re up early, the self-defense class changed hours this week. It’s your day off and you’re supposed to be asleep, so you have to rely on a little bit of sugar to keep you awake.
“Be careful it’s still a little hot” The barista says as she hands you the bun wrapped in a thin foil of brown paper. You pick it and grab a napkin as you go, but the pile moves slightly as a gust of wind follows a new customer’s entrance and makes a bunch fly off the counter. You lean down to retrieve them and apologize. A man waiting for his coffee behind you mumbles annoyingly. You glance at him over your shoulder as a warning, and the barista chuckles at the silent interaction as she puts a cup on top of the pile to prevent the napkins from falling again.
“Good luck for today” You give her an empathetic smile before walking out of the shop.
The sky is white and low above the parking lot, the clouds giving the impression that the Junction will be crushed down by the weight of the incoming rain. You cross the street and slip through the cars parked in front of the shop when you see the back of Charles’ head as he shuts his truck’s door. You stop for a moment, hesitating between continuing on the path that appeared right before you, or walking to the opposite side of the pavements. As you ponder on this crucial question and make the mental note that you’ve never seen him around so early, Charles has been walking your way.
“Hi.” He greets you a little awkwardly, as his broad frame swallowed by his navy blue hoodie stops before you.
“Hi Charles” You smile, eyes focusing on the thin braid on the right side of his face.
“You come here often?” Charles asks after a beat.
“The parking lot?”
“The coffee shop” Charles points at the bun and napkin with the brown coffee cup printed on it in your hand.
“Oh! Yes yes… I mean, no.. I usually don’t come here early enough to enjoy that… but on rare occasions I manage to get here right before they close, grab a cold drink before my shift”
“Right…”
“What about you?”
“Yeah I actually stop by for coffee sometimes, on my way to work”
“You mean to the gym?”
“No… That’s not my job. I am a landscaper” Charles says, instinctively looking behind him towards his truck. You follow his stare. He deadpans when he notices that the company’s logo is not printed on the side of this one.
“Oh that’s surprising ! I wouldn’t have thought… because boxing is such a time consuming activity so I assumed that was the only thing you do”
“Yeah… It is, but you can’t really make a career out of it. Except if you are… One of those world class champions. But if you’re an humble boxer, you have to find a side gig”
“Of course. Landscaping, it’s nice. Do you love it?”
Charles ‘eyes widen as he ponders on your question. He wasn’t expecting you to ask him something like that. People rarely want to know if he enjoys what he does. You look at him expectantly.
“Well… Sure. That’s a nice balance, with the boxing I mean. I’ve always been fond of nature too so … I guess that just made a lot of sense.”
You smile as he talks, nodding slightly. Charles wonders if you find his answer interesting enough or if you’re just being polite, but he hasn’t got anything better to offer.
“That’s lovely. I wish I had a garden… Or a tiny patch of grass to put some flowers”
Charles frowns at that.
“I live in an apartment downtown. So…It isn’t exactly ideal for…green fields and roses bushes” You explain.
“There’s always indoor plants I guess… But I get you” Charles says, refraining from listing all the things you could do to bring more greenery to your space.
Outside the coffee shop, the line starts to grow again… He stares at the ballet of patrons coming and going a little nervously and you peer over your shoulder.
“I should probably…” He says as he tilts his head towards the queue.
“Yes… Go before they run out of these. They’re so delicious.” You reply, bringing the brown foil closer to your nose to smell the cinnamon again.
“I trust you on that. You’re heading to the gym?” Charles asks, nervously scratching the back of his hand.
“Yes I am. I’ll see you later then” you smile and wave to him before walking away.
Charles watches your silhouette dodging the cars and street lamps planted like metallic trees on the parking lot for a moment. He tries not to beat himself up over his awkwardness the whole time he waits in line. Meeting you here was definitely unexpected and he didn’t have much time to prepare… Perhaps he should try to hang around more often. Once he gets inside, he pushes a bill on the counter and asks for a cinnamon roll.
── .✦
There is a new routine now with the girls coming to the gym once a week. The boys’ curiosity has slowly been replaced by admiration. Everyone is improving, and pretty quickly. Sean and Lenny have stopped their jokes and started to take notes about the dancers’ flexibility and stretching exercises, especially after Tilly almost knocked out Javier during a sparring contest that wasn't supposed to happen. Her poor opponent praised her dodging skills and footwork and Sadie had to ask everyone to stop messing around, but discreetly proposed to sign Tilly for the woman’s amateur championship.
Today Sadie is late, an issue about the next competition registration. It’s usually more chaotic when she is not around. The music blasts louder and the girls are practicing their splits and dance routine while the boys cheer. Karen and Mary-Beth bow exaggeratingly while Sean tries to replicate what they just did, almost tearing a muscle in the process.
“That place has changed a lot since the last time I stepped foot in here” Arthur mumbles as he pulls his bag closer to him on the bench and looks for his gear.
“I guess” Charles throws a look on the other side of the room where everyone’s laughing, and wipes the sweat off his forehead with his wrist band.
“Makes it more… warm I’d say. Fun even” Arthur adds, unrolling his hand wraps and securing them around his fingers.
Charles simply groans in agreement, and grabs the jumping rope on his side of the bench.
“What is it Charles, you’re worried about this weekend’s fight?” Arthur teases, putting on his gloves.
“I ain’t worried about it. I am just wondering if you’ll be ready to practice before it’s time for me to go home” Charles jokes, as he sets the timer on his watch and starts to jump.
“You gotta cut me some slack. I’m not used to this anymore Charles…” Arthur says. Sadie yells his name and he gives her a little wave as a greeting, before walking to his designated punching bag. “How long has it been since we practiced together? 3-4 months? I thought you’d never ask me again”
The swooshing noise of the rope turning around Charles accompanies the punches Arthur throws rhythmically in the leather bag.
“I am not the one who dislocated my shoulder” Charles scoffs, quickening his pace a little as he notices the clock approaching 2 minutes and a half. “Besides, I know better than to underestimate you”
“That’s very smart of you. I wanted to come back earlier, but my girl would have had my head. She’d been ruthless with the “no effort rule”” Arthur says in between deep exhales.
“Well I guess without her we would still be talking on the phone instead of practicing”
“You’re probably right about that,” Arthur replies, smirking. “How’s that opponent of yours?” He adds as he stabilizes his bag and punches it again.
“I got that written down in my notebook, I’ll show you later. But you aren’t that far from him in size, it should be a good prep” The clock rings around Charles’ wrist and he folds the rope in half, and throws it back on the bench.
“Alright then… Give me 10 minutes to make sure I ain’t gonna injure my other shoulder”
“As you wish” Charles says, heading to the locker room to fill up his metallic bottle.
He comes out a little while after, walking back nonchalantly to the bench with his hand wraps roll stuck in his mouth and his gloves underneath his arm. Arthur is already standing on the ring. Charles sits down on the bench, and starts preparing his hands.
“That’s my star student thinking she can skip the first part of the class” Sadie welcomes you with a wide smile. She starts clapping and everyone joins and whistles. Charles drops the gloves on the floor when he notices you entering the gym quickly.
“Alright alright, no need to fuss about it, traffic got me late, I am sorry” You apologize and rush to the locker room. You emerge a couple minutes later, the dress you were wearing replaced by your workout gear, your hair tied up. Sadie gestures for you to run around the room to warm up.
When you get closer to Charles’ side, he snaps out of his trance, and leans over to pick up the gloves. Arthur squints his eyes at him. He finishes getting ready and hops on the ring. He lets out a deep sigh, jumping on spot a couple of times, and puts on his mouth guard.
“You’re ready?” Arthur asks before putting his own gloves on.
Charles nods. And they start fighting. Arthur begins with slow, predictable hits: it’s a strategy to force Charles to dodge and move around the ring without losing his pace and balance. But Arthur finds his old reflexes back very quickly. He leans forwards, becomes more aggressive, and Charles loses his rhythm. Arthur gets to him more easily. Charles is distracted, his mind clearly not focused on reading Arthur’s game. He is not anticipating enough, and finds himself pushed against the ropes much quicker than he should. When Arthur notices his guard is down, he manages to hit Charles on the face, and then stops for a minute.
Charles' breathing is loud, he is leaning forwards, frustrated. Arthur is about to say something but the look on his sparring partner’s face dissuades him.
Sean who stood there leaning over the ring the whole time doesn’t handle things as carefully and starts booing Charles. “He’s got his head in another kind of game, this one Arthur. Come on big man, focus, y’ain’t gonna win on saturday if you keep boxing like that” he shouts. Arthur gives an interrogative look to Sean and silently asks him to pipe down. Sean shrugs and walks away.
“D’you need a break?” Arthur asks, concerned.
“I’m good. Let’s start over” Charles replies, throwing one last glance towards the tatami mats before retrieving his position. Arthur scans his expression quickly, and smirks when he recognizes the hard look on his face.
The young muay thai players have taken place around the two men, practicing their kicks on the punching bags and Arthur is looking mindlessly at them while wiping his face with a towel.
“The second round was definitely better, you can’t risk losing time like that on Saturday, you gotta get right into it, take advantage while you can” Arthur says before chugging at his water bottle.
“I know,” Charles simply says, sitting on the bench, with his towel hanging around his neck.
“And that footwork was definitely better, but with an opponent like that guy… You have to move around less… heavily” Arthur continues, mentally ticking the boxes of the things he noticed during their fight and needed to point out to his friend.
Charles’ head is turned in the opposite direction, his flask still open, droplets of condensation sliding down the metal. He hasn’t even drank yet.
“Charles?”
“Hm? Yeah my footwork is too heavy I know that” He mumbles, untying his braid.
“Ain’t exactly what I said… But that’s alright I’ll write that down for you later” Arthur dismisses, putting his gear in his bag.
“Let’s do that” Charles eventually says after a minute.
“You’re dehydrated or what?” Arthur scoffs.
“Just tired… I’ve been busy at work, today was my first afternoon off in a while so yeah”
“You should save your strength until Saturday, get an early bedtime too… And how’s your diet?”
“My diet is fine, I am getting enough greens and proteins, just like you taught me” Charles says with an exaggerated smile.
“That’s good… We can train again tomorrow, if you want to, but I think you should take a break after that, to make sure you won’t be burnt out for the fight…” Arthur rants for a while about the advice he got from his physio after his injury, tries to give suggestions to adapt them to Charles’ routine.
Charles’ focus is on the other side of the room, where you stand in front of Sadie, trying for the third time in a row to master a hold on the blonde. She made you fall face down on the mattress on each try. But you’ve stood up and asked for another attempt. Sadie broke down the movement to you, and this time she is the one finding herself on the floor. The girls cheer loudly, chanting your name and you thank them, joy radiating from you.
Charles smiles discreetly, before looking away. You scan the ring at the back of the club, your eyes falling on the boxer as he turns around.
“Now I get what Maguire said about you focusing on another kind of game” Arthur's face lights up as he puts two and two together.
“What?” Charles is instantly on the defensive, ready to dodge any kind of questions. He even starts walking towards the changing rooms. But Arthur follows him closely.
“Why don’t you go talk to her after practice… get that cleared before Saturday?” He suggests.
Charles knows there is no point in trying to lie to Arthur now that he figured it out… He opens his locker, gets his clean change of clothes out and a new towel and sighs. “I don’t really know…We don’t even know each other, it’s probably not a good idea” He says, a little defeated.
The thing is, besides the day you practiced together, and the couple of times you saw each other in the parking lot, or in front of the coffee shop, Charles never got the courage to tell you more than a couple of words. He only knows your name because Sadie is always yelling for you to come up front and be her sparring partner. But it’s playing at the back of his mind like an old record these days. He tries to imagine a plan, to talk to you a little more, something that would come naturally, something that would spare him the ridicule. In vain. He always ends up being scared of your rejection.
Arthur doesn’t need to ask further questions to see it’s weighing heavy on his mind.
“Well If you say so… But you better get your head back in the real game. Can’t let that girl distract you this way… And as long as you’re troubled, I ain’t fighting with you no more, you weren’t better than a punching bag today” He teases, slapping Charles’ shoulder before heading to the shower. “Wanna grab a beer with me before heading home?” He adds shouting over the running water, head peaking above the partition.
“I thought you’d be sick of me by now” Charles replies as he settles in his own cubicle.
“I ain’t gonna let you be depressed like that on a beautiful day”.
“I ain’t depressed Arthur”
“Admit you’re disappointed at least”
“Perhaps more than I should…” Charles concludes, closing his eyes as he starts washing his hair.
── .✦
The setting sun peaks through the gym’s entrance when Charles comes out of the locker room, his long dark hair gathered in a loose braid. He peers around the room, just in case. But the girls are gone, there’s only Sadie with the juniors for the afterschool program. He stares at the visible side of the Junction for a moment, and sighs deeply, before dropping his bag on the floor in a loud thud.
“Let me just give my girl a call I’ll be right back” Arthur says as he walks by, phone already pressed to his ear.
Charles leans back against the ring, brushing his palms up and down his face. He winces when he feels a slight pain coming from the bruise on his cheekbone. He is lucky Arthur was holding back…
The strings right behind him shake a little and Charles uncovers his face. You’re standing there, right beside him, back in the dress you wore earlier. He blinks twice, and notices the copper colored ink covering your arms and shoulders with delicate patterns of flowers and leaves, linked by thin threads and surrounded by dots. Charles had no idea you were wearing tattoos but they’re impressive, and very pretty. He wonders how long it took for the artist to draw this… And when did you get them done? The petals definitely weren’t on your shoulder the first time you practiced together, he would have remembered that, he put his hand there. His eyes fall back up on your face. Charles’ heart misses a beat when he notices that you braided a thin strand of your hair, the same way he does sometimes… He doesn't want to be wondering if you did it on purpose or not… people wear braids all the time, that doesn’t mean they’ve been thinking about him while doing it…
“Sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt you, you seem… Deep in thought” You say as you lean beside him.
“You’re not interrupting. It’s… well it’s been a long day. Did you need something?” He asks, genuinely wondering why you came back…
“Yes. I just… Well I wanted to invite you for drinks, with us all. To the Junction I mean… before the club opens. Sadie said you guys would probably be free on Thursday so I figured… It’s also a slow day for us but… so yeah” You’re nervously playing with the silver bracelets around your wrists as you look up at him, waiting for his answer.
Charles’ stomach sinks and he cringes for a moment. He is definitely surprised, by the sudden forwardness, but it’s the mention of the group that puts the boot in. You invited them all. Not just him… What was he even thinking? As much as he feels less intimidated at the idea of going out with the group, he is still a little bit gutted.
“That’s a great idea…” He mutters, barely hiding his disillusionment.
“I am glad you think so” You smile, crossing your arms behind your back. The silence settling between you accentuates the uneasy feeling in Charles’ chest.
“So… You’re coming too right? Cause the others already said yes but… they said it wasn’t really your thing…That’s why I am here…” You explain, eyes never leaving his face. There is a light tremor in your voice that Charles refuses to interpret this time. But you’re asking about him… you probably really want him to be there.
“Yeah… Sure, I’ll be there” He confirms, unable to contain his smile and the hope blooming in his heart. It’s becoming bigger when he notices you were holding your breath the whole time.
Arthur had hung up a couple of minutes ago, but when turned his head towards Charles and saw you standing there, smiling, he pretended to be on the phone, not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on between you two.
“The Junction” stands proudly in capital letters above the main entrance where Abigail welcomes the gym members inside her establishment. The lights are on, giving a curious aura to the place. You can see the flaws, and the realities of a business that is far from the glamour and fantasy it’s selling once the night falls. Crates of bottles are being piled at the corner of the bar for the staff to put them away. The dishwasher guy is stacking the glasses and ice buckets on the shelves. A bunch of waiters are wiping the sticky stains off the tables, quickening their pace as Abigail warns them that this should have been done earlier. Two barmaids are crushing ice and putting it in trays in a ruckus that must be unbearable for them to endure all evening.
“Sorry for that… It’s always a little bit messy before the opening… But the girls thought it would be more intimate to welcome you without the clients” Abigail apologizes to Sadie as the group walks in.
“No worries. That’s quite an impressive team you’re managing there… And the place is stunning” Sadie remarks, hand brushing the ebony-like counter.
“Hard to tell from the outside right? But I didn’t want it to be just another cheap strip place despite the location…”
“She took her inspiration from these fancy clubs in Paris, isn’t that right Abigail?” Karen chimes in as she joins the group, the smell of hairspray following her around. “We should give them a tour, Tilly is almost ready too.” She suggests, closing the zip of her hoodie.
“Yes. You do that and set drinks for our guests. I have to leave you to make sure the security team is ready for tonight, but please, make yourself comfortable” Abigail orders with a smile, before disappearing upstairs to her office, with a bunch of men following her. Sadie watches her leave, pouting disappointedly.
“She’ll come back Maam’” Sean teases her quietly.
“Will you shut up, you fool?” Sadie replies annoyed, but joins Sean’s cackles as they follow the girls around to see the different rooms of the club.
Charles pushes the front door open unhesitantly, walking in the club expecting to see his friends, but he is welcomed by a carpet cleaner indicating the right direction. The huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the leopard prints on the couch catch his eyes first. He wasn’t expecting such a luxurious place, looking almost like a cabaret. It reminds him of those gentleman’s club you see in the 80s’ movies. He misses the stage and pole at first glance, the only real indicators that he is indeed in a strip club. He tries not to dwell on it too much. Charles knows pubs and bars and nightclubs… but the strip club is a first for him. He’s glad the place isn’t in full swing yet. As he finds his way to the bar without really intending to, the back and forth of the employees pushing him there despite himself, he asks the barman where he can find his group. The guy doesn’t raise his eyes from his tasks as he answers, cutting perfectly calibrated slices of lime and pouring a bag of freeze-dried raspberries in a stainless steel tray. Charles mumbles a thank you, before turning around. Lenny, Javier and Sean call out his name from the balcony, and Charles finds his way upstairs.
“You missed the grand tour my friend” Javier says as he greets him.
“Hi Charles” The girls greet him happily.
He mumbles a reply, clearly not prepared for so much attention.
Karen heads down to the bar to prepare the cocktails, while Tilly offers to show him around. After the tour, they join the others in the “VIP” booth near the front of the stage.
“I made a few of my signature cocktails, but if you guys don’t like it, feel free to let me know I’ll make something else for you” Karen says with a warm smile as she sets a tray full of strange shaped glasses containing colored beverages on the glass table. The low hum of pop music and joyful chatter gives the place a chill “pre-show” atmosphere. Charles wonders if every work night starts the same around here. The others employees are coming and going outside the club for cigarette breaks, or they’re having a snack and a cold drink before their shift starts. In all this agitation, Charles only notices that you are nowhere to be found… He sits on the couch, listening to the other sharing stories while glancing nervously behind him, naively expecting for you to walk in through the front door.
── .✦
The sky starts to attire its light blue color with pink and orange clouds while you park your car next to the gym entrance. You’re rushing with your bag in hand, struggling to get your key inside the backdoor. You had a doctor appointment that made you come home later than you expected, and you lost too much time wondering what you should wear tonight. It’s less easy than when you chose an outfit for your performance… You have a schedule and for each day of your work week you have three designated outfits. One for each time you hit the stage, and one for your “waitress” duties, a little bit more covering. Abigail only enjoins her dancers to wear a specific dress code : red, burgundy, black, ivory, emerald, and leopard print for the braver girls. Each one of you has an identity, with different fabrics and fashion for your costume: some prefer a very “burlesque” style, others are more keen to choose a babydoll outfit. Satin, leather, lace, and sequins, you are completely free in your artistic choices. Some girls are even sewing their costumes themselves. You also have a very singular way of styling your hair, doing your make up, of performing and interacting with the crowd. That’s what the clients are looking for, especially the regulars.
But this is different, because this first part of the night is not about performance anymore. Charles is going to be here and you can’t exactly hide behind your costume. As you run upstairs to the dressing rooms to put your things away, you notice that it’s very late… You’ve been insisting for him to come by and you’re not even there… you just hope he hasn’t left yet. You put out your robe and first costume on a coat hanger and set your toiletry bags in front of your mirror, before running down to the main room.
You spot the group in the VIP booth just in front of the stage. It’s a strategic spot in the club, it gives the impression that whatever is happening behind, the other tables, the entrance… even the bar doesn’t exist. It’s all about what is happening on stage. The patrons love it, without having to pay extra for a private dance, it makes them believe that they’re the only audience.
“Sorry I am late, there was traffic” You apologize as you step in.
“Yeah we know that darling” Molly says with an exaggerated sigh as she hands you a notebook. “We changed the orders, we thought you’d like to have a little extra time to get ready… Daphne goes in first, then Karen, and you’ll be third...then we roll like we usually do. Is that okay with you?” She whispers in your ear as you read the list of names and songs written down on the paper.
“Yes, that's perfect… I am sorry I’ll fill in for her another time if she needs me to”
“I’ll write that down” Molly replies before heading to the sound booth.
You stop to greet Sadie for a moment, noticing Charles slowly standing up right behind her, a silent invitation for you to come by his side. He looks at you and you smile, excusing yourself to Sadie as you walk to him.
“Hi Charles” You say as you sit next to him. He moves a little to give you more space.
“Hey… I thought you stood me up for a moment” He acknowledges ironically.
“I am just in a bit of a rush, I thought I could be here earlier but… You know how it goes” You reply as you flip your hair behind your shoulders. The scent of coconut invades Charles’s space and he wonders if it’s your perfume or laundry detergent that smells this good.
“I was late too,” He confesses. You lean over the table to grab a drink.
“It’s been a busy day right? I just came out of an appointment, I didn’t have time to change or anything…”
Charles looks at you, not understanding why you are pointing that out… He wants to tell you he thinks you look really nice but his nerves are making him tongue-tied.
“How was your day? Wasn’t the wind making your tasks complicated?” You ask before noticing he doesn’t have a drink. You lean forward to grab one and hand it to him. Your shoulder brush against his as you sit back. Charles’ heart beat quickens a little when he realizes you’ve been thinking about him when you saw the weather changes…
“Busy I’d say, and yes, we had to postpone a job. Tree pruning isn’t exactly safe when the wind blows so hard, so we worked at another client’s greenhouse instead.”
“Designing or ?” You ask as you sip on your drink.
“Pre-designing phase actually. Taking measurements, seeing how we can make the irrigation system work again. It’s an old greenhouse… The owner just wants to restore its former glory. But we won’t do any gardening there for a while…” He explains, suddenly feeling self-conscious that he might be talking too much. You listen to him and ask what he did with his free time instead and he says he had been out for a run and came here to train a bit, and that’s why he was late too because he just finished practicing. He deadpans when he realizes his solution for oversharing is… talking even more about himself. But you don’t give him much choice, when you are questioning him so sweetly.
“Are you ready for Saturday then?” You add and it’s the final blow for the boxer. His heart must have grown two sizes since the beginning of the evening. He must be looking confused because you feel the need to add “I just overheard the boys and Sadie mentioning your fight the other day at the gym”.
Charles nods. “I’ve been preparing for it for a while so… I guess I am ready. I always get a little bit nervous but I guess that’s part of the game.”
“Stage fright…” You smile, looking down at your drink. “Tell me about it, I always get anxious too before hopping on the ring but again… it’s part of the game, keeps us alert too”
“That’s right” Charles smirks, wondering if he didn’t realize you were doing competition too or if it’s simply a metaphor. He was about to ask you a question but Mary-Beth calls out your name from the bar.
“Excuse me” You say as you stand up. Charles stands up too, creating a path for you by pushing Javier slightly to the side. “I gotta get ready for my shift” You explain before walking away. Charles sits down, resting his arm on the back of the couch as he follows you through the room. He loses your trace when you walk down a corridor and focus back on the other’s conversations.
“Ahhh there you are, I saved you a drink” Sadie exclaims as Abigail walks to them.
“Not on the job” Abigail declines with a laugh.
“Right… It makes sense. How many people are we expecting?” Sadie asks, twirling the melting ice at the bottom of her glass.
“On a Thursday night? I’d say around 150-200 people, if we are lucky enough. Mostly regulars though. We have to be attentive, make sure they get some “personal” experience, give them the desire to come back again, talk about us to their coworkers, friends… business partners even” Abigail explains, checking the thin golden watch around her wrist.
The white lights of the ceiling are slowly giving place to the dim glow of the chandelier, and the red neons hidden in the glass shelves of the bar. The labels on the bottles placed there as a decor have become unreadable. The music gets slightly louder, and there is an exciting smell in the air signaling that the night is on.
“That’s quite a lot. I supposed it only reaches its peak during the late hours?” Charles questions.
“I’d say it gets busier around midnight and then slowly empties before 3. We get the girls here early to make sure everyone knows how the night is supposed to go. Staff meetings are very important. There is no room for improvisation in this business, the hazard that represents the clients is way too important for my girls not to be fully prepared” Abigail insists, a flash of worry crossing her features.
“Of course” Sadie mutters comprehensively.
Charles looks behind him for a second, noticing the bouncers opening the doors to the lucky guests. It seems like they’re playing along, the men and women sliding in are dressed to the nines. Charles wonders if the guy that assaulted you weeks ago got rejected at the entrance and tried to find a way to get in… He thinks that he sees you calling Karen from the stair case, but he isn’t completely sure… Lenny turns around too, wondering what might be monopolizing Charles’ attention.
“So the girls they’re … dancing, waitressing, preparing cocktails too right?” Sadie asks.
“Yes they’re very polyvalent. Each girl has to perform on stage two times a night, and do a little tour around the tables. They’re not taking any orders though, but they can serve them. Some also love to prepare cocktails so they do a little bit of bartending. But they’re mostly here to dance, and entertain the clients. They can sit with them for a while, talk a little and have a mocktail with them if they want to”
“So you’re giving them full freedom on what they’re allowed to do or not?”
“As long as they’re dancing, greeting, smiling, and delivering drinks I am satisfied. If they want to entertain the clients beyond that, they can, and they’re free to set their own boundaries. I would never force a girl to do private dances if she doesn’t want to. Or sit with clients and have a conversation with them either. Some girls love it, some hate it, and that’s fine by me. And if they’re not feeling really great on rare occasions, they can lay back and do something less… exposing and social I suppose.” Abigail details with a professional tone that leaves Sadie very much impressed.
Charles focuses back on the conversation, right on time for Sean’s big question… He’s been dying to ask this for the whole evening.
“So… there are private dances then… In smaller booths I suppose, like the one we walked by earlier?” He asks, cheeks as flushed as the bar behind him.
“Absolutely. There are rules, for these dances, that patrons are usually respecting. It can last for one or two songs, or longer than that, depending on how the dancer feels about it.”
“And we can request for a specific dancer too?” Sean adds, his mind instantly thinking about Karen.
Lenny snorts right next to him. Charles smiles as he plays with the hair tie on is wrist.
“Yes. But my dancers have the last word.”
“And how much for a private dance?”
“For an 8-10 minute one, around 250 dollars. It can go up to 600 dollars for more than half an hour… But only trusted regulars get this type of privilege” Abigail replies with an amused look in her eyes, reducing the Irishman’s dreams to dust. Sadie elbows him and he sighs.
“You’re free to stay for the rest of the night, if you want. You have the best spot in the room after all” Abigail brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and stands up.
“That’s very kind of you Abigail” Sadie replies as she stands up too, her hand finding the other woman’s back reflexively as she leads her around the table. “Boys? Javier? What do you think?”
They all agree, and Charles settles deeper in the couch, scratching his cheek as he ponders… The truth is, he isn’t very comfortable now that the lights turned low and the music became smoother. He feels a little out of place. But if he has a chance to see you one last time to say goodnight, then maybe he should stay…
“Then it’s settled. Let me get you more drinks. It’s on the house, what would you love to try?”
“I’ll have a rusty nail… and get these two a beer. I think they had enough strong drinks for the night” Sadie whispers in her ear. Sean and Lenny aren’t even paying attention to what the blonde says. Abigail turns towards Javier who’s been chatting with a waitress.
“I’ll have a ranch water”
She nods and tilts her head towards Charles.
“Nothing for me, I got a big fight coming” He says plainly, hands resting on his knees.
“I can get you an iced tea, a soda…some lemonade if you prefer,” Abigail offers instead.
“Well I’ll have a lemonade then thank you”
“I’ll be right back” she says before walking to the bar.
Sadie watches her intently. She smiles when she sees her grab an apron to help the barmaid prepare the drinks.
“Y’got a little crush here Miss Sadie” Lenny teases the blonde when Sean elbows him to make him notice she’s going to break her neck looking to the opposite side like that.
“Y’better be careful with me Mister Summers or I’ll make you clean the gym on Sunday morning” She retorts, a light blush tainting her cheeks. Good thing everything is colored in red in this place.
── .✦
The first patrons start flowing in, and it’s an interesting thing to witness. Some are clearly new comers, not knowing where to sit or what to do in a strip club, despite the vibes that are indicating nothing about the activity of the place so far. You sure can miss the pole taking the center of the stage… unless there is a dancer performing on it. The music changes to something sexier and the first girl enters the scene smoothly. There is no hollering or shouting, nor throwing dollar bills obnoxiously. A bunch of gentlemen in fancy suits are glued to the side of the front row, drinking a hundreds of dollars bottle of whiskey and leaving a pile of bills in an envelope on their table. A waiter walks in to secure the envelope in his vest’s pocket. Charles notices the silent interaction and the way the dancer winks at one of the gentlemen and leads him to a separate area after her performance. He remembers seeing the camera hidden at the corner of every room earlier, but he wonders if there is someone there ensuring her safety too. Knowing Abigail now, she must have had this covered. The leader of the security team, John, sends a guy over soon after they walk past the bar.
More patrons enter, and the bar is quickly stormed. The rhythm in which the drinks are being sent off is truly impressive; the waitresses and the dancers are clearly recognizable by their distinctive outfits. Classic white shirts and black pants with a bow tie for the staff, and various types of lingerie and corsets for the dancers. Charles doesn’t really know where to look to avoid feeling his ears grow warm. He finishes his lemonade, and explains to the others that he should probably head back home, it’s already late after all. Sadie nods and the boys follow Charles out of the booth to get even closer to the stage. It’s Karen’s time to hit the scene, Charles walks past it quickly, averting his gaze. Sean’s hollering louder than any other patrons and Lenny is so embarrassed he walks back to sit with Sadie. Javier has moved to the bar now, chatting with one of the barmaids, completely lost in her gaze.
“You should take the service door Charles, you’ll avoid the crowd this way” Abigail tells Charles as he tries to find his way towards the entrance, slaloming between the tables.
“Thank you, have a good night” He says, turning to the right.
It’s slowly dawning on him as he follows Abigail’s instructions… You haven’t reappeared yet, your friends are performing, and Charles convinces himself that leaving was the right thing to do. He doesn’t know if he should be there when it will be your turn to step into your ring… Do you even want him there? You’ve been making sure they came for drinks before the opening, and probably on purpose… but now… now it’s entirely different. He doesn’t remember if Abigail told him to turn left or right after the corridor.
Charles climbs a couple of steps, the leopard carpet smothering the sound of his shoes… He is about to turn around, remembering that taking a staircase wasn’t part of the instructions, when someone bumps into him.
“I am sorry…” Charles says, holding his hands in front of him.
“That’s alright….”
He freezes when he recognizes your voice and realizes it is you. The multiple mirrors framing the stairwell reflect your silhouette in every angle. There is only a thin robe covering your costume, but Charles can see perfectly well what it is concealing. The tattoos he saw on your arms and shoulders a couple of days ago are also painted on your legs, and the outer side of your thighs. Your skin is shining, the coconut smell from earlier has been overpowered by the fragrance of vanilla and something close to blackcurrant… Charles’s senses are completely overwhelmed by you. He isn’t used to feeling disarmed this way.
“You’re…” He starts, rubbing the back of his head and walking down the steps backwards.
“I was just coming down to say goodbye… I am about to start my shift” You say enthusiastically.
Charles wants to say something… His mouth stays agape for a moment as he tries to think about anything appropriate to tell you. His face remains unreadable and you start feeling uncomfortable. He keeps looking at you and then avoids your gaze, which is a hard thing to manage smoothly when you are the only two people in the room.
You put him out of his misery when you talk again.
“You’re leaving?” You ask with a frown.
“I was about to, yes” He explains, coughing to hide his confusion. He feels stupid for not having figured it out earlier…
“Oh…” You pout, clearly disappointed.
Charles doesn’t say anything more, he just looks at you, his gaze falling a couple of times on your body, before focusing back on your face. You close your arms on your chest instinctively, clutching on the lapel of your robe.
“Is there something wrong?” You throw in the air a little bit defensively, cocking your eyebrows at him.
“I just… I have an early shift, and it’s late. I gotta go” Charles turns around and walks away.
“Charles?” You call out, as you walk down the stairs, leaning over just in time to watch him push the metallic backdoor open and disappear into the night.
You don’t follow him there.
You head backstage with a heavy heart, taking off your robe and fixing your hair real quick. You force yourself to smile a couple of times and take a deep breath. You knew you were right not to tell men you are interested in straight away what you are doing for a living… but you never thought that Charles would be one of them… It’s not the first time it happens to you and it probably won’t be the last, but you thought this time it could be different. You were wrong… You take a sip of your water bottle, and give a nod to the sound tech, waiting for the light and music changes before entering the stage.
Outside, Charles has been sitting in his truck for a while, forgetting to open the window despite the heavy humid air accentuating his unease. He starts the ignition and rolls down the window, before wiping his face with his hands. He is an idiot… The hurt look on your face flashes at the forefront of his mind, and he mutters a curse as he hits reverse and drives away.
Work has been keeping Charles very busy lately, especially with the spring arriving soon. The multiple job sites he works at needs more preparation for the future seedings. He has also been doing extra hours at the nursery, taking care of vegetables, flowers and fruit seedlings. He has been training a little later at the gym too, avoiding the self-defense class on purpose at first, thinking it would be better not to see you… and he was convinced that you didn’t want to see him anyway. Sean told him it was useless to change his schedule since you weren’t coming by anymore. Charles then wanted to see this for himself. His heart plummeted when he noticed you weren’t practicing with the other girls anymore indeed… He was completely lost, not knowing if he should contact you, at least to apologize… It would be easier to make a decision if he could see you, at least once, to be sure you were still… tolerating his presence. But he surely wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. He acted like a real idiot, standing there, not saying anything, making you feel ashamed about yourself… The way you crossed your arms on your chest and said his name as he ran away like a coward… He couldn’t erase the sound of your broken voice from his mind.
“It’s been a couple of weeks now, that’s a shame cause she was the one who initiated it, but she’s probably really busy…” Sadie remarked one evening as Charles stopped by to ask about his next fights schedules.
“Right…” He mumbled tapping his fingers on the edge of her desk as he waited for her to look through her calendar.
“There it is” She exclaimed, handing over the paper and fetching the cigarette slowly burning in her ashtray almost instantly. “Anyway… I thought you’d knew about that already… You two seemed pretty close that evening at the club” She threw at him tentatively as she reclined in her leather chair. She watched him intently, taking a long drag of her cigarette as she waited for his reaction.
“You thought wrong Sadie.” And so did I… Charles thought “Thank you for that. I’ll see you on Thursday" He said as he stood up and walked away.
“Y’ain’t coming tomorrow?”
“I got that flower festival I told you about to prepare, my boss wants the whole team there” Charles said loudly before vanishing outside.
Charles started breathing a little better now that he was out of Sadie’s scrutiny and the clouds of smoke polluting her office. He took a second to calm down, the sole mention of you making the guilt and shameful feeling resurging. He parked closer to the club that night… Which wasn’t in his habit… But for some reason he did, and when you snapped the door of your car closed and turned around, Charles felt like he was struck by lightning.
“Hi…” He said first, surprising himself.
“Hi Charles” You replied, the sweetness in your tone he liked to think was saved just for him, replaced by a disappointment he wasn’t able to handle. You didn’t give him the chance to say anything more, checking that your door was locked a second time, and heading to the club’s service door with your head hanging low between your shoulders. He hit the roof of his truck with the palm of his hand as he watched you walk away. Of course it couldn’t be that easy… Maybe he doesn’t even deserve a second chance after all.
Light rain was falling on the parking lot as you rushed to get inside of your car. Tilly and Mary-Beth have been smarter than you were, parking closer to the entrance. You sat behind the wheel and turned on the ignition to make the fog disappear. You locked the doors and threw your purse on the passenger seat, taking a peek at the envelope Abigail handed you after the staff meeting… It wasn’t much… Clearly not your best night and it had been a while since you did so badly. You sighed, frustrated, thinking about the fact that you’ll have to make up for it quickly if you want to change your refrigerator next week like you initially planned. The empty parking spot right next to you suddenly made you tear up. Charles was there a couple hours ago… Seeing him after so many weeks of successfully avoiding him truly shook you up, more than you expected. You missed him a lot. But you have to accept the truth. You could never be in a relationship with someone who changed the way he sees you the minute he discovered your profession. It could never work. You don’t want to be reduced to that role, imprisoned in the character you play on stage. You took a look at your exhausted face in the rearview mirror, wiping a trace of lipstick off the corner of your lips… You were already contemplating skipping the cleaning routine and heading straight to bed but you know you’ll regret it in the morning. As you drove down the empty boulevard, noticing the junkies and prostitutes standing at the corner of the buildings, waiting for a dope delivery or a trick, you turned on the radio. A disco-funk tune was playing, one of your favorites… You wished you could dance on it at the club. You’ll ask Abigail tomorrow, maybe early enough in the night she’ll allow one of these “lighter tunes” as she call them.
── .✦
Pushing the gym’s door open, Charles checks the yellow numbers indicating 8:27 am on the clock. He takes his headphones off, as he jogs past Sadie’s empty office, heading straight to the locker rooms. He woke up at dawn, after another bad night. He’s lucky enough to be able to come practice here whenever he wants. Sadie gave him the keys a while ago. After a warm up around the block, he gets his jumping rope and his bottle, and walks back to the main room. Arthur said he’d be there around 9:30, something about taking his girl to work preventing him from joining Charles at dawn like he used to back in the days before an important fight. Saturday is probably the most important of the season for Charles. He’s been undefeated for the past 5 fights. He only took 2 defeats for the whole season. And his opponent is outranking him slightly. But if he wins, he could qualify for the decisive phase of the regional championship… He is on a good run, and he has been working so hard, he can’t blow it. He can’t.
He sets the timer on his watch for 5 minutes and starts jumping.
“You’re late…I almost had to train with the cleaning lady” Charles mumbles, wiping the sweat off his face as he takes a little break from practicing his hooks.
“Sorry…But I am sure she’d be almost as good as I am” Arthur laughs, rushing to the locker rooms to get ready.
“Y’got 15 minutes to warm up Arthur or I’ll ask her to jump on the ring” Charles starts punching again, quickening his pace.
The club’s morning regulars started walking in and getting ready for their own practice session. Sadie arrives a little bit later, coffee in hand, and the salesman of a major equipment brand walks in tow as she gives him a tour and explains the club’s needs to him: some punching bags need to be replaced, and the rings at the back of the gym could be given a fresh look. There’s also the gloves, and head gear for the kids… She enumerates everything she listed and winks at Arthur as she passes by.
The older boxer has been standing on the ring for three minutes, remaining silent as he watches his training partner wrapping his left hand for the second time. He wonders if he’s bruised and hurting, or if the bandages have lost their grip.
Charles sighs in annoyance, noticing Arthur’s stare on him. “I forgot to bring a new roll. This one is too old, fuck…”
“I got gauze if you want… Old fashion”
“Yeah that’ll do”.
“It’s in my bag”
Charles disappears for a moment, and hits his knee against the bench when he walks back.
“Y’got enough new supplies for Saturday? I can go buy some for you while heading back home if you want” Arthur offers.
“Got plenty of that, I just forgot them home… I’ll stash them in my truck so it doesn’t happen again”. Charles unrolls the gauze, and proceeds slower this time, making sure his fingers are wrapped tightly together and the band doesn’t come loose around his wrists. He puts on his gloves, and his mouthguard, and crouches between the strings to get on the ring. He hits his gloves a couple of times against one another, and gives a nod to Arthur.
It only takes one round for Arthur to figure out that Charles’ mind is miles away from this sparring session. It’s not that he is particularly slow or doesn’t punch as hard as usual. But he just doesn’t look like the fighter he usually is before an important bout. He is distracted. And his mind is playing against him. Now the tricky thing for Arthur is to bring that up to Charles without having the younger man antagonizing him.
“We should do another round or two” Charles says as he fills up his water bottle.
“I think we should take a longer break first, let you breathe a little” Arthur suggests instead.
Charles scoffs and shakes his head. “You aren’t as slick as you think you are” He rinses his mouth and spits into the sink.
“Good. I wasn’t trying to be.” Arthur insists, following Charles around. He catches him glancing at the entrance. “She ain’t gonna materialize there like some ghost you know?”
Charles throws his head back and sighs. “I know that”.
“Something happened then? Sadie got suspicious… But I didn’t really know what to tell her…”
“Now what ? Sadie too? Thank you for your concern, but it isn’t really your business…”
“Charles. Don’t be an ass now, we’re worried about you, about the fight. It’s an important one you can’t …”
“I can’t blow it, I know that.” Charles sighs, and sits on the bench, taking his head in his hands.
Arthur gives him a moment to think, and sits beside him. In the rhythmic and controlled chaos of the gym, they’re granted a little bit of privacy.
“I made a mistake Arthur. I hurt her. And I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I should fix it… She ain’t coming to the gym anymore, I can’t exactly say I’ve been lucky enough to run into her… I guess she’s avoiding me. I just don’t know what to do” Charles turns his head towards Arthur as he explains, then looks into the void.
Arthur clearly sees his friend’s distress. It’s been eating at him for weeks.
“I tried to keep it under control, but it’s seeping through the cracks” Charles adds, keeping the secret on all the different ways you’ve been infiltrating the parts of his life he kept all to himself. He doesn’t sleep well, and takes twice the time he usually does to recover. He has been replaying the moment in the staircase where it all went to shit day and night. All the times in his day where he used to be focusing on his work, on his training, on his diet… They’ve all been somehow linked to you, replaced by thoughts of you. He walks in front of a bakery and the cinnamon smell reminds him of that day in the parking lot. He can’t even eat the damn thing anymore. He plucks some dead leaves off a roses bushes and thinks about the copper-colored ones adorning your skin. He can’t walk in here without expecting to hear your laugh as you chat with the girls. The way you say his name when you greet him echoes in his mind as he steps in the shower. But when he closes his eyes in his bed, he can only see the gutted look on your face before you walked away from him the other night in front of the Junction. He didn’t realize how much space he was giving to let you into his life until it was too late. He needs to fix this. Not necessarily to win you back, cause he probably had lost from the start, but just to apologize to you.
“Y’should text her. Ask if she’s willing to hear you out. Y’could even ask her to come to the bout” Arthur replies boldly.
“I can’t do that.” Charles refuses, heart clenching at the idea that he could give you the opportunity to reject him for good, to say no.
“Listen to me. Just… Let her know that you’re still in it, you know what I mean? That you’re still interested, despite the mistake you made. Let her decide if she wants to let you apologize or not. But show her you care. Do something. You don’t pressure her or anything. Y’just… kick the ball in her court, so to speak” Arthur’s hand finds Charles’ shoulder and he lets it stay there for a moment as a comforting gesture, before walking away, leaving the boxer alone with his own thoughts.
── .✦
Charles has been following Arthur’s advice very closely. We are 48 hours before the big day, so no more sparring or hardcore training, just one last soft session, and then he needs to switch to recovery mode until Saturday. He already feels particularly refreshed from the physio session Arthur insisted on him booking yesterday. He doesn’t take the time to do this for every fight, but this one requires him to prepare his body more thoroughly. But today, he didn’t push too hard, and decided to focus on his muscle memory: a little bit of jumping rope, a long run of shadowboxing, stretching and some breathing exercises. The gym was almost empty, it’s only the middle of the afternoon. He stops by his locker to check he hasn’t forgotten anything important, and walks to Sadie’s office to grab the envelope she left for him on her desk: just a copy of his registration, license, medical record and all the papers he needs to bring with him on Saturday. Sadie always takes her own folder with her, just in case. He slides it in the side of his bag, and walks out. It’s raining outside. The first drops falling on his warm skin create a revitalizing contrast. He waits a little before pulling on his hood, and jogs down the steps. He has parked near the gas station earlier, but decides to walk alongside the club before crossing the parking lot.
The Junction is empty, it’s too early for the dancers to show up. As he rounds the corner, he sees your silhouette standing right under the small canopy attached to the building, your arms crossed on your chest, a bunch of bags resting at your feet. The rain flowing down the gutter and hitting the metallic roof of the club absorb the city noises entirely. Charles stops dead in his tracks. You haven’t seen him, so he could definitely walk the other way, avoiding another awkward encounter. He tortured himself trying to figure out how to reach out to you, wondered if he should ask for your number, or show up to the club to leave a letter for you. All turned out to be pitiful ideas. Arthur said you wouldn’t materialize like a ghost at the front door but somehow here you are, in front of the club, alone. His heart tells him that maybe it is the right time…
“Hey” You greet Charles as he approaches, every step he takes on the wet pavement splashing water around.
“Hey” He stops a few meters away from you, the hood of his jacket becoming darker in the rain. “You’re here early” He observes, glancing at the bags on the floor. The dry area on the front step isn’t even one square feet large. If the wind starts to blow you’ll be drenched.
“Abigail can’t do the opening today… She asked me to let the staff in cause I live closer than anyone else, but I forgot the keys…I am waiting for John, he is supposed to be here soon”
Charles nods, wincing when the droplets start sliding along his back, down to his calves. He should have changed before leaving. “You should come and get in the dry until he gets there. If you wanna…” He offers, turning towards the gym.
You nod in agreement, and before you can crouch down Charles has already stepped closer to grab your bags.
“That’s heavy” He remarks, surprised by the weight.
“Dry cleaning pick up, for the whole staff : uniforms, and towels and napkins too… I got my own and Tilly’s uniforms in my car but it can stay there until later.” You explain, leading the way to the gym. You speed up to avoid getting completely soaked, and Charles follows you closely.
“Thank you” You say as he sets the bag on the bench near Sadie’s office. You take a look at your face in the window, and arrange your hair a little, before wiping the water off your forehead.
Charles leaves you alone and comes back with a clean towel from the locker room.
“Here” He hands it to you and dries himself with his own towel. You scrub your arms and legs, and wipe your face again.
“Wasn’t expecting another shower when I left,” You say to break the silence.
“Spring weather is always unpredictable” Charles replies straight off.
The gym’s front door has been left ajar, offering an impressive view of the hailstorm happening outside. You sit on the bench, looking at Charles who’s standing there rather uncomfortable. You bite your lips nervously, looking for something to say to engage the conversation.
“It’s pretty quiet today”
“Yeah… It’s too early for the agitation”
“You never come so early either”
“I got an important fight on Saturday… So… I prefer to practice in peace beforehand”
“Oh, yeah, I would prefer that too”
The rain makes the conversation for the both of you again. There’s a slight tension between you, the weight of that night at the club hanging heavy above your hearts. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to find the courage to say something about it. Charles beats you to it. He whispers your name and for a second you wish he wouldn’t try to mention the incident to you. You turn to face him anyway, anxiety making your breathing short.
“Listen I… about the other night… I wanted to say I am sorry. If I gave the wrong impression I mean. It’s just… It’s gonna sound stupid” Charles says, a painful expression on his face. He takes a breath, and scoffs. “The truth is, I wasn’t expecting you to be a dancer… and…”
You cut his hesitation with a sarcastic laugh. Of course… That confirms exactly what you feared. You want to spare both of you the embarrassment and ask him to stop. Charles notices the look on your face and realizes he isn’t starting this on the right foot. He raises his hands before him, asking silently for you to just hear him out. You cross your legs and look down at your bracelets.
“I shouldn’t have left like that… I am not used to this… Any of this, and I think I got a little intimidated, because… Well, because you looked beautiful…” Charles doesn’t say anything else for a moment, watching your reaction anxiously. He knows he needs to proceed carefully, because he is walking on thin ice. He starts breathing again when he notices a timid smile curling at the corner of your lips.
You look away almost immediately, still playing with your bracelets, but your posture is less defensive now.
“I realized afterwards how it looked, from your point of view I mean… And I don’t want you to believe that I have any issue with your job. Because I don’t. But I understand that I hurt you. And for that…I am truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me, somehow.” He concludes, looking at you with a hopeful expression.
The knot in your chest is slowly untying itself. You take a moment to breathe, letting out a shaky sigh.
“Charles… I have to be honest with you… I was really disappointed… Not because you left, you didn’t have to stay really. I can understand if you were feeling uncomfortable. But… for a minute I saw the change in the way you looked at me. And it really hurt me” You explain calmly, trying to control the tremor in your voice.
“I know… I know.” Charles says, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“But… I accept your apology. I just… I think I will need a little time” You finally say, watching a breeze of relief hitting Charles’ face.
“Of course. I understand.” Charles’ nervousness comes back as he realizes this might compromise the invitation he was about to make… He shifts his jaw to the side, looking at the rain falling behind you. He can feel your intense stare on him, the impression of being studied this way clearly something he isn’t used to.
“Charles…Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?” You say after a while.
“No. No it’s… It can wait” He replies.
You check the clock above his head, wondering if John got lost or something.
“Actually… I just… Well, I’d like you to” Charles interrupts himself, trying to read your reaction before he even formulates his request… “I’d like you to come to my fight, on Saturday. It’s at 6 pm, you don’t have to, of course but… I’d love you to be there. If you want”. The pounding of his heart echoes in his mind as he waits for you to answer. He notices you smiling as you look down at your knees.
“Saturday is our super busy night so I don’t know if my schedule will allow it but… I’ll try” You look up at him as you reply, your eyes filled with emotion.
“Of course yeah, no problem” Charles’ tone is more understanding than disappointed. He’ll appreciate your effort, but knows very well you don’t owe him anything. He just couldn’t let the occasion slide away.
“Wait here” You say as you stand up and run to Sadie’s office.
Charles observes you leaning above her desk through the window. You come back a minute later and hand him a little piece of paper.
“Send me the address okay?” You tell him with a half-smile.
“Sure yeah”
John’s silhouette appears in the door frame. He is soaked to the bones. He simply says your name in greeting and gives Charles a courteous nod, before picking up the bags and rushing outside.
“I have to go…John isn’t really patient” You say with a slight laugh, walking backwards to the door. “Bye Charles” You say before running to the entrance of the club with your hands above your head, foolishly trying to protect yourself from the rain.
“See you on Saturday I hope” Charles says as he stands up and looks at your number written down in bright blue ink.
Sadie is leaning against the door frame, playing with the lighter in her pocket as Charles waits in line to see the doctor. She is eager for another cigarette, her nerves are getting the best of her. There is no particular worry about Charles' weight, she knows he’s very meticulous with his diet. But she wants him to win. She trusts him to do it right, like he always does. But this doesn’t prevent her from having pre-bout anxiety. It’s a good thing Charles doesn’t get too nervous. Or at least he never lets it show. Sadie watches him from where she stands, dreading the moment his opponent will exit the cubicle. It’s not the big leagues, but some fighters love to provoke before a match. And she heard that this one likes to show off, and ruffle his opponent’s feathers. Same thing for his coach. Sadie has always been well respected in her field, but some still struggle to understand that a woman can be as tough and fierce as she is. She won’t play any mind games today, even if she likes to. But her fighter needs calm and support and she’s right here to ensure that for him.
The doctor calls Charles’ name and he walks in, not even sparing a glance at his opponent who clearly waited for a reaction. The doctor closes the white curtain behind him and invites Charles to sit down. The boxer hands him his medical record.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Good”
“No recent injury we should know about? No trouble breathing, no headaches?”
“No”.
“Perfect. I’ll do a simple checkup” The doctor explains as he reads Charles’ file and puts it on the side. He stands up and listens to his chest, then takes his penlight, asking him to follow the movements with his eyes, and finally checks his balance and reflexes.
“Good.” He says as he writes down something on a post-it and slides it in the file. “You can stand up and step on the scale please”
Charles follows the instruction.
“One eighty-seven point three. That’s within the limit. You’re good to fight. There will be another checkup at the end of the match, but you know that already”
“Thank you.”
Charles steps outside the cubicle with his file in hands and gives it to Sadie. “You can go have your cigarette break” He tells her with a smile.
“I knew you’d make it” She replies, exaggerating a sigh of relief. “You have 45 minutes to get ready and warm up. I’ll join you in the training room in 10.”
“Alright”
Charles heads to the locker room to change. It’s not a private one, there are other fighters there, some younger, some bigger. But the organizers make sure to divide the room in two so nobody walks into their opponents before the fight. He quickly gets rid of his outside clothes and puts on his trunks, a new pair of socks, and his boxing shoes. He takes a moment to tie his laces, making sure they’re tightly secured around his ankles. He grabs a smaller bag for ringside, and makes sure he has his towel, his hand wraps, mouthguard, gloves and his metal water bottle in it. He folds his outside clothes and puts them back in his bag. Before zipping it, he checks his phone one last time. No missed text, nor missed call. He opens your conversation where a bubble indicates the location of the gym. But you didn’t answer. He turns it off and slides it in the side pocket, before throwing the bag in the locker and walking away.
── .✦
Charles is leaning against a wall, threading his fingers through his hair as he contemplates the scene surrounding him. The agitation is palpable in the crowd and the nervousness on the younger fighters’ faces waiting for their turn to hop on the ring makes Charles smile. There’s a mom and her children not too far from him, she is kissing her youngest’s forehead as hot tears run down his cheeks. He probably lost.
Charles braids his hair slowly, making sure it’s perfectly tied. On the other side of the room, where his fight is about to happen, the fighters are waiting for the results. The referee is standing in the middle of the ring, raising the wrist of the winner. They greet each other and take off their gloves, and the cleaning staff wipes the blood and sweat off the floor and strings with an antibacterial solution. Some are replacing the gauze, buckets and medical supplies in the corners. Charles places his hair net above his head. He kind of hates the feeling of having a thin cap on, but rules are rules. He tightens his boxing trunks, and waits in line in front of the equipment table. A bunch of assistants are handing over white trays with fighters’ names on it, containing hand wraps and gloves for each one of them. They’ve been disinfected and inspected to make sure they conform to the regulations: no stuffing, no modification, no dangerous material hidden in there. He grabs his tray and shows his mouthguard to the official, before walking away and finishing to get ready. The brouhaha is very loud in the gym, but Charles is in his own bubble. He takes his time to wrap his hands, using the moment to breathe and relax a little.
Sadie is already sitting in his corner, where Charles’ stool, towel and bucket are waiting for him. She chews on a gum nervously, glancing at the opposite side of the ring. Charles puts on his gloves, and walks to the ring. In the crowd, he struggles to find the familiar faces of his friends. He thinks he saw Javier walking in earlier, but there are too many people, a lot of families, old opponents, and onlookers who stopped by to see what the restlessness was all about. He spots Arthur walking along the bleachers, apologizing to people as he is trying to find a seat. His girlfriend is there too, she smiles at him. Charles nods towards her in acknowledgment. He chooses to let himself be distracted for a minute, and searches for your face in the crowd. But you aren’t there. He winces in disappointment, but he can’t let your absence throw him off. He has to focus back on the fight.
The referee asks him and his opponent to step on the ring and gives them the last instructions. Charles hits his gloves against his rival’s, and gets into his stance as the referee walks away. He gives his corner one last look, not long enough to catch what Sadie is mouthing to him, but he supposes she is wishing him luck.
The gong echoes in the gym and the room falls quiet for a fleeting moment.
── .✦
The first round is harder than what Charles expected… But again, he mentally chastises himself for letting his assumptions destabilize him. It takes him longer than usual to find his rhythm.
“What the hell is he doing?” Arthur mumbles as he watches Charles being pushed against the ropes. He grips his girlfriend’s hand tighter and yells with the rest of the crowd.
At the end of it, Charles ate a serious blow to the face. Sadie spends a couple of seconds cleaning the cut as best as she could. The blood poured from Charles’ brow, but he didn’t look worried at all.
The second round is a little better for Charles, he seems to read his rival’s game more easily. He loses the round but is slowly gaining more confidence.
Sadie gives him some advice as Charles pours water on his face and drinks. “I’ll get him” He says as he catches his breath.
That’s the moment you finally arrive. You enter the gym and follow the indications, before climbing on the blue bleachers. It smells like old tatami mats, leather and sanitizer. You scrunch up your nose and slalom through the legs of the audience members. You spot Arthur behind the red corner. You haven’t officially met but, you saw him enough at the gym to recognize him. He is fully focused on the game.
“Hi…Sorry I missed the start, I couldn’t find the place” You apologize.
Arthur greets you and reassures you before introducing you to his girlfriend. You take a seat next to them.
“He lost the first two rounds, but he’s getting better,” Arthur explains, and you finally dare to look at the ring. Charles is sitting there at his corner, chugging water while Sadie takes care of a new cut on his forehead.
“Oh gosh… I don’t think I can watch this” You reply as your stomach churns. The idea of him being injured makes you feel sick.
“I’ve heard that one before” Arthur teases, looking down at his girlfriend as his hand squeezes her thigh gently. “I promise you he is fine” He says as he looks at you.
“Really? Cause it doesn’t look like it” You object, wincing as Charles gets up and walks to the center of the ring again.
The gong echoes through the gym, and the third round starts. Charles overpowers his opponent at first but then takes another hit in the head and you close your eyes. “Oh gosh” you exclaim again. “That’s too awful for me I am sorry I can’t watch that” You tilt your head down, trying to guess what is happening through the loud exclamations of the crowd.
“I always hated it too” Arthur’s girl tells you as she pats your shoulder in sympathy.
“You girls are missing out on all the fun” Arthur replies before cheering louder for Charles.
You decide to put your worry aside and watch the end of the round. It was definitely worth it because Charles won it, but the amount of blood he is losing is concerning. Arthur insists that it’s nothing at all, and that it’s a clean fight so far, he’s been in a much worse state. The pride in his voice has his girlfriend punching his shoulder affectionately. He dodges the blow and grabs her hand to press a kiss on top of it. You watch them with a smile, and focus back on the ring.
The last two rounds go in a blur. You’re only seeing half of it, hiding your face behind your hands and spreading your fingers occasionally, when Arthur’s hollering indicates that Charles is the one hitting rather than the one taking the blows.
When the final round ends, the referee asks both fighters to come to the center of the ring, and holds them by the wrists. They wait a couple of seconds for the judges’ decision. It’s never ending for Sadie and the boys. Arthur tries to decipher the judges’ faces but in his mind there is no room for doubt. When the referee raises Charles’ hand, Sadie cheers loudly, Sean and Lenny chanting “Let’s go Charlie” while Arthur, his girlfriend and you applaud proudly with the rest of the crowd.
Charles thanks the referee and nods towards the judges before hugging his opponent briefly. He takes off his gloves and unwraps his hands, the constriction marks making his skin look swollen. He heads towards his corner where Sadie is waiting to give him a hug. He smiles as he thanks her, grabs his bag and heads to the medical room. As he walks past the bleachers, he sees Arthur and his girlfriend, but realizes that you aren’t there. You probably couldn’t make it. His heart clenches, but the adrenaline rush starts to evaporate, and the pain on his face grows louder. He barely gets the time to drink before the medical team is all over him to patch him up.
── .✦
“There you go…” The doctor exclaims as he finishes stitching Charles’ supraorbital ridge wound. “I’ll come back in a while to give you your prescription. In the meantime, you can change and rehydrate, eat a little something but no effort. If you feel any kind of dizziness you tell the nurse okay? I’ll discharge you after one last check-up.”
“Alright” Charles says and bids the doctor goodbye, before heading to the showers. He’s putting his clothes back on when someone knocks on the infirmary door.
“Come in” Charles mumbles as he tries to put on his t-shirt without letting the collar touch his face. He’s expecting Sadie or Arthur, they often stop by after a fight, especially when he got roughed up the way he did during the first rounds. When he hears the sound of heels hitting the floor he realizes it’s neither of them.
“Hi Charles” You say as you walk in, smiling shyly.
He steps aside the white screen, and his stomach flips, when his eyes land on you.
“Hi” He replies, mirroring your smile.
“I had to bribe someone to get in there” You joke, closing the door behind you. “Congratulations” You add, looking at him proudly.
“Thank you…” Charles says as he tilts his head down, “I didn’t see you before the fight started so … I didn’t think you came” He admits, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh… That’s because I was late. I couldn’t find my way in, but I followed a mom and her kids that were coming here too” You explain, fidgeting with your necklace as you walk closer.
“I am really glad you came,” Charles says with a soft smile. “What did you think of the fight?” He asks, genuinely curious.
“I think that you are crazy” You laugh in disbelief.
“Why?” Charles’ eyes widened in amusement.
“This is so… violent, so hard for me to watch… You took some nasty punches out there”
“I’ve taken worse than this before”
“Really?”
Charles nods. His heart is pounding in his chest as he watches you getting even closer. Knowing that you were there and worrying about him does something to him he can’t quite describe. You raise your hand in front of his face, and caress the strips protecting the fresh stitches above his brow. Charles holds his breath. You stare into his eyes, then observe the cuts and bruises forming on his face, the old scars leaving faint marks on his cheeks.
“I am not sure I really like boxing then,” You whisper.
“Does that mean you won’t come see me fight again?”
“I didn’t say that… I just don’t think I really like seeing you get hurt. That’s all.” You let out, highlighting the nuance. “But you fought well… According to Arthur at least”
Charles smirks at that. He knows his friend will probably have a lot of things to say during the debrief, especially about the first two rounds. But he doesn’t want to bother you with those details.
“Thank you for trying to watch anyway” His hand flexes by his side, silencing the unexpected need to touch you gently.
“You’re welcome” You reply before leaning forward and pressing a kiss on his cheek. Heat creeps up Charles’ neck.
You step back and smile, noticing the troubled state you left him in.
“Are you coming with us all for a drink?” He asks after a beat.
“I would love to, but I can’t. I gotta go back to work. It’s Saturday, remember? Abigail said I could be a little late but I don’t want to push my luck”.
To be fair, Charles doesn’t think he remembers anything right now, not since he felt the softness of your lips on his skin.
“Right… Right… Maybe we could go out one of these days” He offers once he finds his voice back. “Just the two of us, I mean.” He rectifies instantly, worried that you wouldn’t get the hint.
“That would be nice. You’ll call me?” You ask back, twirling a strand of hair between your fingers as you wait for his confirmation.
“I will” He promises.
You walk away and stop in the door frame to give him one last wave, before disappearing in the corridor.
Charles sits down on the bench, quietly staring at the spot you were standing in a minute ago.
a/n: thank you so so much for reading! part 2 should be up in august, i hope you loved the first one, let me know in the comments and reblogs, they are always making me happy ☺️
This fic is SOOO CUTE. The overall premise of turning a STRIPPER and BOXER fic into something this adorable is just unthinkable. Obsessed with the gym turning into a shared place for the gang 😭🫶🏼 and it’s actually very empowering..
First of all I love all the background describing as always it’s very beautiful!!! The details about the club being an old building but revved up every night!!
NOW THE STAR OF THE SHOW ⭐️
Allll the TINY details about Charles drinking water or Charles having a hairband on his wrist or Charles doing anything is all so intentional and sexy it gets me the most!!!
And reader everytime she appears I am thinking of true by spandau ballet the hennas and her accessories (real) and she is so kind and gentle hearted!!
THIS IS ALSO what I thought about the whole time how they are in these very VIBRANT industries but are quite quiet and awkward together <3
THE PROPER MEETING AT THE GYM IS SO CUTE and she has to kind of wrestle him 😭🫶🏼🫶🏼 its brilliant really..
AND THE DRESSING ROOM BUMP……….. it is so charged and then very sad 😭💔💔 girl he was STUNNED like give him a minute 💔💔
I really. REALLY liked Charles angry portrayal MEOW
Charles throws his head back and sighs. "I know that".
"Something happened then? Sadie got suspicious... But I didn't really know what to tell her.."
"Now what? Sadie too? Thank you for your concern, but it isn't really your business...""
"Charles. Don't be an ass now, we're worried about you, about the fight. It's an important one you can't..."
"I can't blow it, I know that." Charles sighs, and sits on the bench, taking his head in his hands.
This one made me feel REALLY maternal im sad 😭💔
Charles heads to the locker room to change. It's not a private one, there are other fighters there, some younger, some bigger. But the organizers make sure to divide the room in two so nobody walks into their opponents before the fight. He quickly gets rid of his outside clothes and puts on his trunks, a new pair of socks, and his boxing shoes. He takes a moment to tie his laces, making sure they're tightly secured around his ankles. He grabs a smaller bag for ringside, and makes sure he has his towel, his hand wraps, mouthguard, gloves and his metal water bottle in it. He folds his outside clothes and puts them back in his bag. Before zipping it, he checks his phone one last time. No missed text, nor missed call. He opens your conversation where a bubble indicates the location of the gym. But you didn't answer. He turns it off and slides it in the side pocket, before throwing the bag in the locker and walking away.
AND FINALLY…… BEFORE THE KISSS AHHH I just got the buzz soooo bad like I just know he felt on the moonnnn 😭🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 him being chatty and honest about how happy he is and showing off how he’s gotten worse??? 😭😭 MY HEARTT 😭😭😭😭 like baby you are still high from the adrenaline im cryinggg my number 1 favorite scene!!!!!
He steps aside the white screen, and his stomach flips, when his eyes land on you.
"Hi" He replies, mirroring your smile.
"I had to bribe someone to get in there" You joke, closing the door behind you. "Congratulations" You add, looking at him proudly.
"Thank you.." Charles says as he tilts his head down, "I didn't see you before the fight started so ... I didn't think you came" He admits, rubbing the back of his neck
"Oh... That's because I was late. I couldn't find my way in, but I followed a mom and her kids that were coming here too" You explain, fidgeting with your necklace as you walk closer.
"I am really glad you came," Charles says with a soft smile. "What did you think of the fight?" He asks, genuinely curious.
"I think that you are crazy" You laugh in disbelief.
"Why?" Charles' eyes widened in amusement.
"This is so... violent, so hard for me to watch... You took some nasty punches out there"
"I've taken worse than this before"
"Really?"
I also love ALLLL the cameos OF COURSE <3 sadie’s first dialogue w charles 🤤 AND SADIGAIL!! Yuri cameo in this economy is so gracious….. And the sean karen was funny as hell AHH I LOVE MY FAMILY
AND MR MORGAN AND HIS GIRLFRIEND PLEAKKKK JUSTIN BIEBER THAT SHOULD BE ME HOLDING UR HAND THAT SHOULD BE ME MAKING YOU LAUGH omg I was giggling insanely when he kissed my her fist STOPPP his charm in the room truly cannot be dammed I should be reader rn but alas 💔 he enters the scene and I scream 🤕
My second favorite scene in the fic!!!! ⬇️
Charles' focus is on the other side of the room, where you stand in front of Sadie, trying for the third time in a row to master a hold on the blonde.
She made you fall face down on the mattress on each try. But you've stood up and asked for another attempt. Sadie broke down the movement to you, and this time she is the one finding herself on the floor. The girls cheer loudly, chanting your name and you thank them, joy radiating from you.
Charles smiles discreetly, before looking away.
You scan the ring at the back of the club, your eyes falling on the boxer as he turns around.
"Now I get what Maguire said about you focusing on another kind of game" Arthur's face lights up as he puts two and two together.
"What?" Charles is instantly on the defensive, ready to dodge any kind of questions. He even starts walking towards the changing rooms. But Arthur follows him closely.
"Why don't you go talk to her after practice... get that cleared before Saturday?" He suggests.
THANK YOU for the giggles for just how fun this is!!! And the beautiful buildup!!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 I havent read smth this original in a whilee and I cannottt wait for the second chapter!!!!!!
to add to this post right here that i made not too long ago; another thing i find so irritating is how people also often try and say that the gang "saved" abigail, didn't pimp her out ect.
i think often times we have to remind ourselves that this was a group full of men, grown men, who were robbers and killers. even if most of them were caring, i find it very hard to believe that uncle would have taken in abigail just for the sake of "saving" her. he knew she was a prostitute, and they were going to exploit that.
not to even mention that prostitution in the late 1800's was very normal, and was also very much a job a lot if not most women had or were expected to have.
dutch was a manipulator, and even if you think his mental decline was only apparent later and that at first he genuinely did care for the gang, he still took advantage of the people around him even if he DID mean no ill intent.
and as for arthur, i personally doubt he had abigail constantly (i think they could have had each other like...twice. arthur was most likely a bit too depressed to really want to spend time with a woman, especially sexually. considering he was still probably healing from what happened with mary, eliza and isaac ect.)
but with that said, even if that's the case. i don't think the notion of arthur being a good man who'd NEVER do that with a young abigail is....kind of stupid..? we have to remember that this was arthur BEFORE his redemption, i don't think he was a monster or anything of the sort but i also don't think he was as morally sound as he later turned out to be.
i don't believe at all that hosea ever had abigail, but he sure as hell most likely didn't do anything to stop the men exploiting her. he is a caring fatherly figure, clearly he loved her like a daughter. but he was also a blind follower of dutch's, even with his reason, he still stuck by dutch and his word til his death.
iicr abigail and uncle even joke in the epilouge of rdr2 about a time where a costomer of abigail's had refused to pay her. so he it's DEFINITELY implied that he was her pimp in some way.
what i want people to think about what's more likely; that the men of the gang knew that abigail was a prostitute and they all collectively CHOOSE not to exploit the fact, or they simply did because that's more likely what happened.
as i think i mentioned in my previous post, most of the gang had their ways of making money. robberies, working, ect. but for characters like abigail and miss grimshaw, they can't do such things, or rather choose not to. (abigail has to tend to jack, and miss grimshaw that camp. hell there's even an interaction where miss grimshaw suggest to abigail that she should start selling herself once again, which abigail declines.)
the work that abigail DID do however involved her selling her body, inside of camp and outside of it. i don't believe once she joined the gang, she would have quit being a prostitute as instantly as people try to make it out as she did.
i'm not saying i'm right, at least about the arthur thing, but let's be a bit realistic please. i love arthur, this isn't hate to him. but he was also a man following dutch blindly, and to act as if he's excempt for what he MOST LIKELY did just because he's arthur is, well it's a choice.
and for the people trying to somehow say she wasn't a prostitute, (yes i've seen this shit with my own two eyes.) PLEASE for the love of god play the game again and actually pay attention i am BEGGING you.
guys please, John is canonically taller than Arthur please stop erasing important older sibling who used to tease their younger sibling for being short is now shorter and hates it so much representation
does anyone feel like they want to be punished just so they would stop feeling like they are about to be punished for something. like then at least it would be over. or is it just me
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