Rhys : She's Not You

Rhys dragged his feet along the dusty gym floor, broom in hand, moving with slow, deliberate strokes. The gym's lights cast eerie, elongated shadows on the walls, amplifying the late-night solitude. The only sound breaking the heavy silence was the rhythmic swish of the broom against the floor.q

I glanced out the window near the elevator. Beyond, the campus lay cloaked in near-total darkness, the wind whispering through the trees in a haunting melody.

My hands ache, and I begin to feel pain in my legs. Each sweep of the broom feels heavier than the last.

It's not like I have much of a choice, but strangely, it's not as terrible as I thought it would be.

The amount of work mostly brings back memories, when I refused to see my teammates as a team and was tough on them and myself during training.

My desire to strike and see that intensity in my opponent. Many would think of this chore as a pain, but to me, it feels like it gives meaning to my life.

Time seems to stretch indefinitely, each minute feeling like an eternity.

With one final sigh, I wipe the mop and begin to run on the hardwood. I press on my toes to avoid slipping. Passing by the storage room, I notice pairs of gloves near a sandbag hanging from a bar.

"Zander! I want you to be strategic in your attacks. When you're in the ring, aim smartly,"

The coach's words don't leave my thoughts, and all these past years hit me in the face.

When you're in the ring.

If I had ever known that these words would sound like a knife being plunged into my chest, I would have never believed it.

Turning towards the cage, I dropped the broom with a loud clatter.

"Rhys, aim for the head! Don't let him breathe for a second!"

I look at the scoreboard, and my name is listed there.

Yularen Rhys, 2013.

The stands were packed, fans stomping their feet. The day was bright, the stadium reverberating with music and cheers. . This sensation evokes the feeling of being invicible.

Of facing someone who has the same rage as you, that rage to live. That feeling of being locked in with someone who wants your death and having no way out except to want his death as well.

Survival instinct.

Running my fingers along the cage, eyes ablaze with determination and longing. This craving that had consumed me for years, I had to push it down, contain it.

Suppress it.

Now I breathe but am I alive?

If offered that ring, I'd only find joy if my opponent craved blood as much as I did.

A person who couldn't sleep until my arm was torn from my body. A person who would attack the referee if he spared me. A person who would wait for me with his fists at the end of the match. A person who would spill my blood and hurt me until my bones broke.

I thirst for it.

As I walk around the cage, I no longer control my legs. My fingers become wet and my heart accelerates just by imagining being inside. It's night. The voices are gone, my name is no longer on the scoreboard, and I 'm alone.

The next match will take place in two weeks: Zander against Ruin Grimveil.

I imagine myself with them, pushing through late-night training sessions, shedding ten kilos for minutes of battle, vomiting from exhaustion until I collapse on the ground, limbs numb.

It's as if I haven't eaten for two years and no matter what food is given to me it would never be enough.

My stomach growled, demanding violence I couldn't provide. and when I don't give it what it asks for, it rejects. It wants this mess, the one I can't give it.

I try to fill this void, hitting myself, hurting myself, feeling my ankle twist and blood burning with rage and hatred but it's not enough and it never will be enough.

I can't give it what it wants. I could never give it what it's looking for.

What I'm looking for.

"First you aim for the head, but be precise. Use your jabs to open your opponent's guard, then follow up with hooks or uppercuts."

I wouldn't even bother defending myself. I would let him beat me until I bled in pain. I would let him tear me from my body, I would let him have all of me and I would take all of him.

"Keep in mind that headshots can disorient and mentally weaken your opponent."

If he's standing I'll bring him down and if he's down I'll send him six feet underground. I'll crush him until he regrets touching this sport.

This is my world, mine and I don't share.

My heart chokes me and my breath quickens as I grip the fence with all my strength.

My forehead is pounding again and again against the cage until my vision blurs with rage. A metallic taste on my tongue pulls me out of my thoughts and I'm an altruist again, in 2015, forced to clean the floor while fighting my chained demons.

My throat tightens as I step back and run towards the locker rooms. I rush to the tap, drowning my sorrows in cold water.

I see only red, blood, my blood mixing with the liquid. He has been watching this torture for years and yet it never stops flowing.

Just as I never tire of seeing that look in my reflection. The one I reserve for my opponents, the one I show to no one else.

My eyes freeze my bones and at that moment I don't know who I am anymore.

I won't do it again. I won't do it again. I won't do it again. I won't do it again. I won't do it again. I won't do it again. I won't do it again. I won't do it again.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I'll never thank this person enough for bringing me back down to earth.

Even if it's not who I could have imagined.

08:06 pm(unknown)

You listened to my advice

08:09pm

What advice?

08:10pm (unknown)

You didn't do a live yesterday

08:12pm

You were waiting for me?

08:13pm (unknown)

No

08:14pm

Were you spying on me?

08:15pm(unknown)

No

08:18pm

Do you miss me?

08:20pm (unknown)

No.

08:22pm

Lie to me one more time and I'll block you.

08:25pm (unknown)

I just wanted to hear your voice

08:26pm

You just had to ask.

08:27pm (unknown)

What do you mean by that?

08:28pm

Ask me.

My phone vibrates again, this time a call.

I leave the gym quickly, heading towards the parking lot. I never take the train because of my fear of heights. Who came up with the idea of making a train so high?

A poorly parked Rolls Royce flashes its lights at me. It's been ages since I've seen this car and I struggle to remember the last time I set foot in it.

Thalia Roberts.

My sponsor, she gives Jay more visibility on the internet. You could also say she's my agent. At least, that was the case.

The last time I saw her, I fired her, but seeing her number again and now her car, I realize that clearly didn't work.

I close the door as she sips a glass of champagne. I know this gesture was deliberate because I see a ring on her finger.

" Thalia."

" Jay" , she says, raising her glass.

" What brings you the misfortune of your visit?"

I smile at her as I take her glass from her hands and place it on the minibar.

"I got married."

"And you didn't even invite me?"

"You fired me? You forget?"

"I don't think I forgot, but you did."

Thalia sighs and stares at me as she timidly bites her lower lip.

I pull out my phone seeing that I've received a new message.

8:45 pm

Let me hear your voice.

8:46 pm

Please.

"Don't look at me like that," I say as I type on my screen.

I press the recording of a voice message and then I hold it firmly in my hand.

Thalia gripped my shirt, pulling me close, lips crashing into mine. I held the phone behind her neck, moaning hoarsely.

Pulling away, she stared at me in shock. I don't want her to ruin my recording so I put my legs on her thighs while letting my tongue slide on her neck.

"Please me tonight my sweet, can you?"

I nibble on her ear and feel her melt under my body. She removes my belt as fast as she can while I let my mouth run over her face.

Thalia doesn't recognize the sounds coming from my throat she has never heard them before and she didn't know it would affect her so much.

Thalia just doesn't know they're not for her.

I think of only one person when my vocal cords vibrate like this.

And that person is not a woman.