Fight or Fall Read online

  “Ava,” Naomi’s voice was now reaching my ears. “She’s okay, my dear.”

  She sounded like she said she’s okay.

  My eyes searched her face, and I lowered my body into the small plastic chair so I could be at eye level with her. She was barely five feet, and I wanted to know for sure that what she was telling me was the truth.

  “She’s okay,” she confirmed, a smile forming on her face, the missing two bottom teeth courtesy of her violent past was now evident, but it was the smile I’d grown to love throughout the years. A smile that nurtured me; made me believe that no matter how dire your circumstances are, there’s still hope.

  She stood in front of me, her golden brown skin highlighted by the pale green dress she was wearing. Naomi, at forty eight years of age, was a picture of how even when the people in your life have shown you nothing but cruelty as evident by the long, jagged scars on the right side of her face, and the cigarette burn marks on her arms, that you can still live a full life, a better life than the one you were born and grew into. Her hands extended, offering to help me up. I gave her a quick smile, a long sigh of relief following it, as I clasped on her hands, while I slowly stood up.

  “Thank you, Naomi.” I replied, graciously, breathlessly. “Thank you for being here for her…for me. I tried to call you back, but the call wouldn’t go through.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes were apologetic, her left hand brushing her face, and worriedly she added, “I didn’t mean to make you panic. She wasn’t waking up. I left her to get some snacks and then when I came back, she wasn’t responding to my voice…I’m sorry, mi amor. Te pido perdón.”

  “It’s okay…” I stated, fully knowing that she was in a state of true helplessness when she called me. “I was just so scared and worried that she was gone.”

  “Ava? Is that you?” My mother’s voice interrupted my train of thought.

  “I’m here, mom,” I replied, giving Naomi another solid side hug before stepping in front of my mother.

  I leaned over and kissed her soft, inky black hair. Tuberose and pear. The scents so precious, welcoming, familiar.

  “Did you wash your face my dear?” Her melodic voice flippant and cheerful. “You have to take care of it… When you’re sixteen, all the teenage boys will be chasing after you because you’ll be the most beautiful girl in school.”

  Gazing into her blank eyes, I bent my knees, lowering myself to the level of the electric wheelchair that she sat on.

  “I have mom. I washed my face with La Mer and moisturized with Kinerase – just the way you taught me.” I signaled Naomi with a small tilt of my head, letting her know that I’m okay.

  Naomi still looked apologetic, but I shook my head, and I mouthed, “Thank you.” She nodded her head and slowly left the room.

  I held both of her hands softly at first, then tightly, giving myself reassurance that she was still here.

  “You’re just like me, my dear Ava. One day, when you grow up, you’ll have men falling at your feet and they’ll have a hard time standing up after.” She laughed, the lines on her mouth lifting as she did, her face transforming beautifully. The same exact face I see every day when I look in the mirror, except for my gray eyes. Hers were vibrant green. They used to be filled with so much life, so much vivaciousness, the colors ever-changing with her moods. They were still green, but now they were just there, a fixture on her face, a blank canvas.

  I caressed her hands, hands that could not feel my touch. “Mom, I don’t know about men falling at my feet. Maybe they’ll fall because I’ll trip them.”

  She laughed again. “Oh, Ava, sweetie pie. Your dad will be so upset when the boys start knocking on our doors.” Her white teeth flashed, her cheeks flushed with color. “I’m just glad we have a few more years with you before we start having that problem. You’re only ten, my love, it’s too young to think of these things.”

  “You’re right, mom,” I whispered solemnly, my hands busily fixing the creases on the brown slacks that she was wearing. “I’m still too young.”

  In her mind, I’ll be ten forever. At least according to the last neuro specialist that I had consulted many years ago.

  It’s too bad that I can’t remain ten years old, trapped in a time where my only worry was how to get my parents to agree to let me hang out with Brynn and gossip about the latest teen heartthrobs.

  Life has moved on for me, mom. But I’m glad that you’re stuck in a time where all you have are happy memories.

  Almost eight years ago, a scandal rocked Las Vegas’ upper echelon. A scandal that reached the radar of only a few people, as my father summoned all his high-powered connections in the media industry to contain it, removing any evidence of what really happened.

  On a cold winter night, Aliana Lea Troudeau, my beloved mom, former model, socialite, and philanthropist was involved in a car wreck on the I-15. A wreck that orchestrated life-altering consequences – leaving her blind, with permanent temporal lobe brain injury and anterior spinal cord syndrome. An accident that crushed the world of the man who did fall at her feet and was now entrapped in his own hell. The accident was not the scandal. The scandal was that she was traveling with my father’s best friend, his right hand man, Simon Lareaux.

  Sitting on the rusty metal swing, I unloosened my hair tie and took a deep breath. The air was dry, the sun’s rays beamed through the spaces between the leaves and branches. I didn’t even bother wearing sunglasses. I just felt so tired, drained, weak. But I needed to come here. After an exhausting shift, I just wanted to have some peace for a little bit. My thin scrubs were no match to the rough seat of the swing. I knew I was going to have some stains on my scrubs and maybe marks on my hands after sitting here but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be lost for a while...lost in my childhood.

  The heart-shaped tree marking with ‘A & B Buddy Bees Forever’ was blurry from my vantage point, but I knew it was there. It’s been there since the day Brynn and I made a pact. That whatever happened we’d always be there, be here, be everywhere for each other.

  I sighed and leaned on the swing’s metal handle, surveying my surroundings. The lime green two story house across the street was still there – the paint faded, the rooftop was littered with what looked like leaves and bird droppings, but other than that it looked pretty much the same. The house right next to it must have been renovated. The stucco rooftops gleamed in the sun and the red metal gate’s color looked freshly applied. I wondered where the blonde little girl who had lived there was now. Brynn and I used to compare her hair to the girl’s hair – which of theirs was the golder, lighter blonde. I think her name was Karrie. She was nice and sometimes played hide-and-seek with us.

  How I missed my best friend. How I wished I could talk to her right now. She was traveling again with Kieran. I’m really happy for her. But I just...ahh, I missed my best friend.

  The soft swaying motion of the swing was lulling, beckoning me. My eyes fluttered closed. Maybe I should go back to my place. The gentle breeze, unusual during the summer months, was making my eyelids heavier. I should really start heading back to my condo... My sight started getting blurry until darkness swept over me.

  Boom! The extra loud sound of something smacking on the ground startled me awake. Before I could trace the source, I heard another Boom!

  Oh my goodness! Brynn’s childhood home was being attacked.

  By what? I quickly fished my phone out of my pocket. No one’s supposed to be here. It’s been empty since Brynn and I came out here for a visit months ago.

  Boom!

  I was scared but I was also curious. Maybe this time I’d be the kitty that got killed because of my curiosity, but I didn’t really want to cause unnecessary alarm to the cops if a whole tree fell on the ground and I mistook it for a nuclear device.

  Boom! Again. Cold sweat started in my body, anxiety prickled my senses.

  I walked towards the back of the house, standing flush against the wall, my phone on my right han
d ready to press send.

  For the few seconds I was inching my way from the front porch to the back, where the sound was obviously coming from.

  The booming noise stopped, no other sound permeated the air.

  Silence. Quiet. Stillness.

  My hand was shaking, my nerves locking up in panic. I should really call the police.

  What if Brynn’s old house was now a hotbed of weapons of mass destruction and they were testing illegal weapons here?

  Get a grip, Ava.

  As I rounded the corner, I saw three extra heavy, extremely huge tires on the ground, sitting atop each other. No one was in sight.

  What the…?

  “Prissy Princess.”

  “Eeekk!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, with my phone falling from my hand, my legs shaking, feeling weightless.

  I recognized the voice, but somewhere between my curiosity, fear, and anticipation, I lost the ability to tell my brain that the person uttering my name was familiar to me.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice was loud against my ears, but my mind refused to make the connection.

  “Eeekk!” I let out another ear-piercing scream.

  A large hand clamped around my mouth. Another hand wrapped around my waist. I didn’t struggle against it. I couldn’t. Not when I’ve waited and wanted this for so long.

  “I’m going to remove my hand now, so please don’t scream anymore.” His gruff command broke my muddled, panicked state.

  He slowly turned my body around. I was so embarrassed at my unprecedented, uncalled for screaming that I kept my head low.

  I could die in shame in this very spot.

  I eyed his black running shoes first, then his strong, muscled legs, covered by dark green shorts that went way below his knees and cinched just below his waist. I slowly let my gaze travel up his body – solid six, no, more like eight-pack of abdominal muscles that rippled in sheen and sweat, the skin on the left upper side of his stomach still darkened and bruised from the fight, his biceps and broad shoulders well-defined with the show of impressive muscles. A Celtic knot tattoo roped around his upper right arm, his stamp of loyalty, his brand of commitment. I’d recognize it anywhere.

  Why does he have to be always naked? Or half-naked? Gah, last time I saw him, at the men’s shower room after his fight, which I shouldn’t have gone to in the first place, I managed to take a peek at his enormous, bulging erection. I had to physically restrain myself from going down on my knees and worshipping it with my tongue. I’d never done the deed, never even performed any type of oral action to anyone, but this man, he’s the physical embodiment of my favorite character in the Iliad, Achilles. He’s also equal to Achilles in his rage.

  My eyes trailed the trickle of sweat that dampened his tanned skin, I bit my lip to stop my tongue, again, from wanting to lick it.

  Seriously, Ava, you need to go to sleep. Obviously, lack of sleep was affecting my actions and my thoughts.

  He was saying something, but all I could see was his broad jaw, full lips, and prominent nose. Greek gods had nothing on him. His dark hair was cut shorter, the hair on the sides tapered short, almost like a modified crew-cut. He was an extremely handsome guy. I’d met a lot of attractive guys, but Milo, tell it to my traitorous heart and libido, was the guy that caused my heart to flutter off-the-charts. He’s the guy I wanted to kick in the groin and comfort in my bosom at the same time. Did I say bosom? Seriously, this close of proximity to him was doing irreparable damage to my neurons. He’s my Achilles, my male perfection. And his eyes, who were drilling holes at me with an unreadable expression right now, is the arrow that poisoned my heart from desiring any other men.

  When I gazed into his breathtaking deep green eyes, the color as rare as my mother’s jade vine, I caught a glimpse of the honorable, most caring, over-protective man I’ve ever met. I always admired him when I was a little girl - the way he loved his mom, dad, Brynn, and their Aunt Margie.

  When I was fifteen, he punched a guy for insulting me, who had called me a snotty slut behind my back. Milo didn’t know that I knew. My classmate in American Government and Economics, Myra, told me during lunch time that Milo got into a fight with Ledger – a sorry excuse for a boy who followed me around, pretended to be my friend, and when I refused to kiss him, started spreading rumors about me. At that moment I didn’t just admire him. At such a young age, I knew that if I was to fall in love, I’d want it to be someone like him.

  Or maybe just him.

  Whew!

  My shoulders burned from the 600-plus pound tires I lifted and flipped over and over again. The last three times made a crashing sound when I stacked them one on top of the other. The pile looked neat until the top tire teetered and fell and the other one followed. The aching tension and strain of the muscles on my neck and shoulders was something that I’m used to.

  When I was swimming, Coach Trevails incorporated strength training in my workout regimen. It helped improve my vertical jumping strength and took off precious seconds from my start times. Now, as a fighter, it made flipping over guys who were twice my size easy and almost effortless. How big a guy was didn’t scare me. They could be a thousand pounds heavier than me, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was how they fought, if they could knock me around, or even manage to catch me off-guard.

  After running for an hour and taking a break by flipping over tires; punching a bag of sand and synthetic fibers later sounded like a breeze. I knew the strength and power of my body. I’ve pushed my limits hundreds of times. Four hundred push-ups, two hundred pull-ups, and forty sets of bench presses were mere warm-ups. People who called swimmers gay were a bunch of pussies. I could throw a punch as great or even greater than Manny “Pacman” Pacquiao. No disrespect to the man, but his former sparring partner was my strength and physical conditioning coach and was the one who branded that thought in my head. The mixed martial arts fighters on TV? Shit. I could have become one of them if I had wanted to. I was a black-belt in Taekwondo at the age of eight, won as many American Taekwondo Association competitions as U.S. Swim Meets. I just loved being in the water more than breaking slabs of concrete.

  A movement on the side of the house caught my eye. No one’s supposed to be here. After dropping the last tire, I swiftly ran to the side where I saw something move.

  A female figure with long dark hair, clothed in dark blue scrubs, stood on the side with a phone almost falling from her hand.

  What the f-?

  “Prissy Princess,” I started, standing behind her. What was she doing here? Why was she wearing scrubs? Or clothes? More than half the time she was dressed in some skintight outfit that a mosquito would be lucky to come out alive if it somehow got trapped inside one of her dresses.

  Her neck twisted, her gray eyes opened in shock, and an ear-splitting scream came out of her mouth.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, hoping to let my ears recover from the damage she might have caused.

  “Eeekk!” Another screeching sound filled the air. Shit. If I didn’t die from my bruised ribs, I’m pretty sure my ears would be hemorrhaging from her shrill screams.

  I clamped a hand against her mouth. A mouth that felt so soft against my rough hand, and whispered, “I’m going to remove my hand now so please don’t scream anymore.”

  She nodded and lowered her head. As I turned her body around, my other hand felt the dip in her waist, and I inhaled a flowery, feminine scent. Her head was still down. Maybe she was trying to regain her composure. I took her profile in, taking note of the messy, wild wisps of hair that hung loosely around her face, her ears beet red, the tiny diamond earrings sparkling brightly against her flushed color.

  “Ava, Prissy Princess, it’s me...” I muttered. Maybe I had startled her into a coma.

  She slowly lifted her face, and the second her gray eyes met mine, fuck, I’d seen women look at me. I’m not a bad-looking guy. I was never the type of guy who obsessed about looks. My face was just that – a face -
complete with eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

  But Ava, the way her lips parted, the smoldering heat in those usually cold eyes, the redness staining her cheeks – she was looking at me with complete, unadulterated desire. Maybe she’s imagining a different guy right now? She’s never looked at me this way.

  She licked her lips, her pink tongue rolling around her lips, the innocent act sending a lightning bolt straight down to my boxers. Before I could think twice about it, my hand drifted from her waist to her ass, and I squeezed.

  “Milo...” she whispered. With my other hand still on her face, I pressed a finger down on her lower lip, her face now burning red. I felt the heat coming off her breath, she smelled of forbidden fruit – orangey, minty, fresh.