32. Santiago #3
Snapped out of my thoughts and not at all interested in whatever small talk he planned on, I tsked.
“Depends on the question.”
“What happened to you after that night?”
“What night?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
He ruffled his hair, and I noticed he always did that whenever he got nervous or embarrassed.
“I’m talking about the night I beat you up…”
I leaned back in my chair. “And why do you care?”
“I just do.”
Something about his dumb expression annoyed me. Probably because it wasn’t at all dumb, but genuine. Staring at me with those moonlight eyes of his, he looked like some eager puppy, and I caved in.
“I suffered a broken jaw, a broken eye socket, and several other fractures in my face, in addition to three broken ribs and a fractured wrist. I was disabled for six months after that, but thankfully had good plastic surgeons. Still, to this day, my jaw hurts whenever I smile.” Which happens to be a lot.
“So your scar… Did I cause it?”
My… scar?
“Oh, sweet boy, I know you’re in there, hiding,” she yelled, and I quickly moved away from the closet doors so she wouldn’t see me. “What, you love watching Mommy getting fucked, is that it?”
Scared, I pressed my back against the far wall of the closet and covered my mouth to muffle my sobs.
“What are you so ashamed of, huh? You’ve already seen it all.
” Her footsteps got closer. “Don’t tell me…
you want to fuck Mommy yourself, don’t you?
” She broke out in laughter until that mocking sound was all that I could hear.
“That’s my punishment for giving birth to a boy.
As if this shitty world needed another pig.
Yeah, that’s what you all are, every one of you. Dirty, stinky, filthy pigs.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I covered my mouth until I could hardly breathe when the door to the closet opened and she stood there, completely naked, blood dripping from her hand that clenched a piece of broken glass.
“My sweet boy… now it’s your time to be punished, too.”
“No,” I finally answered his question, then looked up to meet his eyes. “Do you feel better now after getting your answers?”
Averting his stare down, he shook his head. “No.”
“So why ask a question, knowing the answer will make you feel bad?”
“Because ignoring what I did to you doesn’t make it go away.”
“It doesn’t.” I crossed my arms, my stare still lingering on him. “But denial makes life tolerable. There’s nothing majestic about guilt, only pain.”
“I don’t mind pain.” He bit on his full bottom lip before looking up, his eyes meeting mine in a heartbeat. “In fact, I… I think I enjoy it.”
My lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Is that so?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Are you a masochist, Mr. Rivas?”
His cheeks painted red, and he quickly broke our stare.
“N-no.”
“Do you know what that word even means?”
“Of course I do,” he muttered, reminding me of a child. “But before you, I never… fuck. Can we talk about something else?”
I pointed at his plate. “How about you finish your burger so I can leave?”
“I didn’t force you to sit here with me,” he pouted.
“Only you sort of did.”
“Whatever.” He shoved his plate aside. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Was that disappointment in his voice? This idiot probably saw this as a date, but oh well, he had earned me a lot of money tonight, so the least I could do was let him have his way, even if he was being delusional.
“And it only took three and a half burgers for that.”
As if surprised I didn’t get up and leave the moment I could, he looked up, eyes basically shining.
“I have a big appetite, okay? And fighting burns lots of calories.”
“You can’t use that excuse after you finish a fight in less than five minutes.”
“Hey!” He leaned closer. “It was a well-earned win, and besides, you know how much I train a week?”
I’d also gotten slightly closer.
“I take it a lot?”
“You bet. I run, box, spar, weight-lift, and cycle—”
“Ugh, not that bicycle again,” I grunted, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Seeing you on it is such a turnoff.”
He straightened in his seat. “D-does that mean there are things I do that turn you on?”
“You truly are a hopeless case, aren’t you?”
“I mean it!” He slammed his hands on the table and hovered over it. “Tell me so I can do them more—ouch!” he whined after I flicked his forehead.
“What’s the matter? I thought you liked pain.”
“Not this sort of pain,” he grunted, rubbing the bruise.
“Well, you can’t be picky. I’ll hurt you however I please.”
“As if I don’t know it already,” he grunted before looking at me again with his stupidly blue eyes. Only they weren’t really blue, more teal, as if they captured the moonlight in them.
“You want to know what turns me on?” I asked, chin raised and lips curled into a half smile.
Eager as a dog, he nodded. “Please.”
“Win your next fight and I might tell you.”
He didn’t seem disappointed; instead, his eyes filled with excitement, and seeing that precious expression on his face made my own heart beat a bit faster. Why? Because I couldn’t wait to have this beast fight and win for me.
I couldn’t wait to fully have him by the throat.