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“I’ve already seen the real you,” Brawler says.
His words make me wince. He hasn’t seen me. Not at all. I’m pretending to be someone else.
“I need to wash my mouth out with bleach.”
“You need to let yourself feel how you want to feel.”
“We’d be fucked.”
“We’re already fucked.”
Brawler moves closer. He’s only inches away now, standing over me, practically vibrating. “Tell me I can kiss you. Tell me I can touch you.”
He has no idea how much I want him to, but I can’t. I just can’t. For me, giving in doesn’t just mean that if Johnny finds out, he’ll most likely kill us. Giving in means I’m saying Brawler’s more important than what I came here for.
He drops his head when I don’t say the words. “You know what I see? Someone who’s scared. I see an unbelievably strong person, but when it comes to shit like this?” he says, motioning between the two of us. “You’re scared. You’d rather hole up with Johnny because that’s easier than feeling anything real.”
“You’re right,” I tell him, nodding. Disappointment lapping at my heels. “That’s exactly what this is. I’m so glad you figured me out.” I bend over to pick up my dress and then push past him to shut myself away in my bedroom. Leaning back against the door, I breathe in deep, trying to settle my nerves. I’ve never wanted to tell someone something more in my whole life. If I could split myself open, so Brawler could see the things inside me, I would.
“Don’t run away,” Brawler says. His voice rings clear as if he’s just on the other side of the door.
“There are things I can’t tell you right now.”
“That’s everybody. All of us hide dark shit inside.”
I close my eyes, trying to put up an invisible wall between us. “Maybe you should get Oscar to stay with me tonight.” Though Oscar’s not that much better of a choice. Something’s brimming there, too. It’s just that where Brawler and I are concerned, we’re about to overflow.
“Oscar?” Brawler hums until his voice turns gravely. “Oscar’s watching his mom. She got back on crack a couple of weeks ago.”
My lips thin. I press a hand to my chest, trying to regain control. There’s so much sadness here.
“Just let me in,” Brawler coaxes. “I won’t try anything. I won’t push. Just let me be near you. I won’t even make it about you.Iwant to be near you. Okay? Me. Put it all on me.”
I step away from the door and reach back to turn the knob before retreating to the small chest of drawers in the corner. There, I find a nightshirt and pull it over my head. The skin on my shoulder stretches with the movement, and I bury a hiss of pain.
As I make my way to the bed, Brawler says, “You don’t have to tell me everything. Hell, you don’t have to tell me anything.”
“I like that fucking idea,” I say, getting comfy on the bed. I sit cross-legged, pulling the sheets up over my lap.
He shakes his head, but an amused smile lifts his lips. “I want to know more about how you started fighting,” he says.
Now this is a comfortable conversation. I move up the bed, resting my back carefully against the wall and motion for Brawler to take the foot. He sits, the bed compressing under his weight. “I found fighting as a way to get out my aggression.” For once, this isn’t a lie. Honest to God, a counselor I used to see after my parents’ death told my aunt and uncle it might be a good idea. From then on, I was hooked. At first, it worked because I was tiring myself out. It felt good to direct my anger in a good way. Then, when I made the pact with myself that I would take on Big Daddy K, it became bigger than just healing. I knew I would have to be strong. I knew I would have to have a certain skill set. When I heard about the underground fighting, it made this all the better. “How about you?” I ask. “What are the Brawler’s origins?”
A shadow creeps over his face, like it’s a stalker he can’t get rid of, never too far behind. “I just wanted to be like my big brother,” he says. “That’s what started it for me.”
“Your brother was in the Heights Crew,” I guess. He mentioned to me once the Crew killed him, so it fits.
Brawler fiddles with the dressing that’s still around his neck. “Yes.”
“Are you going to join, too?” I know I’ve already asked him this before, but this time, I’m hoping for a more genuine answer.
He lifts his gaze to mine. “It depends.”
His stare is heavy, like he’s putting his answer on me. I’m used to a certain amount of weight being on my shoulders, but this is pushing me over the edge. “On?”
“If you would’ve asked me a week ago, I would’ve said ‘fuck no’. Not if I could help it. Not that I ever told anyone that. I like doing what I do for the Crew. I like the fighting aspect. It’s the only way I’ll be able to do it.”
“You’re wrong. You need to go to a real gym, Brawler. You need to train, get with people who can put you into some amateur fights.”