Knockout

Chapter 24

The fight on Saturday was brutal. He won, of course, but it was the worst in a while. He could barely move the next day, all of his muscles tensed up. Now he can walk and move relatively well but he's got bruises everywhere. He looks hurt, and in pain. Yet every time I bring it up I'm immediately silenced with 'not now Rachel' and 'it's fine I'm fine'.
Now he's sitting on the couch in the front room staring at the television. He's watching a fight, which I find ironic. I walk behind the couch and put my hands on his shoulders. He doesn't offer any type of response and I rub his biceps, leaning down and kissing his cheek.

"Feeling better today?" I ask him rubbing his chest.

He doesn't say anything, just turns to the side and looks at me. He doesn't want to talk about it, but I'm not done yet. I move around so I'm beside him on the couch, wrapping my arms around his neck. I observe him, through the thin cotton of his white t shirt I can see the outlines of bruises underneath.
I place my hand lightly over his abdomen and rest my head on his shoulder, letting out a sad huff of breath. I never liked seeing him this way and I was violently reminded of it on Saturday.

"You okay?" I ask him, the tip of my nose brushing on his neck.

He takes in a deep breath and exhales it for a long time. I knit my eyebrows. What the hell is going on? I lift off his shoulder and look at him with expectant eyes. I can't read the look on his face and I'm both frightened and curious.

"I don't want to fight." He tells me, and I know full well he isn't talking about the boxing.

"We're not fighting." I say right back, my expression shifting from worried to confused.

He sighs again and rolls his head back on the couch, taking a second the regroup. He then looks at me and it catches me off guard when he rises from the cushions, slipping from my grip. I sit back on my heels, waiting for him to say something. He stands in front of me and I look at him, unsure what to think.

"Marshall." I prompt, getting nervous in the silence. I know a fight is coming, whether I want it or not.

"If you want me to stop fighting, tell me right now." He sighs, and I'm taken aback by it.

"What?" My face twists in confusion. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't want to fight." He states again. "Let's just forget it." He tries to retreat towards his room but I stand up, not finished.

"Marshall you can't say something like that and then walk away." I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I don't understand why you told me I could fight if you don't want me to do it." He says, knowing he's not gonna get out of this one. "I gave you the chance to tell me no, I still am."

"Where did this come from?" I ask, genuinely confused as to why he thinks this.

"I know you cry after my fights." He tells me, and my chest tenses up. "That's why you never come home with me, right? Because you cry?"

Thatcher. I should kill that boy. I make a mental note to yell at Thatch later, he's the only one that could've told Marshall. No one else knows about that. But now I am certain this is going to escalate. Marshall's never been one to let things go.

"I can't help it." I confess.

The truth is I don't really want to cry after it just sort of happens. I'm sure he'd feel the same way if I got the crap kicked out of me for a living.

"I knew it." He rubs his face with his hand. "I knew it was true."

"Well I'm sorry for getting upset when I see my boyfriend all bloody and bruised." I say, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. He really doesn't understand. "Sorry for caring so much."