Authors: Alice Dee
“I’m ready, are you ready?”
“Give me a kiss.”
She leaned in and they kissed for a few seconds.
“Hey,” he said, with seriousness in his eyes. “Be strong for me.”
“Good luck,” she called out as he got off the Expedition and grabbed his stuff.
***
Dominic lay on top of the bed with an icepack pressed to his forehead. He looked at Hope when she walked into the hotel room. Her hair was styled up and she had bracelet size loops hanging from her earlobes. She still had on her dress but her shoes were in her hand. She climbed up on the bed and rested her head on his chest.
“I’m proud of you,” she said softly, her eyes watching her finger glide over his nipple.
“I appreciate your support.” He put the icepack aside and nudged her to move up.
She studied the fresh cut above his eyebrow, bound together with shiny black stitches. His face was swollen in sporadic spots, fruit colored and contused. She didn’t like seeing what she saw that night. There were points where it seemed his eyes went blank, be it while he was bombarded by fists and elbows, or while he was hitting someone else. He had the same look in his eyes when he beat up Zefar. In the back of her mind she knew it bothered her. How much? Only time would tell.
“What’re you thinking about?” he asked, running his hand up her back, under her shirt.
“That was scary,” she responded.
“Seeing me hurt?”
“Everything.”
“I’ve been in worse shape than this, trust me.”
“It was exciting,” she admitted. Sitting amongst amped up spectators and commentators and cameras rolling, cheering and jeering fed her energy. She could only imagine what it must be like to be at the actual octagon. Surely Dominic had a foot in the door.
“Did you like it?”
“I did but I didn’t like seeing you hurt.”
Dominic unhooked her bra in a single snap and scratched an itch Hope had there. She recalled theories she heard around the keg. There were people out there who joked these fighters were basically trained killers of man, barbarians or modern day gladiators, and things like that. She knew she was fucked. She didn’t want to admit it to herself but there was no denying it. She liked him a lot. It hadn’t been long at all but the way he made her feel was out of this fucking world. Soon, nothing about him could possibly be enough for her to break away.
“Did you like seeing me hurt them?”
Honestly, a little bit, especially after his opponents struck him. She remembered during the first fight Dominic was kicked in the face. To see Dominic fire back with brutal force was accelerating her drive.
“A little, yeah,” she smiled. “You sure you don’t want to go the after party upstairs?” she asked.
“Fuck that, I’m sore and exhausted. I’d rather be here with you.”
She raised her chin, looking at his face again. She stretched her neck to kiss his bruises. Liking his physical response, she got really into it. She took her dress off and climbed on top of him.
“You gonna take care of me or what?” he asked, running his hands back and forth on her thighs.
“I’m a take care of you,” she whispered, backing up and pulling his shorts off.
Dominic lay back with his arms folded behind his head, smiling all big. She saw his smile and thought it was so cute. He stared at her until he was fully enclosed it wet warmth, brain flat lining on the spot. He gently took a handful of her hair from the underside of her head, grabbing at her roots so as not to hurt her.
She was amaaaazing….star wonder. Neither he nor she knew where all his energy was coming from but it ended with one side of Hope’s perspiring hairline against the satin pillow case. Dominic was breathing heavy, sore body heaving in and out. He had his arm tucked around her waist and slowly pulled it form under her. He fell back on the bed, holding his ribs that were killing him.
“I’m fucking crazy about you, girl,” he said all out of breath. He stretched over to the night stand for his pills and popped a pain killer, closed his eyes. She rolled over on her back, hopped off the bed and went into the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror, wondering what she was doing, where this would go. She knew where it could go and all the problems that followed seemed minute. She got into a shirt and went back to the bed, staring down at him. He was already asleep.
She cuddled up to his body and fell into dreamy, beautiful sleep.
38…Tristan tells Dominic
Tristan lay on her side in the fetal position, staring dead into the wall. Her room was very childlike with a twin size bed and stuffed animals, trophies from grade school and posters of her favorite actors and recording artists. She held a stuffed panda bear against her stomach, her face warmly tingling and watering. There was a tap on the door that startled her. She rolled over and called out that was she “resting”.
“It’s me.”
She recognized Dominic’s voice immediately and sat up, her hair falling over her shoulders. She wiped her face and went to her bedroom door, pulled it open. He was standing there with that sharp seriousness in his blackened eyes. His face was still swollen all over, different shades of bruised. It angered her in more ways than one. He actually fought without her there, he probably took Hope, and he got his ass kicked.
He was wearing black jeans with a black tee shirt and she could smell his cologne. The familiar scent swept her with grief. She missed him. Dominic let himself in and she closed the door behind him. He didn’t notice how red her eyes and nose were, that she’d been crying. He was here to say what he had to and that was it.
“How was California?”
Tristan crossed her arms.
His eyes zeroed in on her stomach. Maybe her shirt was a little too baggy, maybe she just wasn’t showing much, or maybe he just couldn’t tell.
“I don’t want to fight,” he began calmly, sitting in a woven chair. “I just want you to know that I want to put everything behind us and focus on this baby-“
“Oh,” she said with an eye roll. “That’s why you’re here.”
“Tris, I don’t want to fight,” he repeated.
“Was she there? Did you take her to that fight?”
“I’m not here to talk about that-“
“How could you move on so fast, like nothing?”
“You couldn’t be there anyway, you’re pregnant. Seeing me like that wouldn’t have done either one of us any good.”
“Can you just tell me why her? Is it even her? Did you just fall out of love with me?”
“You know me,” he went on. “I will be here one hundred percent. This whole situation is a mess but that’s beside the point. Doctor visits, whatever, the birth, everything, and anything you need. I’m here.”
“Really?” she laughed. “Wouldn’t you rather be with your hooker girlfriend?”
He smiled knowing damn well she should refrain from even going there but Tristan was taunting him, wanting to take it there.
“This is between us. Please for once, act your age?”
“I don’t need you. Go be with that hooker.”
“She’s not a hooker, damnit.” He stood up on his feet.
“You’re banging a dirty nasty ho!” she pounded her fist against his chest. On the verge of losing her mind, she couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“There is no baby!” She put her hands over her face and let her body fall onto the bed.
“What do you mean there’s no baby? Tris? What does that mean?”
“I lost it in Californa!”
Her words were like bits of rock candy he was trying to piece together to see the picture.
“I lost it, I miscarried.”
“What are you talking about? You were what, four, four and a half months? What happened?!”
Tristan sobbed.
“What do you think happened?! I’ve been through hell Dominic! You put me through hell!” She looked down at the floor and let the tears flow.
“I don’t understand. What happened, what caused it?”
“Stress,” she mumbled after a moment. “My body was too weak.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
She shook her head.
“I was all the way in California. It was the weekend of your fight.”
He felt like he was officially an asshole. He sat down on the edge of her bed still trying to process it.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked. “I would’ve gone. I would’ve been there.”
“She was there, wasn’t she?” she tilted her head.
He uncovered his face and stood on his feet and paced around her room with his fingers laced behind his head.
“I didn’t think you’d care,” she sobbed. “Four and a half months.” She looked at him through the water in her eyes. “He was a boy,” she said through wet lips.
He felt nauseous. This was fucking horrible.
“Of course I care. I care,” he insisted. He felt guilt and regret for not being around more. He sat down next to Tristan and took her hand in his.
“I’m sorry.” He put his arm around her and kissed her head. “I should’ve been here. We’ll get through this together okay? I promise you, we’ll get through this.”
Tristan cuddled up to him. She had forgotten what it was like to be in his arms and right now, it felt new all over again.
39... Slamming brakes
Hope was surprised but delighted when Dominic walked into the dressing room. He stepped back when he saw the half- naked girls in there and motioned to her with his finger, calling her out in the hall. She grabbed her satin wrap and stepped out in the dark hall.
“What are you doing here?” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cut lips. He hugged her back and then loosely wrapped his arms around her waist. She kissed him again.
“What’s up?” she looked behind her to make sure Hammer wasn’t around. The dressing room door opened and closed, casting light on them for a second or two.
“Wanted to see you,” he said with his eyes averted.
“Awww…” on the tips of her toes she kissed his face and all of his bruises, as he ran his hands up under her robe. He squeezed her ass in both hands, heart racing.
‘Say goodbye to this ass’, a voice in his head taunted.
“Mmmm,” she groaned in his ear when he squeezed her ass harder. He felt himself getting hard but
FUCK. He thought of Tristan and took in a thick lungful of air. Double FUCK.
She pulled him close again. She noticed he was limp and when she pressed her mouth to his, he didn’t kiss her back. Opening her eyes she backed off immediately and stared into his face.
“What’s wrong?” She wrapped herself tighter in her silky wrap and crossed her arms.
“We can’t do this anymore.”
They were the words she dreaded. Her confidence, her hopes, everything just dwindled away like the last grains of sand in the hour glass. Gone. She felt herself break inside, her chest thick with pressure. She silently prayed he would tell her it was all joke, smile and swoop her off her feet. When that didn’t appear to be happening, she prayed this was just a bad dream.
He looked everywhere but her. The dressing room door opened again and the light split his bruised face in two; one side was darkened, the other orange, reflecting in his clear eye.
“Tristan lost the baby,” he said.
Hope swallowed the thick saliva in her throat, knowing now for sure this was no joke.
“I should be there for her. It’s the least I can do, you know?”
“You should,” she agreed. “Totally.”
“I’m really sorry it has to be like this. And I’m sorry about everything else, really.”
“Yeah you know what? Don’t apologize. No, don’t, please don’t apologize Dominic.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “You should do that. I am sorry for your loss.”
He was amazed at how well she was handling this.
“I have to go,” she said apologetically, though she wasn’t sure why. “I wish you the best.”
Hope let go of his hand and vanished out of his sight. Through the half opened door, he saw her put on her poker face and drop her wrap to her feet. Other girls floated passed her but again, he only saw her. Shamayla came up in black nylon stockings and blocks for heels. She unrolled the rollers in Hope’s hair while Hope stepped into her number that oozed sex appeal. One of the girls cracked a dirty joke and Hope laughed, her eyes barely watering at the stinging from within. She’d gone through this before and she would live. She knew that and would have to hold on to it until the pain of rejection would evaporate.
Dominic figured she would be okay; she seemed to be getting along fine. Besides, he didn’t think something this good could ever last. He turned away from the dancer that he’d lusted over and grew fond of. He misconstrued her laugh with indifference when in reality that star was dying.
One week and a half later…
Shamayla’s hair was wrapped up on her head in a half-assed up do. She was wearing blue jeans for a change and shirt that draped off one shoulder. She sipped from a wine glass and labeled a box with her fat red marker. Hope came up behind her in a leotard and jeans. “That’s everything,” Hope said, glancing at the stack of ruined paintings in a corner. She looked all over the apartment that was now bare except for the defaced refrigerator in the kitchen, and the boxes in the living room.
“I’ll take these ones,” Shamayla offered, swinging the door open with her feet. She headed down the stairs and stopped suddenly when she saw Dominic coming up them.
“Oh, hey,” she said, looking at him oddly.