Desire Uncaged: An MMA Romance (5 page)

Somehow Ethan didn’t believe it.

* * *

Ethan always found seeing his opponent to be an anxiety-filled experience. Somehow it made
everything more real. He had difficulty sleeping that night. He tossed and turned. When he finally found sleep he dreamed he was looking for Sara in the gym. He kept walking in circles calling her name. He got the vague sense she was there, but for some reason he was looking wrong, and couldn’t quite get himself to her. He awoke early, can couldn’t get back to bed.

As fight day, arrive, Ethan found himself feeling better, the comfort of routine helped the anxiety. He ate a simple meal of healthy food, and hydrated as much as he could. He watched TV. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the fight this close to fight day. He would cross that bridge as the fight drew closer. Joe stayed close by. They watched by Sci-Fi movies
and complained about the bad acting.

Before long, it was 5:00 and Ethan had to make his way to the arena. Once he got in the car, it was like someone flipped a switch, the nerves began to fire. He felt the adrenaline start to gradually enter his system. His brain knew that as the final fight, he was hours away from entering the cage, but none of that mattered to his instincts.

As soon as he entered the arena’s backstage area, he was grabbed by the promoter. The promoter, ever the politician, greeted him with a smile and handshake. He brought Ethan back to a small room in the back of the arena. It had been refitted as a pre-fight exam room. Waiting for him was a doctor dressed in khakis and a polo with “state athletic commission” emblazoned on the chest. Ethan shook his hand and the doctor administered an examination that was so cursory it was almost comical, given that in a few hours, he would be fighting another trained opponent inside a cage.

There was one hitch,
somewhat unusual for Ethan. He was asked to give a urine sample. Allegations of steroid abuse were rampant, but Ethan always fought clean. He doubted he could even afford steroids if he wanted them. After some discomfort, he provided a sample and went back to the locker room. Now it was all about waiting.

The ‘locker room’ wasn’t
really that at all. It was a conference room, cleaned out of its tables and chairs. In every corner fighters were in various stages of preparation. The later card fighters were lounging in sweats, resting on the floor listening to music. The fighters closer to their respective fights were wrapping their hands and donning their gloves or even warming up. And Ethan watched slowly as one by one the men warmed up, then walked out of the room and onto the main arena floor.

Some
fighters returned joyous and victorious. Others came back despondent from defeat. Some were bloodied and battered from long, grueling contests. Others had little damage. Once could hardly tell that had been in a fight, save for their glistening coat of sweat.

Ethan was soon jostled by his coach. He pulled out his own earbuds and began to warm up. His nerves felt more and more frayed as the adren
aline slowly built in his bloodstream. Ethan tried to focus on the mechanics of the warm up; the punches and kicks against the mitts his trainer held. He tried to ignore the rising anxiety caused by the tiny voice in the back of his head that reminded him this was the biggest fight of his life, against the toughest opponent he ever faced.

Ethan felt off rhythm. His punches against the mitts felt awkward and lethargic. Minute by minute he threw his fists against the pads. He knew he had to push through
the tightness, the slowness that seemed to inhabit his limbs. As he worked up a sweat, he ‘burned off’ the adrenaline, leaving him more ready for the fight. Gradually, Ethan felt droplets start to form on his brow. His concentration on the pads became more intense. His breathing and heart rate increased. Ethan entered the place of quiet concentration, where everything seemed to melt away but the pads, and his trainer. Ethan blinked the sweat from his eyes as he hits the pads. His fists moved with their normal ease and purpose. Everything felt right, like a car finally shifted into gear.

“Okay, take a rest, E. You’re gonna be up in 10.” Ethan’s coach told him.

Ethan laid down on the floor. Most of the other fighters had left the room. Ethan was closed his eyes and felt his heart settle. His breathing slowed. He just had to focus on doing his job now.

A few short minutes later, his trainer spoke up. “On your feet, Ethan. It’s show time.”

* * *

Sara had purchased a ticket at the gate. While far from the cheapest option, it did allow her to avoid interacting with Ethan or any of his friends. Things were
still too raw for anything face-to-face like that. But she was here.

Somehow, after all the effort, drama, and build-up, Sara wanted to see what sort of
outcome Ethan’s training would yield. And so, after an afternoon working herself up to it, she willed herself to drive to the arena, and buy a ticket. She didn’t have a ton of money, but her savings were substantial enough that a few bucks on a ticket wouldn’t kill her.

Sara bought her ticket from a vendor at a table. She couldn’t help but compare it to entering a county fair. And, looking around at the other patrons, she saw they were likely drawing from the same crowd. Maybe a third were young, tattoo-covered men with
bulging muscles. They were either self-styled ‘fighters’ or were just guys that believed that being close to this sort of sport somehow made them more masculine in the process. For hyper-masculine men, Sara couldn’t help but notice their T-shirts appeared intricate and expensive. The women, what few there were, looked as one would expect to see with men desperate to move their masculinity. Yoga pants, pieced bellybuttons, midriffs and what looked like cosmetic surgery abounded. Sara with her understated dress and a midriff that was best kept covered, actually looked the part of an outsider.

She put her head down and made her way to the area floor. She passed the vendors selling hotdogs, and the long line selling overpriced, terrible beer. Sara made it to the main floor. She found herself a seat in a darkened corner and sat down. The fights had already started. It was early in the card, and two ‘heavyweights’ of questionable fitness were swinging wild haymakers at one another with almost comical abandon. In the row in front, an obnoxious, middle aged man—clearly already drunk—was yelling at them for “More Elbows!” even Sara knew at their
level of the sport elbows weren’t even allowed. She settled in for a long night of listening to drunken idiots.

The card ebbed on. The fights proved intellectually interesting, if not entertaining. Some were comic mismatches. One fighter clearly well trained and ready, the other dangerously ill prepared. These Sara suspected were tune up fights, to get the skilled fighter acclimated to the sights, sounds, and sensations of the cage, without the actual risk of fighting someone who could actually beat them.

The fights wore on, and the competitors grew more skilled. Experienced fighters, generally better technically, sometimes made the crowd restless with conservative and cerebral game plans. It didn’t help that people grew more drunk and obnoxious right along with them.
It must feel terrible to get booed like that after all your training
Sara thought to herself.

Finally, the announcer entered the cage floor. The microphone turned on and his voice boomed to life.

“And now the main event!” Sara perked up. She listened as an 80’s guitar track played through the speakers.

The announcer made a big show in introducing the fighters. Sara’s heart began to race as the man boomed out the first name, “Ethan Ewing!”

Sara craned her neck to see the other side of the arena. Even this far off, she recognized Ethan’s posture and gait as he walked, flanked by his trainers, to the cage side. He stripped his shirt and sweats with businesslike alacrity once he arrived at the entrance to the cage. A brief examination by the referee, and he was inside the multi-sided ring. The announcer then announced his opponent. This was met with more cheers, as Roberts was a more recognized name than Ethan. Sara remained silent throughout. She couldn’t suppress the anxiety she was feeling for Ethan. She felt so powerless as his opponent climbed into the cage. Ethan looked smaller than the other man. But Ethan was significantly taller. Sara put he hands to her mouth instinctively. The cage door locked as the referee stood in the center of the ring and pointed to each fighter. The both nodded. They were ready. The referee clapped his hands. The fight was on.

The fighters circled one another, Ethan pawing out a jab as LC
Roberts, his opponent, bobbed his head. They were slowly feeling each other out. For thirty seconds, the strange dance continued. Then, at last, Ethan pressed forward, throwing long, clean, strikes. Roberts seemed to back pedal before answering with his own. He pushed Ethan against the cage. Ethan appeared to struggle to push the man off him. But at the same time Roberts struggled to take Ethan down to the canvas. After several seconds, the pair separated and took to the center of the cage. There, Ethan began to work his hands in earnest. A pair of left hands stung Roberts, the second snapping his head back with its force.

Roberts
answered with a leg kick that landed with a dull
thud
and a right hand the grazed the side of Ethan’s forehead. Ethan continually clipped Roberts with his jab, a light, stinging punch. Roberts swung in wide, looping hooks, but Ethan’s long arms kept him safely out of reach. As the round drew to a close, Roberts surged forward throwing powerful punches. Ethan took advantage of his forward momentum and dipped below him, wrapping Roberts’ legs and taking him to the mat with ease. The round finished with Ethan atop his opponent.

The bell rang, and Sara felt a slight abatement of her nerves. Ethan had likely won that round. But there were still two more to go. Sara tried to read Ethan’s face.
Was he tired? Had that round drained him?
But Sara was too far away to observe anything. The bell soon rung again, and the fighters took to the center of the cage. This round saw Roberts fight with greater aggression. His strikes were faster, and more dangerous. Sara was nervous as each one whooshed by Ethan’s head. Ethan seemed more intent on taking Roberts to the mat, but Roberts stifled his takedowns at every turn. Ethan landed a few jabs and leg kicks, but largely the action was from Roberts.

Sara wasn’t sure who the winner of that round had been, but if the judges saw it for
Roberts then the card was tied at one round each. It would all come down to this final 5 minutes. Sara’s heart raced. She felt so powerless as just a spectator, watching Ethan fight. It felt emotionally draining, exhausting. Like she was fighting too.

The third round bell rung. The fighters stood. Sara instinctively stood and clutched her hands together, silently focusing all her energy onto the cage, onto Ethan.

The bell rung and both fighters took to the center of the cage. They both reached out and shook hands briefly, a gesture of respect for a fight well fought thus far. And both were back at it. Ethan employed a strategy like his first round, snapping a jab into his opponent’s face. Circling, he tried to follow his jab with a powerful right hand, but it seemed always just a hair too slow. Roberts seemed content to circle and throw wild hooks and leg kicks. While Ethan’s legs never really seemed damaged from his efforts, the kicks landed loudly, and the crowd, biased in Roberts’ favor erupted in cheering each time they did. The crowd also cheered ignorantly as Roberts’ looping punches went ineffectually wide. They seemed to enjoy the display of punching power, despite the fact that it produced little effect. As the round wore on, Robert’s punches grew more desperate. With a minute left, Ethan timed it easily and drove his opponent onto the canvas. As the clock ticked down, the crowd booed, except of course for Sara; who, despite herself, cheered loudly. Surely that takedown was enough to win the final round, and therefore, the fight.

The bell rung and both men stood. They embraced and both raised their hands, as if they each believed they had won. Sara held her breath as the announcer stood in the center and turned on the mike.

“Ladies and gentlemen. After three rounds we go to the judges’ score cards. Judge Fillis scores the bout 29 to 28 for Roberts!” The crowd cheered. But each bout had three judges’ cards to total.

“Judge
Stenofsky scores the bout 29 to 28 for Ewing!”

A chorus of boos

“And Judge Wilkerson scores the bout 29 to 28 for your winner…”

Sara and Ethan both held their breath.

“LC Roberts!”

Ethan and Sara both but their head
s in their hands. Defeated and broken and disappointed.

The eggs cracked against the counter, and their contents spilled int
o the pan. Their empty translucence slowly, almost impeccably, turning white under the heat. As they were stirred, the yolks broke, dissolving the entirety into a congealing orange flatness, even and smooth. The pan popped and crackled as the heat pass through them, transforming them into a solid mass. Joe looked up from cooking his dinner. The TV was on, blaring some ridiculous action movie. Two black, leather clad men on motorcycles were firing machine guns at one another erratically for some ill-defined reason. On the couch in front of the TV, lounged Ethan, slouched down, shoveling pretzels into his mouth.

Joe looked over at his friend. He called out over the din of the TV, “Really bro? You’re eating pretzels in front me? C’mon man! I have a fight coming up! I need to diet and you’re tempting me with pretzels?”

Ethan turned to Joe with a smirk, “I’m doing you a favor! I’m eating this stuff so you don’t have the temptation lying around the house!”

Joe smirked at him. At least Ethan was joking around now. Since his fight, Ethan had been in a funk. Every fig
hter felt a sting after a loss, and everyone bounced back at their own pace. Some people needed a good night of drinking, and they were back in practice the night day; but Ethan’s loss had been particularly tough, and he had taken the better part of the week off of practice. He only seemed to go to work, come back, eat pizza and chips, and watch TV. It even made Joe miserable to watch.

“So
, you heard from Sara?” Joe asked. Ethan didn’t turn away from the TV. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe he didn’t have anything to say. Joe changed topics.

“
Am I gonna see you in practice tomorrow?” Joe asked, “I need all the training partners I can get to help me get ready.”

Ethan turned and looked at him, “Yea, I’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

Joe felt better. Tomorrow he would have to tell Ethan about his quasi-celebrity status.

After the fight, a fair number of MMA websites, podcasts and video blogs had all brought up LC
Roberts’ win over Ethan. But all had watched the accompanying fight video, and universally it was agreed that Ethan had won. Some alleged that the judges had been bribed by Roberts’ coaching staff, others postulated that the crowd’s cheers for Roberts had made him seem more effective than he really was. Ethan had essentially gained a level of fame on the back of LC Roberts. Joe didn’t want to throw too much on Ethan’s plate, as his friend seemed to be in a bad place mentally, but Ethan’s trainers wisely felt he should take to the media and demand a rematch. But for that to happen, Ethan needed to be back in the gym. He wasn’t going to beat LC Roberts by eating pretzels and watching action movies. Joe was hoping Ethan found that spark again soon.

* * *

Sara stared blankly at her computer screen. The blue glow of the monitor illuminated her features in the darkened room. She sighed with exasperation. Writing as a profession was harder than it seemed.

The reality of having to see Ethan every day at work, for the rest of her career, was the last straw. Sara
had come to the realization that she either took the dive to being a writer now, or she would spend the rest of her life wondering what could have been. She had ample savings and could make it a year living off of what she had tucked away. She began freelancing over the internet, taking whatever writing work she could get. This mostly meant generating content for websites. Writing meaningless pieces so a blog to get a higher result on a search engine. But she could add “Professional Writer” to her resume. And that counted for more than the barely-more-than-minimum-wage she was earning by doing it. In the meantime, she was also looking for a real, full time job, with a more reliable salary. But in a mid-sized Midwestern city, writing jobs were tough to come by.

Sara
had started to feel like a shut-in. She only left the house minimally, just to do laundry or buy groceries. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to spend money she didn’t have to, but in truth, Sara had been lethargic since seeing Ethan’s fight. Despite telling the mirror again and again that she didn’t care about him, she still found herself emotionally invested in the fight. And in his wellbeing.

Sara stood up from the computer and poured herself a glass of water.
I need to focus
, she thought to herself. She had found concentrating on her writing to be getting harder and harder as the day wore on. Now that it was 7:00pm and the sun had set, her mind wanted to wander. But someone was paying decent money for a short review of their product, and they wanted it in the next day. Sara sighed and sat back down in front of the computer.

She had barely gotten a sentence complete when her phone buzzed. She picked it up. It was an alert from her social media app. someone had friend-requested her. Given that she hadn’t interacted with much of anyone in the past several days, Sara was curious. The boredom too,
had taken its toll on her and she opened up her social media page. The friend request was from someone familiar: Joe, Ethan’s friend and roommate. Sara clicked “Yes”.

She also noticed that along with the friend request was a message. It simply read, “We need to talk.”

Sara saw he was online. She accepted that this piece wasn’t going to get done until the morning. She opened a chat box, and sent Joe a message.

“Hey Joe. What’s up?” She tried to keep her tone pleasant, but for some reason, Sara’s chest felt as if it were tightening.

He responded quickly, “Not much. Where did you disappear to? Ethan told me you quit?”

She had given the same line when her parents and supervisor asked her the same question. She threw it out once again, “I wanted to do something different. Chase the dream of writing full time.”

“Really? A writer? So what do you write?”

“
Hahaha. Nothing cool. Mostly stuff for websites.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re doing well.
” A pause, and then, “So, I need to ask you something.”

Sara’s stomach felt light. She had been ignoring, suppressing her feelings ever since running from Ethan. Now she would be stuck confronting them. She debated just closing the chat
box, unplugging the internet. But she couldn’t just spend the rest of her life running from anything that felt uncomfortable or bad.

Sara’s fingers clicked across the keyboard, “Sure.” She typed, “What’s up?”

“I gotta ask. What went down between you and Ethan?”

Sara paused. She stared at the screen.

“It just wasn’t working out.”

She hit send. She could sense Joe thinking on the other end. Weighing her response.
It’s too late for all this drama,
Sara thought to herself in frustration.

“I know there is more to it than that. C’mon. Ethan deserves to know.”

Fuck it
. Sara thought. The keyboard clicked under her fingers.

“His ‘other’ girlfriend sent me pics of them together. I’m not gonna be someone’s side girl.”

Joe answered back quickly.

“Seriously? Another girlfriend? I’ve never heard of her. If I can be honest, he seemed pretty into you.”

Sara didn’t feel like trying to convince him. She searched through her computer for the photo of Ethan and the other girl. She attached it to the chat and sent it off. It flashed small on the screen.

Sara knew Joe could see it. She hoped that it was enough, that he would leave her alone. She was starting to regret accepting that friend request.

Instead, more text arrived on the screen.

“That’s Emily. Ethan broke it off with her before he even met you.”

Sara was getting heated.

“Then why did she send it to me three weeks ago?”

Joe responded rapidly.

“That picture? It isn’t from three weeks ago! It’s from three months ago!
We all went out to that restaurant! I took the picture! Who sent it to you? Emily?”

Sara’s anger started to dislodge.

“Yea.” She typed demurely.

“She’s crazy, Sara. Emily has been trying to ruin Ethan’s life ever since he broke up with her. She calls him, texts him at all hours of the night. She’s not right.”

Sara’s eye stared ahead, fixated on nothing.

* * *

Ethan’s eyes opened before his alarm clock went off. This was strange. During the weeks leading up to the fight, getting up in the morning had been a burden. A herculean task that greeted him every morning. His body was consistently sore, exhausted, tired, or hungry. After the fight, he needed a week just to feel something close to normal again.

Today was starting off promising, at least.
Ethan sprung out of bed with an alacrity and energy he was simply not accustomed to having. He walked into the bathroom and warmed up the shower. He was halfway through brushing his teeth before his alarm went off.
I’m already awake, man
, he said to his alarm as he flicked it off. Ethan showered, changed and readied for work. No amount of rest would make going to work feel good, but it felt as tolerable as it was liable to be. He buttoned up his shirt, grabbed his keys, and walked out the door to his car.

Unbeknownst to Ethan, his personal email inbox had a new message. The same message had been sent to his coaches, as well as leaked to several media outlets who would be interested. Ethan as a rule, never checked his email at work, but his coach had no such qualms.

The message read:

This message is to inform you that the state athletic commission has overturned the result of
Ewing/Roberts from a win for Roberts to a No Contest. The reason is listed below:

Drug test result for
Roberts, LC has returned a positive result for banned substances.

As a result of the above reason, the fight is declared a
No Contest and will be erased from the record of both fighters.

Ethan worked fastidiously throughout the day. He surprised himself how much more he got done when his body and mind were focused and intact. By the day’s end, he was actually ready to go to practice, not dreading it, like he had been during the last
two weeks of his camp.

He logged out of his work computer, grabbed his gym bag, and made his way to his car. He battled traffic down the highway to the gym. As he walked into the gym, still in his tie and button-up and slacks, he was stopped by his coach.

“There he is!” The jovial, tattooed man exclaimed, “We need to talk!”

Ethan did not feel like talking about the fight. He just wanted to break a sweat, get a good workout in and go home.

“I don’t care about the Roberts fight. Apparently, neither does the athletic commission.”

“Huh?” Ethan grunted inquisitively.

“You didn’t see? LC Roberts failed the drug test! Popped hot for anabolic steroids. Way over the limit.”

Ethan stared at
his coach in shock.

“Your loss is now a ‘no-contest’.”

Ethan couldn’t fight the smile creeping across his face.
I nearly beat that cheating bastard when he was on steroids! If I fought him clean, I’d mop the floor with him
!

Ethan’s coach turned to him, “Listen, the promotion
has a show in four weeks. I can call them and lobby for you to rematch Roberts. It’s your call. You want this fight?”

Ethan thought about it for a moment. It meant cutting weight, an intense, but abbreviated fight camp. It meant more work, more sweat, more sacrifice. But it was also a chance to set right what Ethan knew to be an injustice.

He smiled and nodded his head, “Let’s do it.”

As Ethan changed out of his work clothes and into his gym shorts. He walked out onto the mats and began to warm up. As he started his training, her felt his body loosen. The sweat seemed to flush the stiffness from his muscles. The blood pumping through his veins, washing away the lethargy, the sadness and pain of the past few weeks. It felt like coming home. Fighting had always been there for Ethan, a constant fixture in his life that
--in its own way--never changed. Fighting had been a part of his life for years. It outlasted cars, jobs, relationships.

As his breathing picked up, he felt his psych
e slowly resetting, regaining its original shape. He pushed himself through calisthenics and drills, Ethan felt better than he had in a long time. Like a sports car finally taken out of the garage after a long winter.

The practice drew to a close, almost too soon for Ethan’s liking. But he knew there was plenty more ahead of him. Patience would have to be his virtue.

He went back in the locker room and changed once more, into dry sweatpants and a hoodie—his workout clothes were soaked in sweat. He stuffed them into his gym bag, and bid farewell to his training partners. Ethan climbed into the car, and drove himself home.

He parked his car on the street, slug his bag over his shoulder and made his way toward the house. He looked up. There was someone at his door. Ethan felt a strange surge of familiarity.

“Hey stranger.” He called out.

Sara turned around. There was Ethan. She took a few steps toward him. They were soon together on the porch.