TW // Violence

        ONE QUICK GLANCE around the room filled with the scent of nicotine and booze and violence junkies was enough for me to realize that this ring wasn't my thing. But none of that seemed to matter when all I could focus on was how Roman would not look at me.

        He listens intently to the man beside him, deep in conversation. But I knew that he knew I was there specifically for him. It shouldn't have been this painful to know that he didn't care.

        There's a bell rung and suddenly, Roman nods at the man and turns away from him. The guy climbs out of the ring quickly, as does Barrett's friend.

        Stats are rattled off about the two boxers, their heights, weights, and wins. Barrett seemed to be bigger than Roman on all accounts. Nervousness threatens to turn my stomach.

        Roman and Barret touch gloves, nodding once at one another. The referee speaks quietly to them and they nod in agreement. My stomach was in knots. The fight must be starting soon.

        I realize I was right as Roman and Barrett adopt fighting stances. The crowd cheers loudly around me, suddenly even more excited. If that was even possible. Some new sort of panic rushes through me, one that had nothing to do with the high volume of bodies around me and everything to do with the man preparing to fight someone in front of me.

        Barrett throws the first punch, one Roman swiftly dodges with such quick feet that it takes me a moment to even recognize the movement. It seems that Barrett took a moment to realize this too and that's all the time that Roman needs before he's throwing punches left and right. Barrett staggers away, clearly wounded but still standing tall. He wipes his mouth with the back of his forearm, blood staining the once clean skin.

The sight of the blood seems to enrage Barrett. He lets out a loud grunt and charges for Roman, landing a heavy punch to his right cheek. His face turns to the side and for just a moment, our eyes connect. Then Barrett is throwing body shots and Roman is making painful sounds that hurt me to listen to.

The round ends after that with Barrett in the lead. He and Roman stagger back to their corners where more men wait for them with buckets, small stools, and water. My eyes stay on Roman the entire time. He doesn't sit down but seems jittery, bouncing around on his feet as he listens to his coach. Too soon the match is starting back up. I have to stuff my hands into my pockets to stop them from shaking.

The boxers touch gloves before returning to their fighting stances. Roman has a cut just along his eyebrow, one that seemed persistent in spilling blood onto his face. It didn't seem to faze him. When Barrett charges at him this time, he's ready. Roman locks onto Barrett in what looks like a hug but isn't. I briefly remember Roman calling this move a clinch, a way to throw off your opponent and catch your breath at the same time.

Barrett pushes out of the move, using his strength to get away from Roman. I catch Roman's slight smirk just as he begins hammering into Barrett, throwing so many punches that the ref has to call him back. He'd knocked all the strength out of Barrett and left him weak. I knew before the announcer stated it that Roman had won this round.

He wins the third round too, but I can see the fatigue getting to him. It's no surprise when Barrett comes back and beats Roman in the fourth, leaving them tired and panting. By the time the fifth round starts, I'm practically bouncing on my feet. I'd never seen Roman look so exhausted and he had so many wounds I couldn't even begin to count them anymore.

Barrett is the first to act again, landing solid punches to Roman's chest and knocking him back into the ropes. Roman pushes up off of the ropes and bounces back to the middle. He holds up his arms in defense just in time for Barrett to begin striking him again. The punches are loud enough for me to hear in the audience. I couldn't even begin to imagine how much they had to hurt Roman.

So quickly I almost missed it, Roman digs under Barrett's punches and lands a heavy hit to the side of Barrett's head, one that has him spitting blood out into the audience. I recoil, watching as he pants heavily and doubles over. Roman lands a couple of punches to his abdomen and it's enough to bring Barrett to his knees, panting.

The ref begins to count and I watch as Barrett shakes his head before moving to his feet. He's up before the ten seconds are over, but one look at him shows me that he was far too wobbly to continue. The ref waves his arms before going over to Roman and lifting up his right arm. He'd won.

        I'm too stunned to cheer him on as the rest of the crowd does. They whoop and holler all around me but all I can do is stare at Roman, silently begging him to notice me too.

        Please, I think. Just look at me.

       As if I'd said the words aloud, Roman's dark eyes flash over to mine. I instantly wish they hadn't. He's looking at me but it's almost as though he's looking through me. Like he's stripping away at every layer I'd put up around myself and staring straight into my soul. Like he was searching for something in me. When he seems to find it, a look of anger flashes over his face. He turns away from me at once. Whatever he saw, he didn't like.

        The whole exchange couldn't have lasted longer than three seconds.

        A new sort of pain settles in my stomach as the look Roman gave me played over and over in my head. I should've listened to Charlie. I shouldn't have come. Why did I come?

       I start making my way through the crowd of sweaty bodies, fighting back tears. I didn't know why I wanted to cry and I was angry at myself for not having a better hold on my emotions. I was nineteen, for God's sake.

        "Excuse me," I mumble as I pass through person after person, trying my hardest to hold back the tears that threatened to spill out.

         I've just made it to the door when a hand grabs mine, spinning me around. Roman's there, sweat glistening off of his arms and shoulders, and he's staring at me. "Where are you going?" he calls over the chatter of the audience. They were all looking at him, the winner of the fight. I shrink under their gaze.

        "Home," I get out. I still sounded close to tears, to my dismay.

        Roman's brows furrow. It looked like a painful expression, what with the blood dripping from a cut on his eyebrow but he didn't seem fazed. "Why?"

        "You don't want me here, I don't want to be here," I retort, pulling my arm from his grasp. "Figured I'd do us both a favor and get the hell out."

        Roman licks his bottom lip, thinking about something. He tries to grab my hand again but I pull away, tucking them in my pockets instead. "Fifteen minutes, okay? Stay here and I'll find you. Just give me fifteen minutes."

        "I don't want to give you anything," I respond but he's already turned away from me and disappeared into the crowd. I rub my temples. What else could I do but wait?

So that's what I did. I found an empty corner against the wall and sat down on the cold concrete, my feet in front of me. The people died out quickly, probably headed to grab drinks and talk about the fight. It wasn't long until I was the only person in the place.

I'm getting ready to leave when I see him standing across the room. He's been cleaned up, with white gauze over his cuts, and dressed in a black crewneck and baggy jeans. I stare at him and he stares back. "Hey," he mumbles.

I don't respond, still staring at him. It was hard to place the angry words from the other day and the guy standing in front of me together, but they were. I didn't think he'd hurt me like that, but he did. And it seemed like everything else was broken because of it.

Roman lets out a big sigh as he realizes I'm not doing to greet him back. He plants his hands on his waist in the way a father would as he scolded his son. It made my blood boil. "Go ahead. Say what you have to say."

I push myself to my feet, glaring at him. "Okay," I say, crossing my arms. "I think you're a hypocrite."

"A hypocrite?" he repeats, sounding incredulous.

"Yes," I respond, anger coursing through my veins. "I don't get why you're always, always pressuring me to tell you how I'm feeling and what I'm thinking when you never let me in. You call me out for backing into a corner when I'm afraid that people see the real me, but all you ever do is hide, Roman. You hide behind your perfect face and your surface-level personality and your well-crafted facade but behind that, you're just a scared little boy inside a man's body. So get off your high horse for once in your goddamn life and tell me something real!"

I'm out of breath by the time I finish. He's still staring at me.

"Something real?" Roman repeats, again.

I drop my hands to my side exasperatedly. "Yes, something real!"

"How's this?" Roman says, glaring at me. "I like you. I like you and I know that you know that, and I know that some part of you likes me too."

My blood runs cold and all color drains from my face. I open my mouth to speak but he holds up a hand, making it all too clear that he wasn't done. I swallow back my words and stare up at him.

Roman walks towards me and I can practically feel the anger burning off of him. "I know that you're dealing with a lot and I know that I'm probably the last thing you need but that doesn't seem to matter. And I hate it when you call me perfect because I have spent my entire life trying to be that. But I am not. And I will not go back to that little child that lived to make everyone proud of him. The little child that wanted everyone to love him, t-that wanted everyone to accept him. I will not be that for you, no matter how much I like you. I will not."

I take a staggered breath. "You don't...you can't possibly like me, Roman."

"Don't tell me how I feel," he rasps, sounding put out. "You asked for me to tell you something real, and that is the most real thing I can tell you. I like you, Braylen."

I rub my chest with the heel of my hand, taking another shaky breath. How did I end up here? How did things come to this? "You hardly even looked at me all night," I mutter. "You could barely stand to see me here and when you did look at me...Roman, I've never seen you that angry at me before."

        Roman's brows furrow. "Braylen, I wasn't angry with you. I was angry with myself."

        "Why?" I ask.

        Roman sighs. "I was angry that in a room full of fifty people, I could pick out your voice over each and every one of them. I was angry that everything that happened the other day didn't even seem to matter anymore because you were here. I was angry that I could never be the man that you deserve no matter how hard I tried. I was angry at how desperately I wanted to be."

        "I don't understand where all of this is coming from," I mumble, ducking my head.

        Roman chuckles bitterly. "You do," he says. "You just don't want to admit it."

        I look up at him to find that we're only a couple of feet away from one another. I sniff. "Maybe you're right. Maybe some part of me did know," I say. "But you also know that I can't do this right now, Roman. I can't be the person you want, either."

        "I'm not asking you to be," he shoots back. "I just thought that if anybody should know, it'd be you."

        I rock back on my heels, trying to find the words to say. Roman seems to notice. "I'm not asking you to tell me that you fucking love me, Braylen. I know you're hurting. I don't expect anything from you. But I also know that this isn't one-sided. Am I wrong?"

        I swallow the lump in my throat. I think back to the aches that I felt when we weren't speaking or when we argued, the way every moment I spent with him seemed to brighten up my entire world. I could be myself around him. I wanted to be myself around him.

        "No," I whisper after a while. "No, I don't think you are."

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dramaaaaaaaaaa