Four
Kallie
The first week of school passed in a blur—if that blur was nauseating lectures, piles of homework that will most likely never get done, and the unrelenting, numerous nightmares that never disappoint, which, unfortunately, have undoubtedly gotten worse since I’ve been here.
The thought of sleeping fills me with gut-churning anxiety, which has led me to keep a never-ending stock of energy drinks in the mini-fridge. In turn, I’ve been spending a lot of time at the gym. What else is there to do at 2:00 a.m. on a Wednesday night?
Usually the gym stays fairly quiet, safe from the unrelenting punches I throw at the punching bags, especially since I normally come when I should be sleeping. When I walk into the gym today, the scattered noise is a welcomed distraction from all the never-ending competition in my head.
Scanning the room, dread begins to seep in, knowing at least half these guys won’t spar with me, and the others I’ve already beaten in the ring. Apparently, shattering the male ego into tiny, itty-bitty pieces doesn’t sit well with all their built-up testosterone.
The number of other women in the room is scarce, and it dwindles down day by day. Part of me thinks it’s the overwhelming male toxicity in here, smothering you down with sexualizing innuendos and lingering stares.
Flashbacks still surface from the incident a week ago. The ominous texts, that asshole in the quad and not to mention the disgusting mess someone left in my underwear. I thought about reporting it, but I know who it was. Someone who enjoys playing mind games, who wants to carve themselves in my marrow and make sure there isn’t a second my mind isn’t racing towards them.
Even though there hasn’t been any attempts at communicating since, I know he’s watching. Waiting for me to finally feel at ease and let my guard down because the only thing he enjoys more than seeing me afraid of my own shadow, is the satisfaction of watching me crumble along with my defenses.
With the lack of willing participants, I’ve spent many days doing strictly cardio and speed bags. Sometimes, I’ll throw the punching bags into the mix if I’m feeling spicy. Don’t get me wrong, there’s always room for improvement, but I never leave here fully satisfied, like I have all this pent-up energy I need to release.
Surprise, surprise, I don’t have a partner. Instead, I look like a complete fucking idiot standing in the middle of the ring, waiting for someone to grow a pair.
After an embarrassingly long time, I let out a huff of frustration before turning around to exit the ring. As I’m about to step through the rope, a low, husky voice greets me.
“Didn’t think you were going to give up that easily.” The tendrils of his words slither over me, drenching me with some unknown feeling, all while alarm bells sound in my head.
Turning my head slightly to peer over my shoulder, my eyes meet a hard chest, and I get an unexplainable draw to face him fully. Like a vortex, I’m sucked in, trapped in a trance I strangely don’t want to get out of. My body turns of its own accord, and any retort I had aimed his way immediately disintegrates into a pile of ash in my throat.
On the other side of the ring stands a breathtakingly gorgeous man. Literally, all the air whooshes out of my lungs, and suddenly, it feels like there’s no air left in the room. I’m not short by any means, but even being five foot eleven, I still have to tilt my head up to see the devilish smirk settled on his face, paired with a single dimple on his left cheek. His dark-brown hair is tousled, the front pieces a little longer, hanging just above his eyebrows.
Like a metal pole left in the middle of a storm, a lightning bolt strikes me to my core when our eyes lock. A million pinpricks scatter over my skin right before it ignites in invisible flames. My breath hitches at the sensation, but no matter how off kilter it makes me, I can’t bring myself to look away. His eyes are a sea of onyx, blanketing midnight with depths so far beyond, with a caressing seam of piercing green.
Razor sharp and unblinking, my eyes move from one spot to the next. Like my subconscious is afraid if I don’t, he’ll vanish in that blip of a second it takes to keep my eyes from drying out. Ink is etched on his skin, right behind his left ear, rounding the side of his neck, curving over his collarbone until it disappears beneath the collar of his shirt.
Every tweak of muscle is defined by cords of veins running down his arms, perfectly contoured by the black, long-sleeved shirt that’s trying to shield the sculpture underneath. My fingers clench at my sides as I resist the urge to reach out and rip it off him and greedily allow myself the indulgence.
What the fuck has gotten into me? The question skates through my mind like wind, barely making a rustle as I move farther down, where I notice the hem of his shirt has ridden up just enough for me to see the continuation of the tattoo snaking farther down.
Clearing his throat, he asks, “Can we get on with it? Or do you need more time to ogle me like I’m a meal you wish to devour?” Snapping my head back up, I become transfixed on the sharp jawline outlining his chiseled features, carved just like the stonework I’m certain I would find beneath his clothes. His accent is from somewhere I can’t place but feels so familiar, but his comment is enough to break me out of whatever voodoo trance I’ve been placed in.
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bruise your precious ego.” I cross my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrow to look somewhat intimidating.
With a slight chuckle, he adjusts his wrist straps and begins walking closer. “My ego can take quite a few hits.” He pauses for a beat, leaning in close enough for only my ears to hear. “But I can assure you the sounds of you begging for mercy and screaming my name will turn it back tenfold.” With that, he turns right back around, sauntering over to his side of the ring while my eyes widen at what he just insinuated. Or maybe it’s just my mind playing tricks on me, but either way, it doesn’t stop the jolt that goes straight to the apex of my thighs.
I’ll give it to the guy, he’s good. Like, really good. The first person to actually give me some real competition—and I’m exhausted. He’s taken quite a few blows, but every time he has the chance to attack, he retreats. With every hit I manage to land, he gets this almost amused look on his face, like this is child’s play, and he’s allowing me to win.
Which is absurd.
What’s his name continues to evade, deflect and dodge…but he never strikes. It’s pretty fucking annoying, to say the least, like he’s mocking me, tiring me out, stalking his prey for the perfect time to strike.
After another futile attempt to take him down, irritation bubbles to the surface, and I’ve had enough. “What are you so scared of? Either man up and fight back, or get the fuck out of my ring and stop wasting my time!” I yell, hoping to get him angry enough for a reaction—a twinge of rage, irritation, anything.
But what I do get in response only fuels the fire building inside me. He has the fucking audacity to chuckle.
“You have got to be kidd—” My retort gets lost in the sudden silence as he uses this moment to seize his opportunity. It all happens so fast. One minute, I’m upright, prepared to defend myself. The next, he dodges my right hook, takes my arm, and twists. Pain shoots down from my shoulder, and I let out a hiss of pain. Then I’m airborne, gasping for air as my back smacks against the floor, and I stare up at the ceiling. Unable to catch my breath, he wastes no time getting on top of me, stradling my chest and taking both of my arms above my head, pinning me in place.
“Yield,” he insists.
“Fuck you,” I snarl back. He does that stupidly annoying chuckle again and, in a swift motion, moves both of my wrists into one hand and engulfs my throat in the other.
“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you, Princess. Mind repeating that for me?” Tightening his grip, he leans in closer, acting as if I could repeat myself if I wanted to. But I can’t. All the oxygen is slowly starting to evaporate. My eyelids threaten to flutter shut, but I fight to keep them open.
He begins to pull back, the hold he has on me lightening up just enough. I thrust my right leg up and over, catching his neck with the back of my knee. I don’t hesitate as I push him down with full force, causing him to release my hands.
I’m all but sitting on his face, and I swear I can feel a growl underneath me. My lips curve into a smile, knowing that I have finally gotten under his skin. “What was that? Can’t quite hear you, kitt—” My sentence is cut off by my sudden gasp as I’m whipping through the air. Again.
My face smacks against the mat, and copper immediately floods my mouth. In an instant, my arms are pressed against my sides, held there by his knees. I spit some of the blood out as the weight of him presses against my back.
He grips my ponytail and yanks, forcing me to look up at the blinding lights, all while his other hand snakes to my front and settles around my throat once again.
“Better watch that pretty mouth before it’s filled with something other than blood, Princess. Now yield.” Even though I can’t see his face, I know he has that damn smirk painted on. I try to wiggle out of his hold, but it’s no use. Aside from the impenetrable grip he has on me, it’s like my body has totally betrayed me and doesn’t want to get out from under him.
I blink away that disturbing thought and tap my hand twice on the ground.
But he doesn’t let go.
Fear envelops me, seeping into my bones when it sinks in: I’m in the same situation I never wanted to end up in again. Panic digs its claws into me, my heart rate quickens, and I feel beads of sweat forming on my neck. He leans down, letting his words whisper over the shell of my ear. “Don’t you remember what I said? Since you don’t know my name, I’ll allow you to only beg…just this once.” Heat flashes over my body with how close he is to me, and I swear I can feel him harden on the slope of my back.
He tightens the hold he has on my hair and pulls so hard I think my back is about to snap. He gets even closer, licking the outer edge of my ear with the tip of his tongue before demanding, “Beg.” That one word sets my body ablaze. The angle he has me in is making it harder and harder to breathe. Dots dance in my vision as his hold on me tightens with each passing second. Feeling lightheaded, I finally push out, “Please.”
“Please what?” he antagonizes under his breath, almost inaudible.
“Please let me go. You win.”
“Good girl,” he purrs. Suddenly, the pressure on my throat and back releases. Oxygen rushes to my lungs, and my spine snaps back to normal.
“This was fun. We should do it again sometime,” he says smugly, dabbing the non-existent sweat from the back of his neck. How is he not sweating? I’m drenched, my clothes sticking to me like a second skin, and he looks as if he just woke up from a nap.
Squeezing a bottle of water over me, I can feel his eyes look me up and down. The heat of his stare is too much, so I chuckle and say, “Yeah, I bet you had a great time. Hopefully, I didn’t hit you too hard to bruise that poor ego of yours.”
Without missing a beat, he replies, “Don’t you worry. I’m perfectly intact. Not even a scratch. And a little tip: you overexert yourself trying to be on the offense. Look at you. You’re spent from one round with someone who gave you just a semblance of a challenge. You couldn’t defend yourself because you were too tired trying to get the upper hand. The best offense is an impenetrable defense.”
Who the hell does this guy think he is? He doesn’t know me. What I’ve been through. He doesn’t know that my body hums with energy. That it feels heavy and full, and all I need to do is just let it out. So what if I didn’t win this round? My body finally feels lighter.
His head tilts to the side, a curious look on his face, like he can hear everything I’m thinking, as if I’m saying all of this out loud.
He takes a few steps toward me. “Who are you?” I ask, straining my neck to keep eye contact with him. He smiles, sweeping his eyes over me while gripping my chin between his thumb and finger, forcing my body up against his as he says, “You’ll find out soon enough, little fighter.”