Chapter 31 Margeaux
MARGEAUX
This is the longest Jon and I have gone without speaking.
His text yesterday had me feeling a little worried for him and what was happening at work.
I woke up this morning, and still no word from him.
It’s been a whole day since he sent that short text.
I’ve sent him five messages updating him about my day and trying to check in with him.
I also called him twice and tried to video chat. No response. None of the messages even seem to be getting read. This is weird. Something is wrong. Jon isn’t the type of guy to just ghost me. Would he?
I mean, we had some fun. Maybe the reality of us living in different cities and having completely different lives has finally clicked for him.
This wasn’t going to be forever. I have about two months left of regular, televised matches.
Then, I’d have most of the summer off, then training would pick up in the fall.
I’d be able to stay with him for most of that time.
I mean, Frankie’s Gym in Paramount is an amazing facility.
I’m sure I could talk a few of the other wrestlers to come with me and train for a couple of weeks at a time.
I was starting to picture how we could make it work. He wasn’t giving me any signs or signals that it can’t work, or that he wasn’t willing. He pursued me!
This fucking guy has the audacity to make me feel special…beautiful. He gave me all this hope that I found one guy in this overpopulated world who is kind, smart, funny, and so fucking sexy. And he fucking disappears!
I quickly chuck my phone on my bed, not wanting to be one of those pick-me girls who waits impatiently for the guy to call her back.
I get dressed for training. I’m not letting my routine get disrupted because of some guy.
It’s not like we were even that serious.
Just a few weeks of fun and giving into our baser urges.
It’s over.
We’re over.
Training is exactly what I need. I partner up with Talia to grapple and work on falls and jumps. Her background in gymnastics makes her so graceful in the ring. She’s taking the time to teach me some moves.
“It’d be so cool if I could learn how to do a backflip for the championship match,” I say, leaning on the ropes, swigging some water.
“Psh. I can teach you how to do that in no time,” Talia says, stretching her hamstrings. She can fold herself perfectly in half. I can touch my toes, but not as easily as she makes it seem.
“I think you’re ignoring that my center of gravity is not conducive for back flips,” I say, gesturing to all seventy-three inches of me.
Talia laughs, letting herself relax, leaning back on her hands. Her blonde hair is in a single French braid, with some tufts of her hair coming loose.
“I think you’d surprise yourself. You’re really athletic, and just crazy enough to attempt a backflip,” she says, her Southern twang coming even a little thicker now that she’s tired.
Not ready to go home and wallow in more self-pity, I ask if we can start practicing back flips now.
“Shoot. You’re my kinda crazy, Margeaux! You truly are the Queen of Chaos.”
Apparently, learning how to back flip means learning how to tumble backwards.
I felt like a little kid rolling around like an idiot.
I’m determined to learn how to do this skill now.
Talia calls it, and reminds me that she has a life outside of the training facility.
Lucky for her, our training facility is only an hour away from her hometown.
“I’m not sure what you have planned for the weekend, but you’re welcome to come to my family’s home. We can introduce you to real Kentucky barbeque. My dad always makes too much.”
She’s so fucking sweet. “I may take you up on your offer. I don’t have any set plans.” Especially now that Jon is out of the picture. I should probably just delete his contact from my phone, so I’m not tempted to text him or anything. I guess it’s true that some things are too good to be true.
“I’ll let you know, T. I think I’m just gonna get a burrito and head back to my place for now. I definitely need a shower.”
“Yea. Likewise. Thanks for asking me to train with you. I had so much fun,” she says, giving me her perfect Miss America smile.
I swear, this girl could have been a beauty queen, and she chose wrestling.
I should take her up on her invite, just to meet her family and figure out what their thoughts are on their daughter wrestling.
I avoid going home like the plague. Jacky is the main reason I go home anymore.
Dad doesn’t have strong opinions about me wrestling—at least not openly.
Mom is the tough nut to crack in my family.
I feel like she’s always been harder on me than Jacky.
I know she loves me; I just don’t think she likes me very much.
Like, I’ve disappointed her. I mean, her facial expressions, and heavy sighs during phone calls and family dinners over the years, have told me that much.
I bet if I showed up to Jacky’s wedding with Jon as my date, my mom would faint. Me—her rebellious, disappointing daughter—dating a pediatric cardiologist. My mom would have loved Jon, too. I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s perfect. Was.
He’s good on paper. When it’s time for him to put his words into actions, he falls short. He probably wised up and realized that human swizzle stick, Nicolette, is a better fit for him in the long run. And why the fuck do I care?!
I have everything I need. Jon was fun, and that’s it. Done. Done. Done.
I’m exhausted when I get back to my apartment, ready for a hot shower and some takeout.
I place my order for my food, knowing it will be delivered by the time I’m out of the shower.
Wiping the steam off the mirror threatens to remind me of that hot night Jon and I shared in this same bathroom. I scoff at my reflection.
“He wasn’t that amazing,” I tell myself.
A knock on my door draws my attention to more important things: Chinese food!
I throw on a big t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and my wet hair drips around the collar and sleeves. I open the door, losing all interest in eggrolls. Next to my takeout bag is a black envelope with silver studs around the border, with my name written on the front.
Margeaux,
I always thought we had a special connection.
Turns out you’re still a slut like all those years ago.
Something tells me I finally have something you want.
Or, should I say, someone?
Always Yours.
Inside the envelope is a picture of Jon. His head is covered in blood, and he’s tied to a chair. Oh my God! This psycho has Jon?! I turn the photo over and an additional message is on the back.
If you want him, come get him.
Come alone.
No. No. No. No. How is this happening? Why is this happening?
Looking at the picture closely, the room Jon is in looks horribly familiar. The faded wallpaper. The cheap floral bedding. The old carpeting, that I can tell by looking at it, is still scratchy. I swallow a lump in my throat thinking I’d never go back to that place. That room.