Page 43 of The Breaking Pointe

no more fears

COLTON

One of my biggest pet peeves is when someone tells you they know how you feel. Nobody ever really knows how any of us feel about anything.

Yawning, I shuffle towards the kitchen counter, setting my mother’s sticker covered carafe back onto the coffee machine after pouring myself a hardy cup.

I never needed coffee in the evening, but I guess cruising into my thirties, I should expect that.

Scratching my side softly, I rub the dated scar, feeling at the recently removed stitching.

“So the meeting went well then? No more coffee shop?” I ask Noelle, clutching my phone between my cheek and shoulder as I pick up my mug to take a big sip.

“No more coffee shop,” she responds in a bubbly tone. “Al-though I do feel bad for the owner. I’ve been there for a long time,” she says over the call.

“Don’t feel bad, sweetheart. People have to move on even-tually. You wanna focus on dancing. If you’ve been there for so long, they should understand,” I tell her in between taking another quick sip.

“I’m sure everyone understands, but I still feel bad, though. I hate letting people down. Now they have to hire someone else— and no offense—but I don’t think anyone wants to work where hardly anyone comes in. Maybe I feel worse for Annie,” she says, prolonging her words as if that sent her into deep thought.

“You’re allowed to feel bad. In the same breath, I’m sure Annie understands as well. This will all be worth it, in the end, you know? Maybe if feels crazy in this moment, but it’s all in good taste,” I tell her, offering up reasons for a brighter side to be observed in this situation.

It’s not all bad. At least not to me. Her empathy doesn’t allow her to free herself from what might hold her back, which to others may be bad. I, on the other hand, really do appreciate her free will to feel openly. People don’t do it enough anymore. I remember thinking I was the only one who felt too much, but I was so wrong. We have been riding in that same boat without knowing it until now.

She lets out another deep, harsh breath, clearly frustrated by the topic.

“I should go into group, now,” she says in a hushed voice. “Alright…” I linger, staring into my coffee cup with a hesitant

thought.

I should be there. With her.

“I’ll be there to pick you up,” I add.

“I know. I love you,” she responds, still hushed. Maybe even more hushed.

“I love you,” I tell her, still pondering as I listen to her hang up.

I gently set my phone down, sniffling in a deep breath and glancing at Bonnie. Her glare is becoming stronger by the second.

“Can you not?” I say out loud, having had enough with her silent judgment. I sip more of my coffee, turning to face her as I commit to her staring contest.

She blinks once, blankly, sighing through her snout as she adjusts her sitting position.

“Yeah, I know. I should go, hm?” I sigh back, feeling more guilty as Noelle’s soft voice replays in my head.

She’s needed me there since we met. Someone to be there. She doesn’t ask because it probably feels like a laundry load of stress to bestow upon someone, but we’re now both victims of something together, now. Before we even met, we shared fears that maybe didn’t come from the same abuser, but the experience is not far off from each other. Invisible String Theory says that means something. I’m sure just going and listening to whatever the sermon is with her would teach me a thing or two. Not just about myself, but about how to take care of the one I love without instilling more fear within her. I strive to learn how to do everything differently than Daniel, and even if I think I know everything about how that process works—I simply don’t.

I want her to know that she can need me and that’s okay. More than okay.

For Noelle, a new fear can appear at any given time that she wasn’t aware of before. I understand it has nothing to do with me, but if we learn how to manage it together, then we can manage our love for each other in a healthy manner.

I think I can say that we each deserve that, after everything.

Somewhat chugging my coffee, I make way to our halfway furnished bedroom to pick out a decent outfit and dress myself as quickly as possible—simultaneously pressing the thought of seeing Noelle’s face when she realizes she isn’t alone in any of this. I’ll go to every meeting from here on out if it makes a difference in how she and I flow together. Our connection needs to be cradled. It’s fragile to me. The more we experience together, the more I feel the need to nurture what we’ve built. The reason that part is so pertinent is because it’s the first time I have felt that way.

The first time I’ve ever loved like this.

* * *

I didn’t realize actually being in the presence of the meeting would make me nervous. I’m not speaking, or even greeting anyone but Noelle, but it’s a vulnerability I have yet to delve into. I listen to other domestic violence victims and survivors, and their stories. There’s much more premise to the concept than people take the time to understand. I want to understand. If that means understanding more than just Noelle, and other people too, then I’ll listen to as many testimonies as it takes. There aren’t any great lengths at this point that I wouldn’t embark on. The meeting is being held at an old office building, with a shocking amount of space. The way Noelle had spoken about the center, I imagined it was a small gathering—say possibly

ten to fifteen people max—meeting every week. This was a much greater event.

Finding parking is already a task in New York, but it’s even more horrendous at this center. By the time I’d found a decent enough spot and managed to parallel park, I was hoping the damn thing wasn’t over. To my benefit, it wasn’t. Just as I was walking in, I began to examine the large crowd stuffed inside.

People whisper amongst one another, some in groups and some people alone. Beyond crowds of people is a stage with a podium, and a brunette woman speaking to folks who were neatly lined up in chairs before her. Most seats are already occupied, but every person is watching the stage, respectfully listening.

But no sign of my girl.

Keeping my entrance noise to a minimum, I weasel my way to the back of the room as the room fills with the echo of applause. The brunette woman steps down from the podium, getting replaced by another woman. I finally find a spot against the wall where I can stand, and I hurry to it, fixing myself and looking around to observe more faces. Nobody resembles her in the slightest. I wanna make my presence known.

“Hi, I…” The woman takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’m Noelle. I’m not a new member, but I never talked up here before.” She nervously but whimsically strolls through her words, melodically filling my ears and stealing my attention.

Lifting my head from the crowd of sitting people, my eyes shoot to the podium, finding instant peace within the sight of bronzy, ginger hair and a rosy, freckled face.

“I don’t know why I got up here, to be honest. Talking about anything that has to do with my story has become another troublesome thing,” she continues, twisting a small lock of hair between her fingers. “Almost two months ago, my abuser attacked me in my home. We’ve been broken up for over two years now, and I even have a new partner. This partner came to my rescue and as a result, he was physically hurt.” Her voice quiets down as she pauses, while staring at the floor.

“I thought it was my fault, for a while. I pretty much convinced myself, and until a few days ago, I thought that was the truth. Not only did he hurt me, but now he hurt someone I love, and this guy is a really good guy. I really mean it.” She breaks her stern facial expression to crack a smile, causing me to do the same.

“He thinks I’m good, too.” Her smile fades just as quick as it grew, and she brings her hands together, fussing with her fingers. “I’m trying to do this thing where I accept all the good that comes my way, but I’m afraid the history I have has me so stuck on the idea that maybe I’m not actually worthy of said good, and that the good is only in my head.” She tucks her hair and uses her sleeve to wipe a tear before crossing her arms. “He risked his life for me though. So that must mean something, even if it’s a small something. And as much as he’s risked a lot for me, all I’ve risked is my heart being broken, but instead he’s made it the safest it’s ever been.”

I’m buzzing, and she has no idea. I haven’t risked anything at all except my pride. Which I’ve now learned to discard.

“Moral of the story,” she sniffles and smiles, “happy endings do exist, because I feel like a princess and I have my prince and we’re finally free.” She giggles. “Thank you.” She gives a quick, dainty wave as she comes down from the stage and makes her way to the back of the room to the snack table.

I follow her with my gaze and study how she thanks different people and smiles at them, showing unfiltered gratitude. She stops at one person, specifically, and begins conversation, still having not noticed me, now facing away from me.

“You never told me how much he loves you. Or that you love him. That was pretty moving.” The guy chuckles, sipping at his drink from a white Styrofoam cup.

“I love him so much,” she insists as the guy smiles and continues to walk to a seat. She turns to the table and begins to make a cup of coffee, and I take my opportunity to walk over to her.

Stepping right behind her, she doesn’t budge. Still unaware that I’m right in her bubble.

“You know, that guy…I’d bet that he’s really proud of you. The guy you’re dating?” I say in a deeper voice than normal.

She doesn’t turn around just yet, but responds as sweetly as possible. “That’s a strong bet. I would love to agree, but I wouldn’t know. It’s my first time speaking at this thing, and he’s not even here.” She sighs heavily, finally turning around and almost spilling her coffee at the sight of me. “Oh…”

I curl my lips to one side, my hands connected and resting behind my back. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here before, but I can make it up by being here from now on,” I confidently admit.

She stares at me, slowly setting her cup down, then reaching up to grab hold of my face and attacks me with a full throttle kiss, accepting my apology with her soft touch to my skin and flavorful lips. Her kiss is enough to weather any storm—possibly the apocalypse.

That’s how I know she’s the one. Cause even on the dullest, darkest day, she makes sure she has a shield, ready to protect me from the rain. And if I had to choose her or life before her, I would do everything all over again, a million times. Because I don’t need to question if she’s real or a figment anymore.

I know it’s gonna be us, for better or for worse.

* * *

That’s all the reassurance I need for months. I have the woman, and I have the dream life, and there’s nothing more that I could want. She came to me like a blessing in disguise, and my only job now is to nurture the relationship we’ve created between

each other. I have to lock in, and that goes further than romance. That goes for my career, as well. I have more than Steven to live for. It’s almost like my very own small, but put together family. Beyond them, I now have an abundance of kids who think I created a cereal brand.

That said—my life has had an extreme makeover.

After finishing the big move to my mother’s house, with Noelle, I fixed my mind on only moving on upward. I attend meetings with Noelle every other week, and therapy every week. That leaves time for training on all of the other days, and wherever there’s free time, it goes to my one and only ginger angel. Those moments are still the moments where I feel the most myself, and the most calm. Though I’ve pushed myself to these higher elevations, and I have the overwhelming urge to want to provide, I find myself feeling inklings of nervousness in front of crowds and cameras like nothing has changed. Rather, I’m just better at hiding it now, and Trey has given me superior public relations tips.

For a while, I was so distracted by my progress that I’d nearly forgotten who I’m training to fight. It’s seems like I will never escape the fucker, no matter how hard I try. I’m undecided on whether that part truly bothers me compared to the part where I have to wait to put my hands on him. Only three more weeks. The hardest part about it all is that we’re starting to promote and create hype for it, and that means public interviews and seeing each other for the first time since the incident. I don’t think it’ll disrupt my stride much, but it isn’t me that I’m concerned for. It’s Noelle. With expired Protection of Abuse forms, we’re in a pretty fucked position. I can only be her bodyguard to so many extents until a real court hearing. Which isn’t until after the fight. Our incident was one thing, but he managed to get into even more trouble with his drug use on his own occasion, resulting in a few charges that have nothing to do with us. With everything on paper, it doesn’t look like he’s winning that case. So all I have to do is protect our peace until then. I can do that. The first interview on the press tour is today. The only one for me, but one of many for Daniel. This isn’t a big deal, so it shouldn’t feel like it, but it does. I don’t mean to, but I’m mute the entire car ride there—steadily thinking about what to say and how it should be said. Now, we’re here and I’m getting that washing machine feeling in my gut. I’ll be fine once I’m sitting in my spot, but all that’s on my mind is getting through the

greeting of my nemesis.

“Don’t say anything crazy, okay? Remember to just keep civilized,” Noelle says, picking at the curls on my head to fix them in place to her liking.

“No promises.” I form a smile, watching her finalize my hair primping.

Her eyes darken, connecting mine with an equally menacing glare. “I mean it, Cole. You have this in your favor, and everyone loves you right now.”

I soften my face and kiss her cheekbone. “You’re worrying too much.”

Her tense aura fades after my lips touch her skin.

“I’m worried because this is your first time doing something so major since you were in a darker place. I want it to go well,” she says.

“And it will. I don’t have any fears, and neither should you,” I assure her, tapping her nose softly.

She succumbs to a huge grin, tightly wrapping her arms around my torso.

With a hint of aggression, Steven comes into the room, tossing the curtain close behind him before heading to the couch and plopping down while eating a small finger sandwich from the catering staff.

“That man is even more vindictive looking in person than I thought,” he says in between chews.

“I know. I finally match him in size and it looks like it’s still not enough,” I counter his commentary.

Trey then walks in, swinging the curtain closed behind him with a morose expression. “Elle and Steven, you both stay here and watch from the television. Cole, let’s go.”

I sigh, kissing Noelle’s head before letting her go. “Trouble awaits,” I intone, following Trey as he turns right around and walks back out from the curtained room, down the hall to the stage entrance.

From the second we turn the corner to walk onto the stage, I can see Daniel already waiting to meet me in the middle. Ironically, I know he’s waiting to say the most insufferable thing to me, when this should be a moment of team sportsmanship. His face is already flushed and his stance is wide with his chin jutted out. It all screams overly confident and compensation overload. Laughable, at best.

Before I can walk up to Daniel, Trey grabs my arm and pulls me back, uttering, “Do not say shit about the debacle with Noelle.”

I glance at the crowd, then back at him, whispering, “I can’t just lie.”

“Well figure something out, Cole. They don’t need details or any run downs. It doesn’t look good,” he chastises me, still keeping his voice low.

I sigh and nod, continuing a paced walk onto the stage. Meeting Daniel in the middle, I can see everything about him much more clearer. His tight lipped smile, his twitching jaw.

The way his pupils dilate and waver in size as he gapes at me. It’s all in high definition, and it’s not a nice view. That alone gives me enough reason to not take him seriously. Yet this is the competition, and he’s as serious as the day I lost my mother.

“You know you’re as weak as they come, right?” he hisses. No greetings or anything. Straight to insults, I see.

“That’s rich, coming from someone who needs substances and aids to gain skill,” I seethe, keeping my voice down with a smile to mask our tension.

“You just won’t roll over and give up, will you?” he responds, pessimistically.

“No. Not until I win, and I haven’t done that yet,” I combat his words with mine, adding a polite smirk.

Feeling the gentle tap of Trey’s fingers on my shoulder, I get the cue to take my seat at my table, waiting for the next set of instructions. A blonde reporter sitting amongst the small crowd of other journalists speaks into her microphone, whilst reading her stapled papers.

“We’re going to get started with the questions, since we know you gentlemen have places to be. We’ll start with Mr. Aguado, and then you, Mr. Kennedy. Then we’ll go back and forth with answers,” she states, looking at us both for approval.

Nodding once, I sit upright in my seat, giving my full attention. A man with glasses and a gravelly voice then takes his turn. “Mr. Aguado, I would like to know your opinion on branding, and how it’s gotten you this far. You seem to have this internet and stage presence that represents royalty, in a way. You even call yourself ‘The King’. Do you think recent charges have tarnished that image?”

Good to know they’re getting right into the personal ques- tions.

Daniel lets out a short laugh that sounds sinister, but charm- ing to the unknowing ear. “Do I? Hell no. But am I still the king? Damn right.” He nods, glancing in my direction. “It takes a man to earn that title. I didn’t make it myself. The people did. What happens in the ring matters more than a children’s cereal brand, don’t you agree?”

His arrogance is so painful to listen to, Jesus Christ.

The blonde journalist directs her attention toward me now. “Mr. Kennedy, thoughts?”

I clear my throat, looking around at everyone’s unreadable facial expressions.

“Uh, my opinion on branding? Well I think who’s watching us is just as important as what’s happening in the ring. If you think about it, most of our fanbases are filled with fathers and their kids. Those kids are the future us, and the future of my career. Not only that, but they’re easily influenced. So that’s who I’m here to impress,” I explain in a straight forward tone. “And they like Golden Crunch cereal, so, a win is a win.” I smile, adding the last part to amuse myself.

I amused some others too, catching a few bits of laughter in the audience.

Moving on from the previous guy, another reporter gets ready to ask her question. This time a woman with a much softer, polite voice.

“Colton—can I call you Colton?” she asks, shaken by her own words.

I smile, finding her face in the back of the room, nodding. I’m shocked nobody else is calling me by my first name. The last name thing feels like I’m bigger than what I am.

“Okay, Colton, do you feel like upping your weight class was a smart move? You won against him before and you were in a smaller class. Does it matter?” she asks, sounding excited by her own words.

Licking my lips, I lean into the skinny microphone to speak. “I think it comes to maybe third place on the list of any of the requirements I had for this. Obviously I can hold my own.” I shrug, huffing softly. “But I did get lucky. I would say that these days, I’m much more comparable now that my mental is good. I’m the healthiest I’ve been in a long time, so to answer your question—no, it doesn’t matter. What matters is being one hundred percent in every aspect so that you can give your all.”

The woman nods, as if she knew I was going to give that answer, smiling at me proudly before sitting down.

The audience turns their attention to Daniel, now. “I think that’s bullshit,” he says.

Of course you do. Your brain cells are sizzling into nothing.

“The bigger the better,” Daniel continues on. “The point is to crush your opponent. If you’re fragile, just say that,” he scoffs. I furrow my eyebrows, taking a gaze to Trey, who is fighting for his life to keep a straight face. That’s the only confirmation I need.

Another reporter butts in, adding to the question faster than I can recognize who they are. “Do you have a routine that you swear by, Mr. Aguado? What is your secret?”

Daniel, pursing his lips temperamentally, speaking into his microphone. “It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, now would it?” he snarls.

Now I’m getting second hand embarrassment. How can someone be so self-absorbed, yet so absent-minded and lacking self-awareness? The room is becoming really muggy with tension, and silence is brewing.

The blonde reporter chimes in, “We’re gonna move on to the next person.”

The next person is another man, tall in height and very corporate ready.

“I noticed a bit of animosity, Mr. Aguado, about this weight class topic. Would you say some of that anger is driven by recent tabloids? Rumors? Anything you wanna clear up with you, and maybe Mr. Kennedy?”

Oh fuck.

Daniel is quick to respond, not holding back. “There aren’t any rumors. That man is just as unprofessional and unwell as they claim I am. You can believe what you want, but it’s a fact. There’s more to the story.”

There’s more to the story, but none of the details would change the fact that he’s insane, and he’s the one at fault. I don’t have to expose anything, but I’ll be damned if I don’t defend myself.

“Mr. Kennedy?” The reporter looks at me.

I think hard about my choice of words, waiting a second to speak.

“I won’t dissect the situation deeply. It’s simple. Self-defense is appropriate when protecting yourself and those you love. Those who are defenseless,” I tell him, looking at Daniel at the end of my sentence.

Already grimacing at me, we both give each other unsettling stares.

“Can you tell us who’s defenseless in this situation?” he asks, sneaking in another question.

Trey then grabs the microphone, turning it his way to talk. “He doesn’t want to dissect the situation. Next question, al- right?”

I bat my eyes over to him and suddenly we are moving on. The next reporter is readying herself to ask something different.

“Mr. Aguado, if you beat these charges, do you plan on changing your image at all? Or any habits? With all these misconceptions that you claim are untrue, it must be hard to come back from. Do the misconceptions anger you? Like the rumors of illicit drug abuse?” she asks, loudly and with ambition.

It’s as if she is telling him that we all know, and asking what he plans to do about that.

Daniel’s hand smacks down on the table as he begins to talk. “First of all, everything and all of it are misconceptions. Anyone who even wants to believe that I’m on drugs is a psychopath. My image has been perfect until recently.”

The thud of his hand makes a few people jump, while others stare uncomfortably.

“Mr. Kennedy? Thoughts?” she asks.

I give her a warm smile. “Can I pass on that question? Do I get another pass?”

This fills the room with more laughter than before. And at Daniel’s expense.