Page 57 of Always Love You More

“I wish it didn’t happen,” she tells me. “But I’m not sorry that I saw it, that I was there.”

She stands from her chair, opens the window that’s over the desk, then rummages through a drawer. I lean forward, waiting to see what she’s looking for.

She pulls out a small tin and a lighter. Hoisting herself onto the desk, she settles in and takes out a half-smoked joint. I don’t ask her where she got it from, but part of me wonders if she stole it from one of the few times she’s sat with me while I rolled them.

She lights it, takes a hit, then offers it to me.

Normally, I would pass, never wanting to give up control, but with the amount of pain I’m in right now, I take it from her.

“How long have you been fighting?”

“Actual fights like that”—I pass her back the joint—“about a year.”

“Have you ever lost?”

“Once,” I answer, my hand instinctively dropping to my side.

She traces the movement, her eyes darkening. “Bet that didn’t go over well.”

I shake my head. “Once was more than enough, that’s for fucking sure. Never let myself lose after that.”

“What did he …?” She pauses. “Never mind, sorry …”

“It’s all right,” I tell her as she brings the joint up to her lips, as if to silence herself. “It’s … uh …”

She watches me. “It’s what?”

“Nice that you care.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

I shrug. “It’s easier to look the other way. Most people do.”

“Yeah, well, that’s shitty.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true, though.”

She shifts on the desk. “It scared the shit out of me when you went down,” she admits. “I couldn’t see you with everyone in front of me. I didn’t think you were gonna get up.”

“Me, neither,” I answer, remembering the feeling of being pinned to the ground, my body beaten, my father screaming at me.

“Johnny bet on you,” she says, her words pulling me from my thoughts.

“He did?”

“If I had money, I would have bet on you, too.”

“Next time,” I tell her, but she frowns.

“I didn’t …” She twists a ring on her hand, something I’ve noticed her do before. “It was hard for me to watch you get hurt like that.”

My stomach tightens. “It was?”

She nods.

“When I saw you there, I was upset,” I say, and she ducks her head. “But only because I didn’t want you to be in a place like that and … and also because I was happy you were there, and I felt like I shouldn’t be.”

Slowly, she raises her head, her eyes brighter than they’ve been all night.