Letters to The Fighter ✔

2. Once Upon a Time?

March 10th, 2014

Dear Peter,

             Like every other love story, our's began with a Once Upon A Time, yet in so many ways, it was nothing like any other love story ever told. 

We met because of a project. A stupid English Project that became so much more than what it was meant to be. English and Literature had always been my forte, so imagine my surprise when one day Professor Harrison held me up after class to speak about the senior project I had turned in only two days earlier. He, much like everyone else, knew about my background in writing. He knew that it was what I was best at, so he suggested an inspirational piece. I was to pick someone or something that inspired me and somehow make a masterpiece out if it.

You know better than anyone else that I'm a sucker for adventure, right Peter? Or at least, I used to be. For days I rummaged through my otherwise creative mind for something―anything. A theme, an idea, or even an ending perhaps. 

I once told you that the best way to write a story was to first pick an ending. And the silliest thing about doing that is that the story never really ends. It goes on and on and still remains as numerous pages bound together. We grow old and we pass away, but our stories remain as maybe sutures of our past or perhaps morals for the future. 

Whatever it is, Peter, the endings are always the best part. 

I didn't know where to begin. Instead of there being millions of ideas having some sort of a frenzy in my mind, there was not one that excited me. So I gave up. I decided that some things cannot be chased after and that I'd simply have to wait for it to come to me. 

It didn't happen until days later, when I met up with Zoya at Kat's Café. 

She stumbled through the doors, strands of hair falling out of her ponytail and framing her face.

She didn't hesitate before ordering an extra strong coffee with espresso shots. No one could blame the poor girl. With only two months left until her wedding, she was stressed beyond belief. The heavy bags underneath her light brown eyes made it evident that she hadn't been sleeping much.

Her long legs carried her to over the booth where I was sat. She huffed as she sat down, nearly slamming her coffee mug on the table, the liquid dancing, threatening to spill over the rims.

My brows arched inquisitively.

"Wedding trouble?"

She threw her hands in the air incredulously, irritation etched into her features.

"The invitations came in yesterday and guess what? They were the wrong ones! Can you believe this? And David didn't even understand what I was getting all worked up about. 'It was just a mistake, Zoe, we'll get it fixed,' he said. Yeah, well, there is no room for mistakes now. And just the other day―"

I had never meant to ignore her. Zoya knew that she could come to me whenever she had a problem, but at that moment, I had problems of my own. I had three months to come up with something spectacular. A presentation that would not only make my Professor proud, but one that would satisfy me as well. 

After publishing my one and only book two years ago, I hadn't written anything that special. I didn't want to be a one-hit-wonder. I couldn't stand the very thought.

I didn't mean to, but I found myself simply nodding to whatever Zoya said, when in reality, I  was off somewhere in my own world.

Finally, she seemed to notice. 

"Are you even listening, Lucy?" she asked, her features contorting with annoyance when she realized that I was indeed lost in my own thoughts. 

I feigned a smile and lightly placed my hand on hers.

"I'm sorry, Zoe, it's just that project. I know that it isn't nearly as important as your wedding day, but I can't help but feel worried." 

I did feel rather selfish for putting my needs before hers, but she was aware of how much difficulty I'd been having with writing. It was the worst case of writer's block imaginable. 

Zoya's shoulders relaxed and she let out a laugh.

"Don't worry about it, Lucy. I guess we can both use a day off, yeah? Tell you what, David landed two tickets to the big boxing match downtown this weekend and he can't go anymore. It doesn't sound like the best way to spend Saturday night, but at least we'll be together. And it'll be something different―something fun." 

I let out a small sigh. Boxing? I'd always thought it was pointless and, honestly, a little dumb. I never fancied the thought of anyone getting hurt, especially for entertainment.

"I'm not a huge fan of boxing," I pointed out, voicing my thoughts.

Her eyes widened even more as she placed her chin in intertwined hands, her bottom lip jutted out slightly.

I sighed in defeat.

"Fine. I guess I can try something new."

She cheered, a wide grin slipping onto her lips. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she sipped her coffee.

"Who knows, Lucy. Maybe you'll find your inspiration."

I nodded; maybe she was right. 

I'd never before been to a boxing match so needless to say, I had no idea what to expect. No past experience could have prepared me for the inspiration I found the night that I was told the story of Peter Grayson. 

(a/n) Thank you for reading! I'm very excited to see how this story turns out!

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Dedicated to: @xxNightStarsxx for not only the gorgeous cover, but for being one of the most fabulous people around. If you don't follow Jess, you're really missing out.