Chapter 9: Love, Death, and Lies 1
A life is time, they teach you growing up
The seconds ticking killed us all
A million years before the fall
You ride the waves and don't ask where they go
You swim like lions through the crest
And bathe yourself in zebra flesh
-Primitive Radio Gods
I’d rather be anywhere but here today. I prepared myself mentally the best I could. It’s hard. After all, this is where it started. I take another deep breath and exhale. Think happy thoughts, I tell myself for the hundredth time today. I’ll get through this. Remember why you are here, Kiva. Remember, it’s all for Clarissa. Yes, my daughter Clarissa, she’s the reason I’m here - the only reason. Another Saturday, another Texas town, another Pee Wee football game.
Give me a B! Give me an E!
Give me an S! Give me a T!
What's that spell? Best! Best!
Put us to the test!
We'll beat the Panthers
We won't give 'em a rest!
Cheerleaders. The sweet innocent voices chill my blood like the sound of fingernails across a chalkboard. Yet, I endure. They’re not the problem. “Great job, Clarissa,” I shout.
My back had been feeling much better, but the bleachers are making it worse today. Tom is next to me. The air fills with the sounds of elementary school boys clashing on the field, referees blowing whistles, and 7- to 9-year old cheerleaders chanting. I see Clarissa and her little teammates go through their routines with remarkable precision and synchronicity. After all, they practiced hard and were trained well, and I see the woman responsible for their impressive performance. I see … Cynthia.
In her shorts and tank top loosely covered by an opened warm-up jacket, she looks beautiful. With her hair tied into a ponytail, the muscular legs stride gracefully along the sidelines as she encourages her students. We haven’t spoken since the fight. Tom has been driving Clarissa to practice to spare me the awkwardness. Perhaps I should have known better than to fight someone connected to my daughter. I can’t deny that Clarissa loves “Miss Cynthia” as her coach. A wave of maternal pride washes over me as I watch my daughter perform her routine. I reach my hand out to join it with my husband’s. “Isn’t she beautiful?” I breathe. “Tom?…Tom?” I turn to see he is preoccupied … looking at … Cynthia. “What the fuck?” I mutter to myself as I jam my elbow into his ribs.
After being defeated and humiliated before my husband’s eyes, I find it impossible not to wonder what he really thinks. He says he’s proud of me in my effort against Cynthia. Indeed, since the fight, he’s been even more virile in bed. If my back wasn’t so sore, I’d be having a wild time. But what does he really think of me compared to her? He certainly didn’t complain as we sat across the table from her until dawn.
The game is over. Cynthia wraps things up with her girls. Clarissa is so cute as she runs to rejoin us. “Mommy,” her little voice announces, “Miss Cynthia wants to talk to you.”
“Kiva? Tom?…Do you have a minute?” I hear Cynthia’s voice. I see Josh beside her in his red jersey. Shit, now what?
“Well,” Cynthia starts, “I just want to say that Clarissa is doing exceptionally well. I’d like to try her as a flyer. I think she’s perfect for it. And…I want to let you know that we’ll be holding a cheerleading camp next month. There will be workshops. Some of my old teammates will be there as instructors. We’ll be going over new techniques and stunts. It’ll be great. I hope you’ll consider sending Clarissa. Registration will start next week.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “We’ll check our schedules and consider it.”
“So how YOU doin’, kiddo?” Josh asks.
“Fine.” I look at Cynthia and I think of the hundreds of ways I could have taken her. I instinctively size her up like I would any woman, but it’s so strange. I’m looking at a woman who already defeated me. I wonder if, when she sees me, does she say to herself, “I own her”?
“You know,” Cynthia adds, “it’s so cute seeing Tom bringing Clarissa to practice. I don’t often see dads getting involved. But Tom comes early, helps us set up the floor mats, and then he stays late to help us clean up. He’s the last parent to leave. It’s so cute. We gave him a nickname. We call him ‘The Roadie’”.
“Yup,” I sigh. “That’s my husband. Mr. Helpful.” I give him a quick sideways glare.
“Well,” she says, “Josh and I are going out for a late lunch. Why don’t the two of you join us?”
“Sure, we’d love to,” my helpful husband is quick to answer. This can’t be happening.
“Sorry,” I interject, my voice overpowering his. “We have to leave. Clarissa has a school project to finish. But thanks.” My backbone is returning figuratively and literally. I settled all debts with this woman. She will not control my life.
We exchange polite goodbyes and head to our car. “Are you fucking kidding?” I grumble to my husband under my breath.
The weekend is past and I’m back to work. I no sooner step into my office when I hear a tap on the door.
“Hey.”
“Yes, Tori.” This day is already starting badly.
“I heard….my sister was there. She’s one of the cheerleaders.”
“Oh?”
“So,” the pharmacist asks, “what will you do next?”
“Take a break,” I explain. “I need a little more time to recover….Uh…how about you?” Please Lord, let her tell me she’s not fighting again.
“I’ll be fighting again soon.” I feel my heart sink as I groan. Tori continues, “Billy thinks he found the right opponent for me.” Okay, my heart just dropped to the floor.
“Billy?…really, Tori,…Billy?…you mean fucking BILLY?”
“Well, yeah,” she responds, “Billy says he has the perfect opponent for me.”
“And you believe that?” My voice is agitated. “Is this the same Billy that said Kelli was your perfect match. That you could take her?”
“Well,” she says with a slight stammer, “I could have taken Kelli. I just made one tiny mistake.”
“I’ll say,” I snap. “Your mistake was showing up. Why, Tori, on God’s green earth, would you ever listen to anything Billy says after he set you up for disaster like that? How can you be so gullible?”
“Well, Billy knows a lot about fighting….He’s training me himself.”
Now it’s my jaw that’s on the floor. “Billy?…Training?….You?”
“Yeah,” Tori replies. “He’s teaching me everything he knows.”
“I bet he is,” I snark. “For fuck’s sake, Tori, I can’t possibly make this warning any stronger. Billy is using and abusing you. The dickhead is going to fuck up your life. Break it off with him immediately. Stay away from that club. Do not let him book you for fights. If you want to fight, find a trainer who only has your best interests at heart and find opponents suitable for your level.”
“Will you be my opponent?”
“Seriously, Tori, you want to fight … me?”
“Yeah,…Amber says you don’t have much.”
“Amber?” It can’t be.
“Yes, Amber. My sister. The cheerleader. She says she can take you easily.”
I’m done. “Tori, this conversation is over. I’ve said all I can say. The rest is up to you.” As she leaves, I give her a parting message. “Tell your little shit sister she can meet me in the cage anytime.” Idiot.
My patient care shift starts. I grab my stethoscope and receive report from the night nurse. One patient in particular is very familiar to me.
“Good morning, Elena,” I say in an upbeat voice.
“Why hello, Kiva,” she smiles. Her voice is weak and barely audible but disarmingly cheerful.
Elena is now in her third month of hospitalization. She managed to recover enough from her latest pulmonary infection to be removed from the ventilator. However, that fact does nothing to change her grim prognosis. Her leukemia is back in full bloom, overcrowding her bone marrow, circulating through her blood, infiltrating organs. She won’t survive a second stem cell transplant. She’s reached the limit of the radiation and there are no additional chemotherapy treatments known to be effective. Simply put, Elena is out of options. Yesterday, she and her husband met with her doctors and interdisciplinary team to discuss home hospice. The plan would be to have her die peacefully at home under the care of hospice nurses.
“How are we doing with your pain level, girlfriend?” I ask.
“Good. I don’t have any pain.”
“I see you haven’t taken much breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.” She looks at me like she has something important to say. “I may be going home tomorrow…if all the hospice equipment is ready.”
I immediately sense that I’m about to have one of those special nurse-patient moments. It’s those times when the two of us connect in a very profound experience. And what can be more profound than a thirty-year-old wife and mother coming to the end of her life. Elena sits up in her bed. Her white patient gown hangs on skin covering bare bones. Her 95-pound frame, down 30 pounds since her illness is emaciated. Her beautiful black hair is pulled back. Her cheek and temporal bones are prominent due to the loss of flesh. The large brown eyes are sunken into their orbits. But despite her vitality slipping away, there is an unmistakable dignity and tranquility about her. When she smiles, her straight white perfect teeth still shine. Her laughter infuses a flash of life, the brown eyes still dance. If just briefly, the drawn and wasted face transforms into a messenger of hope,…and strangely, of happiness. I pull a chair beside her bed and sit with her, holding her bony fingers with the palm of my hand.
“I’m ready,” she says softly. “It’s hard to leave Ramon and the boys. But I won’t really leave them. I’ll be there for them even if they don’t realize it. My love will always fill their house. I’ll be there when they laugh, when they cry, when they celebrate, when they marry, when their babies are born. I’ll do my best to encourage them, to inspire them, to comfort them. I will always, always love them…And…I will wait for them.”
I squeeze her hand and wipe my watering eyes. Moments like this are the best and worst parts of being a nurse. It’s the joy of the privilege of sharing in the most intimate personal time of a patient’s life mixed with the obscene travesty of death. In nursing school, they teach us the Kubler-Ross five stages of dying. But absolutely nothing prepares us for these types of experiences.
“Kiva,” she whispers, “you’re not yourself. I can tell. You don’t have your swagger. What’s going on?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I tell her. In these circumstances I can’t think of anything more absurd and self-centered than to whine to her about my loss to Cynthia.
“No,” she persists, “something is bugging you. Say it, girl.”
“Oh Elena,” I respond, “it’s really no big deal. It’s just that…I lost my first fight…But it’s okay.”
The large eyes stare at me intently. Her expression doesn’t change. She slowly nods as if in contemplation. “Tell me about it,” she appeals.
“No, really. …You have more important things on your mind,” I reply, immediately realizing the awkwardness of that comment.
“Kiva, you’re important. And I have time. Please tell me what happened.”
Elena seems to be changing by the minute, transforming from a frail dying woman into some kind of ancient wise sage. I have no doubt her interest in my well-being is genuine … and very moving. I cave in. I find myself reciting the whole affair with Cynthia, from the initial challenge, to the fight, to the humiliating finish and aftermath. Throughout my entire sorry story, she says nothing, the face remains still and expressionless, the eyes are firmly fixed and attentive. I am aware of the irony of the situation. My terminally ill patient has become my therapist.
“So that’s how it went down,” I conclude my tale. “You know, I just didn’t think I’d lose like that. I let these old insecurities that I thought were long past rise up…and it cost me…it’s crazy…I don’t know why. And Cynthia really didn’t do anything to provoke it. I just pushed it all on her….I made mistakes in the fight that I don’t think I would have made otherwise.”
Elena stares straight ahead like a Sphinx, draws a few deep breaths, then finally speaks.
“You learned something about yourself,” she exhales.
“I suppose,” I said, “but it’s not anything good.”
“But it’s good that you recognize it,” she replies. “We all have dark traits inside us. We think we’ve outgrown them and they’re no longer part of us, until they resurface again. The first step in removing them for good is to know they’re still there. We need to realize we’re not as wonderful as we think we are.”
She pauses to catch her breath as even speaking seems to wear her out. “Heaven is within us,” she continues. “The Promised Land is you. The Canaanites are all those jealousies, greed, and selfishness we have inside that destroy our peace. When they’re driven out and destroyed, we’ll know love and true joy.”
“I don’t know, Elena,” I reply. “I got kicked out of Sunday school at age seven for asking too many questions. So where did all this wisdom come from?”
“When you become close to death,” she explains, “the veil becomes thinner. You see things you couldn’t before. You’re a good person, Kiva. Someday, you’ll understand.”
“So,” I ask, “should I quit fighting?”
“No, I’m not saying that. If you want to fight, that’s where you are on your journey. You’re still growing even if you don’t realize it.”
It’s not uncommon for dying patients to report spiritual experiences as they approach death. Ask any hospice nurse. Some feel they’ve gained new insights. Some believe they were visited by deceased love ones. Others see religious figures. Are these supernatural experiences? I doubt it. I don’t think we understand how the brain affects us as it goes into shutdown mode.
I finish up my shift and fight back tears saying goodbye to Elena, perhaps for the last time. Heading back to my office, my cell phone rings. I see the name on my caller ID and feel like I just went from heaven to hell.
“Yes, Billy?”
“Kiva, I have a favor to ask you…But first I want to say ‘no hard feelings’.”
“What?”
“Well, you cost me a good chunk of change with the Destiny fight…but…I’m not going to hold it against you.”
“Thanks.” Douchebag.
“Listen, maybe you can help me out. Would you be willing to fight a rematch with Ginger?”
“Not really. Why?”
“She wants it. She feels she was unprepared last time and you bullied her into a fight.”
“She should have thought of that when she lied and sent me into the men’s room.”
“Well, she’s really embarrassed about that fight and she’s still stewing about it. It’s, uh, affecting her work performance.”
“Her work performance?”
“Uh, yeah. She’s just not putting out…I mean, uh, the effort is just not like it used to be.
“Hmm. I see,” I respond. “And how’s Tori’s work performance?”
“Tori’s doing great,” Billy explains. “She’s a fast learner. A real eager beaver. Uh, I mean, she doesn’t really work for me. I’m training her.”
“I bet,” I sigh.
“Hey,” he shoots back. “Do you want to fight Tori?”
“No I don’t. And leave her alone. She’s just a kid, Billy. She doesn’t need you fucking up her life.”
“You can have your choice, Ginger or Tori. I’ll need your answer by tomorrow.”
“You can have my answer now. No and no.”
We end the conversation and I work on the staffing schedule. Another tap on the door and I look up as Tori enters.
“Guess what?” She beams. “I just got off the phone with Billy and guess who he booked me to fight?”
I straighten up and stare at her with utter dread.
She can barely restrain her excitement. “I’m fighting … Jolene!”
I’m about to faint. But at this point, I’m hardly surprised. “Tori, are you out of your fucking mind? Do you have any idea what Jolene is going to do to you? Wasn’t Kelli enough of a disaster. How delusional can you possibly be?”
“Billy says I’m ready.”
“Haven’t we heard that before?”
I cannot even visualize the horror of a Jolene vs. Tori fight. I realize the futility of reasoning with her. I wish Tori luck and as she departs, I reach for my cell phone.
“Hello, Billy, I’m begging you do NOT let Tori fight Jolene. OK, OK, Billy, I’ll tell you what. I’ll take Jolene’s place and fight Tori. If I win, promise me you will never book her again and you will stop seeing her. I’ll do it, just please cancel the Jolene fight.”
“You got a deal, darlin’” the slime-ball responds. “It’s Kiva vs. Tori tomorrow night.”
“And you’ll stop seeing her if I win?”
“You got my word, sugar.”
Finally, the day is over and I pack up to leave. In the hallway, I barely lock the door when I hear a male voice, “Kiva, do you have a second?”
“Yes Frank, what is it?”
It’s impossible not to notice the charisma oozing from this man. The heartthrob resident approaches and my eyes are drawn to the dark skinned classical face, the curly short black hair, the thin mustache, and the perfect dimpled smile. His long white coat can’t quite conceal the shape of the killer body underneath.
“Did you get the minutes of the residency meeting I sent you?” He asks. “We’re proposing a resident-nurse liaison model. You know, to promote teamwork and efficiency.”
“I received it but I haven’t had a chance to look it over yet,” I answer.
“Ok, well when you do, let’s set up some time to discuss it. ...Or…” So predictable. I know what’s coming. “Or ... you and I can head out tonight for a few drinks and a bite to eat and go over the proposal.”
“You don’t give up, do you?,” I admonish. “When are you going to get it through your head I’m a wife and mother. I don’t have the time or interest to be shmoozing with young turks like you.”
“Well,” he replies, “it’s just that you’re the smartest and most clinically brilliant nurse I know and I just can’t wait to hear your analysis of the proposal. If there’s any nurse who I’d want as my liaison, it’s the phenomenal Kiva.”
“Goodnight Frank.”
Finally, I’m home. I inform Tom of the planned fight with Tori tomorrow night at Billy’s. The douchebag himself texted me to confirm that Tori is fine with switching opponents. It’s now late and I seize a few minutes of quiet alone time. I’m actually glad to be fighting again after the Cynthia debacle. I can’t take Tori lightly. She’s has a size advantage and she’s athletic. And who knows what dirty tricks Billy has been teaching her? And my back still isn’t completely healed.
I’m going over some strategies. It’s clear that I’m best as a standup striker but I’d like to change that. After this fight I’ll focus on wrestling and submission holds. Still, if Tori flails wildly like she did against Kelli, I should be able to end the fight quickly.
I check my messages on the catfight website. First is from … Paige. What the fuck does she have to say?
“HA! How did Cynthia’s school logo taste? You’re a nobody, alright. That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. Lol!”
Someday, I’ll shut that bitch’s mouth. I just don’t know when. But…how did she know about the Cynthia fight? Prior to the fight, Cynthia and I agreed we would each have a video copy and would not share it without the other’s permission. I guess word of mouth gets out quickly.
Next message is from…Gloria?
“Listen good, skank. Stay away from Frank or you’ll be crying. He’s MINE! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!!!”
For the life of me, I have no idea who Gloria is. She’s sent me similar messages before. Her face is hidden in her profile pic. Obviously, she knows me from work and must have seen me talking to Frank. I don’t know a Gloria and can’t think of who this could possibly be.
“Who are u, bitch?,” I type. “Identify yourself. What ru afraid of? And for the last time, I DON’T WANT FRANK!”
Finally, I see a return message from…Cynthia? That’s funny. I didn’t message Cynthia. The thread is subtitles “Thanks”. The OP is…Shit…it’s Tom from a few weeks ago. What the f-.
“Thanks for hosting Kiva and I. We had a wonderful time and enjoyed sharing in your memories. The fight was great. Kiva is my queen but the better woman won. Congrats!”
Christ! He makes it sound like we attended a garden party. He didn’t tell me he sent this. The original post is missing in the sent file. Did he delete it? Cynthia’s responded.
“Thanks and our pleasure. Tell Kiva no hard feelings.”
What. The. Fuck. No hard feelings? That phrase again. I’ve never doubted my husband. Communicating with Cynthia behind my back? I know there’s no threat there. Cynthia and Josh are practically melded together. Still, I think I’ll start taking Clarissa to cheerleading practice again. “The Roadie” is finished. I’m tired and need to get to bed. I grab a pillow and blanket and curl up to sleep - on the couch.
My fatigued brain ruminates on the characters I’ve interacted with today: Tori the gullible fool, Billy the immoral opportunist, Frank the vain womanizer, Paige the controlling and vindictive trophy wife bitch, Gloria the mysterious psycho. And my fucking husband. And … Elena…dear Elena.
I almost forgot how beautiful the apple orchard is in late summer. I haven’t been here in years. The grass and patches of clover create a tapestry of green hues. At the edge of the orchard, the horses hang their magnificent heads over the wooden pole fence. When I was a kid, I would feed them apples until I got scolded by the owner. In the fall, the long grass would turn brown and ripple like golden waves in the late afternoon sun. This is all so vivid.
Who is this coming from the field beyond the orchard, gliding through the grass dotted with yellow buttercups? Her white summer dress flows out as she passes the monarch butterflies pausing to feast on the milkweed during their annual migration. The white jasmine flower in her jet black long hair is as bright as her dress. She’s coming closer, as she enters the grove of trees. I think she knows I’m here. Is it? It can’t be?…Elena?
Oh Elena, look at you. You’re gorgeous … so vibrant. You’re not sick anymore. The leukemia is gone. Come closer so I can see you better. There’s so much more I want to tell you.
A white bird, a dove, descends from an apple tree bough and flutters circles around her until she extends her hand and invites it to perch on her finger….Petey? Is that you? My parents were right. You really are waiting for me. Oh God, Petey, I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I should have protected you…No…Wait a minute…This isn’t real…None of this…This is a dream.
When I was an eight-year-old girl, my parents gave me a white dove, actually a pigeon, for a gift. I named him Petey. We kept him out back in a pigeon coop. Every day I fed him, gave him water, cleaned his cage. After school, I’d take him out of his cage. He’d sit on my hand or shoulder and I’d walk around with him but he never tried to fly away. My parents said he was bonded to me.
One morning, I brought him his food but saw he was missing from his coop. A large hole was torn through the wire and a chaotic pile of feathers lay ominously on the ground. My parents explained I would not see Petey again. To console their tearful little girl, they told me Petey had grown to be very strong and broke through the cage. He decided to fly around so he flew and flew until he was so high in the sky that he reached heaven. He was so happy in heaven that he decided to stay but he always thinks of me and some day when I’m really, really, really old, I will go to heaven too and Petey will be there waiting for me.
Of course, when I got a little older, I realized the bitter truth that Petey became dinner for a fox that chewed through the pigeon coop wire. I felt so guilty that I should have prevented it. I was so angry at my parents for feeding me a delusion. But I guess I couldn’t blame them.
Elena and Petey and the apple orchard are fading. I don’t want them to. I want this to be real. Stay…please stay.
“Kiva?” My husband. “Kiva, are you coming to bed?…Why are you crying.”
“Uh, I was just watching a dumb sad late night movie. You go on to bed. I’ll just sit out here and read for a little while.”
It’s Saturday morning and I’m off work. I insist on taking Clarissa to cheerleading practice. I keep a polite distance from Cynthia. At one point, she smiles and waves at me and I manage to insincerely return the gesture. The day drags. We drop off Clarissa at a friend’s house for a sleepover and head to Billy’s. This time, it feels different. I have no butterflies in the stomach, no nervous energy. I am totally relaxed and supremely confident. There is not the slightest doubt I will defeat Tori. The only question is how I will finish her. The fight can end by submission, knockout, or ten second pin. Like it or not, she is a coworker. I want this to be quick and humane. I’ll spare her the post-match humiliation. Like Kelli, I don’t want her panties.
Tom and I enter the dark foreboding edifice known as Billy’s Sports Bar and Fight Club. We embark on the familiar trek to the changing rooms in the back, through the air, heavy with smoke, lust and violence. We pass Jolene and Paige with their husbands at their favorite corner booth. I brace myself for their barbs and insults but, surprisingly, there are none. The two of them look at each other and snicker as if they’re in on some joke.
In the dressing room, I strip and get into my favorite turquoise bikini. There’s no risk of losing it tonight. Not with Tori. It’s nice to not have the jitters. I spend some time stretching. Finally, I’m called to walk the aisle to some lame music. My name is called. This time I have some fun with the crowd, high fiving and fist bumping. I seem to have picked up some fans after the Destiny fight.
I walk through the creaky, ill-boding cage door and into my corner. I’m a bit offended that I entered before Tori as it’s customary for a rookie fighter to be the first in the cage. Then I recall Billy did the same thing to Kelli. Last time, Tori gave the fans a ridiculous pre-fight show before Kelli destroyed her. I’m expecting her same bullshit but I’m prepared. I shake and stretch for a few minutes. I do a little posing for the crowd, something I don’t ordinarily do. I’m waiting for Tori…and waiting. I’m getting annoyed. The crowd is getting restless. It’s been fifteen minutes since I entered the cage. Who does this dumb bitch think she is? The nerve of that twat to be playing head games making me wait. Forget humanely beating her. Now I want to knock the crap out of her. The crowd is getting worse. Are they going to riot? They chant, “We want a fight. We Want a fight.” Trash is getting thrown. Aluminum beer cans are now striking the cage. My back just got splashed with beer. This is unsafe. Im getting out of here. Damn, the cage door is locked. “Billy, open the door now,” I demand. “If your girl can’t be on time, too fucking bad.”
The bald bastard waves his hands as if he’s issuing assurance. “It’s OK, Kiva,” he shouts as he enters the cage. “We’re ready for the fight.”
He walks to the center of the cage with the microphone. Thankfully, the crowd dies down. The music starts as the spotlight illuminates the back of the aisle. A figure emerges. “Ladies and Gentleman, Kivas opponent…” Wait, that doesn’t look like Tori. Someone tall and thin is walking toward the cage.…At five foot nine and 130 pounds…Paige…The Princess Punisher…Parkerrrrr.”
“What the FUCK!” I shriek. BILLY! The big dickhead runs out of the cage as I storm after him. He slips to the outside before locking the padlock with me inside. “BILLY, you piece of shit. I said I’d fight Tori. I didn’t agree to this.”
The six foot five inch pile of worthless humanity smirks at me from outside the cage. “You should have thought of that before you cost me a fortune in the Destiny fight,” he sneers.
“Wha-,” Did he plan this? The big pant load takes his seat at cage side. Next to him is…Tori? Next to her is…Amber? Next to her is…Ginger? And next to Ginger is…Jolene? It is! It is…a set-up. I’ve been set-up! I’ve been fucking set-…The crowd erupts. I hear someone yell, “Look out!” I hear a bell. A force hits me from behind between the shoulder blades. I stumble into the cage off balance. Something strikes me in the back again, then on the side of the head. They are fists. It’s Paige. She has attacked me from the behind
The blows keep coming as I fall to one knee. I crouch and cover my head with my arms. A kick lands on my ribs, then my back. I’ve got to get out of here. I’m pulled up by the hair. I have no time to react to a punch to the chest which sends me off balance again and on my back in the center of the ring. I finally get a good look at my attacker, dressed in a black bikini, her light brown hair tied into a ponytail. Her eyes blaze with a mission to destroy me. She’s been wanting me in the cage for weeks.
Paige circles around me, then moves in as I attempt to rise. More kicks to the back, the ribs, the butt. Punches land to my back as I cover up again. She drives a hard knee to the ribs sending me reeling to the cage. The bitch doesn’t let up.
I curl up in a fetal position as stomps and kicks rain down on me. She pulls me up by the hair and flings me across the cage into the chain link fencing. The trophy wife charges in as I’m off balance, throwing a shoulder block into my chest, smashing me again into the fence. I manage to grab the chain link with my fingers to prevent going down. But I’m vulnerable and The Princess Punisher grabs me with her arms trapping me against the fence with her body. Her hands seize both sides of my head and I feel her nails digging into my scalp. She pulls my head forward, then slams it back against the cage. A second time. Then a third. “This beat down has been a long time coming little girl. I never was very impressed with you.”
I’m able to grab onto her arms and temporarily resist the onslaught. I dig my nails into her skin. She does the same and we’re scratching at each other’s arms. We briefly pause for a second, then as if we both had the same thought, we go for each other’s hair. We’re pulling and swinging in circles until we both release our right hands and start punching while keeping our left hands full of hair. I’m a better puncher. I should win this bitch clench but I’m having a difficult time landing a clean shot. I stop punching and grab her ear, dig in my nails and pull. She shrieks, let’s go of my hair and I slam my elbow into her jaw. I thought there were a few rules, but as far as I’m concerned, when Tori was switched with Paige, rules went out the window. This is a street fight.
Paige backs up several steps, rubs her jaw and sneers, “You fucking bitch”. She puts up her fists and I do the same. Boxing? Ok, fine with me. We circle each other jabbing and feigning. We both land blows but nothing very damaging. I realize she’s not a bad boxer. I look for the opening for my right hand but Paige doesn’t give me much of a target. She landed a stinging jab above my left eye and I begin to feel it swell. Finally, I connect my right hook to the side of her head and she stumbles backwards and falls down. Fortunately for me, this is not a boxing match and I don’t intend to let her up.
I jump on my opponent as she’s lying on her back. I mount her, and start throwing punches at her head. This is it, I’m thinking. I can finish her now. No sooner did I think that, then the crafty woman gets her hands around the back of my neck and presses me onto her chest, largely neutralizing my attack. To Paige’s credit, she’s an experienced fighter and she just demonstrated her defensive savvy. She pulls me off of her to the side and we both roll across the cage in a catball, scratching and punching and pulling hair. We rip at each other’s bikini top. I successfully get hers off and her large surgically enhanced breasts become unencumbered. I mount her again. This time I hope to get my fingernails into silicon so I dig into her pair. She screams and tries to pry my hands off until she throws her knee up, nailing me in the back, then bucks me off of her. We roll away from each other and stand up. I realize that somewhere in the mixup, my bikini top went missing. This is the first time I’ve been topless in front of a crowd but at the moment, modesty is not one of my priorities.
On our feet, we grab onto each other and grapple in sort of a test of strength. It’s pretty much a stalemate until Paige gets one hand under my crotch and another arm under my armpit and lifts me off my feet. Suddenly, she shifts and turns, then throws me on my back in a sloppy type of body slam. I quickly roll out from under her. I get to my knees when a pair of thighs encircle my head, then squeeze. Helplessly, I’m forced to my side, trapped in a head scissors. This is familiar territory for me. Cynthia had me in the same hold and could have choked me out if she wished. I know I have only a little time. And…I don’t know my way out. I claw and punch at her thighs to know avail. I try to stay calm. I try to tuck my chin against her thigh. Then, I see an option. I’m not proud of this maneuver, but I wasn’t the one who changed all the rules tonight, so fuck it. I tuck my chin down enough, open my mouth, reach Paige’s flesh, then chomp down. “Fuck,” she screams as she releases the hold. Again, we roll apart, then stand.
This is by far, the most vicious fight I’ve had so far. Paige has a crazed look in her face. I’m exhausted. I realize she’s a better ground fighter. If I’m going to win, I will again need to rely on striking. I resolve to make this a stand up fight until the finish. I circle around Paige and jab. She appears fine with this being a fist fight. Then, like a crazy woman, she charges at me with both arms swinging. Her punches are wild but she swings with fury and some of them land. I try to be selective with my blows, but with the intensity of Paige’s onslaught, my technique goes out the window.
The two of us are standing toe to toe, swinging at each other in a frenzy. Blood trickles from Paige’s nose and my left eye is swollen. We’re both tired. Our punches are looping. I’ve got to land my right hook. One shot and it will be over. “Dumb cxnt,” she growls. We’re breathing heavily and starting to stagger. Then, I see my chance. I will feint a right-left combination, then nail her in the jaw with my right hook. Here we go. Feint right. Feint left. I see her right hand is also cocked. I throw the right hook as hard as I can. I miss. My arm swings through the air. My body turns around. I’m off balance. Shit. I know I’m vulnerable. I need to get back into position…then….a flash of light.
What..happened? Where…am I. Everything is white. Like a bedsheet. That’s it. I’m on my bed…face down. I can’t move. My eyes are open. I see the white sheet but I can’t move at all. Everything is silent. Now I know. Sleep paralysis. When I was a little girl, I suffered from sleep paralysis. That’s when your mind wakes up from your sleep before your body. You’re conscious but can’t move. I would try to scream but couldn’t. It was so…terrifying. It would only last a few seconds but it seemed so…long. The doctor told my mom that sleep paralysis was normal and I’d probably outgrow it. When it happened, I’d calmly wait and count numbers in my mind. After a few seconds, it would pass. It wasn’t so scary anymore. It occurred less frequently over time, then it stopped altogether.
I stare at the white sheet and count..”One…Two”…Wait, someone else is counting. A lot of voices are counting. They’re distant but I hear them….”Three...Four..”
My mother would turn on Sesame Street in the morning before I’d get up. That must be why I here counting. “Five.”
The paralysis is lifting. I can lift my head a little off the white sheet. The sheet? It’s NOT a sheet. I’m not a little girl in bed. I’m in a CAGE….I was in a FIGHT….with PAIGE. And I’m lying FACE DOWN. And I’m being COUNTED OUT….And I CAN’T MOVE!…This isn’t SLEEP PARALYSIS…FUCK…I’ve been KNOCKED OUT!
“Six”
My head feels like it’s underwater. There’s a humming sound in my ears. I hear the crowd go crazy. They sound closer now. I’ve lost. I can’t get up. I don’t want to get up. I just want to die here. I close my eyes. I see white again. It’s a bright white that takes the form of a person. It’s coming together. The black hair. The dazzling white gown. She’s so beautiful…Elena?…You came back to me..and you have Petey again!
“Seven”
Oh Elena, take me with you…It’s so awful. It’s all lies and deceit. So, this is what the world is really like. We’re just bugs eating each other. I’ve had enough…Elena? Did you…?…Are you…? Elena? Don’t go. You’re fading again. There’s so much I want to ask you.
“Eight”
She left. I’m more awake. I can move more but I can’t get up. I’m aware now something is under my chest and belly, like a huge pillow.
“Nine”
I drop my head down to the mat again. I need help getting up.
“Ten” Ding..ding..ding. It’s over. I’m aware I lost. I know it will brutally hurt me emotionally but I’m too cognitively impaired at the moment to feel it.
The cheers are louder now. The pillow beneath me moves and I thought I heard it moan. Several hands are on me. On my shoulders and hips. I’m being rolled over. I roll off the pillow and onto my back. The overhead lights hurt my eyes. I smell the familiar smoke and stale beer.
“Kiva?” Several men’s voices call my name. One is my husband.
“Kiva, stay down. Don’t get up yet,” my husband says. “You got knocked out. We’re treating you for a concussion.” He shines a light in my eyes, checks my reflexes, completes the neurological exam.
“I’m sorry, Tom. I lost again.”
“You’ll be fine. And don’t be sorry. And by the way…you won.”
He points at some activity several feet away. I turn my head and see a few men kneeling over Paige, who is on her back in the same situation I’m in.
“What happened?” I now suspect that the pillow that was underneath me was Paige.
“The two of you clashed heads. She went down on her back. You dropped to your knees, then pitched forward on top of her. You got the ten second pin count.”
“Holy Sh-“
“Congratulations love. I think you’re ready to stand now. Put your arms around our shoulders and…lift.”
It’s the day after. Thank goodness I was off work. I slept all day. The headache is better and the ice helped with the swelling. I amuse myself thinking how I thwarted Billy’s evil plans again but the price was too high. I am done fighting at Billy’s.
I killed time in the evening watching TV after Clarissa went to bed. I’m wide awake now so I check my emails. I watch the video of the fight and replay the end. We both swung our right fists hard. We missed as are arms went flying through the air. We both spun off balance and while trying to recover, our heads collided. I don’t remember falling or crawling on top of Paige. Concussion can be a serious thing. I recall being out of it, not knowing where I was. And I remember seeing…Elena?..Elena!…Did I really see her? Is she …gone?
I call my colleagues on Elena’s floor. “Hi Cheryl, it’s Kiva. I had a weird experience. What time did Elena pass?
“Elena?” the nurse answers. “Elena didn’t pass. She was transferred out to a cancer center on the west coast yesterday. Her doctor found an experimental treatment protocol and they offered it to Elena. She said ‘no’ at first but then changed her mind. Poor thing. It’s such a long shot. I hope it’s not unpleasant for her. She’s already been through so much.….But..she told me to say ‘goodbye’ to you and she expects to see you again.”
“Ok Cheryl, thanks.” Hmmm. The mind is a funny thing.
For some reason, the tab bar on my internet isn’t showing. I go into Settings to fix it. What’s this website in the browser history? It looks like one of those amateur porn websites where ordinary people load their own video clips. Why is it on here? I click the link. The videos seem to be arranged by category according to the type of kink. Interestingly, there’s a Catfight section. Let’s take a look.
OH MY GOD!!! NOOO!!! It CAN’T Be. Under recent downloads is a thumbnail with an image of …me…and Cynthia. It’s a shot of me submitting in the Boston Crab. The title of the video is “My Wife Gets Humiliated”. I think I’m going to pass out. The video is a few minutes long. It starts with me spitting on Cynthia’s logo, then goes on to the end of the fight, then Cynthia’s victory pose. NOOO!
The video was downloaded by username “catfighterhubby”. 4,139 views. There are comments.
BigMoe78: “man, your wife got owned”
TxDick69: “how about your wife and my wife in a sexfight”
Cooldude34: “nice tits but I would have liked to have seen more bush”
Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God. Somebody please tell me I’m dreaming.
I slump in my chair, I turn my head to face the ceiling. For thirty minutes, I do not move.
“Kiva,” my husband asks, “are you coming to bed?”
“Kiva?…Kiva, are you alright? Kiva, what’s the matter?”
“I want a divorce.”
