“Rem-ing-ton! Rem-ing-ton! Rem-ing-ton!” the crowd chants, and when they realize he’s headed toward me-and that all that tower of brawn and strength and testosterone is coming my way-they change their tune to “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”

Suddenly he grabs the ring ropes and jumps down, and the public comes alive when they realize he is up to his usual mischief, like he always is when he climbs out of the ring. Then his sleek eyebrows pull low over his eyes and he looks at me more closely. He seems to be waiting for another opponent, his head turned in Pete’s and my direction as if he’d been waiting for us to return to our seats. I lower myself to my seat with extreme caution, while Remington is still up there, his name being screamed. I walk slowly and slightly hunched over, because standing hurts even worse, and instinctively my body seems to want me to curl into myself. “Dude, I’ve never seen someone puke as much as you do. For minutes, I try to settle down, then I come out and at least try to appear put together until after the fight. I drag in a thousand calming breaths, but they do nothing to actually calm me, and instead a nauseating, sinking feeling of despair takes over. There, I wait in line, standing there for a couple of minutes, and when it’s my turn to go into the little plastic house, I pull down my panties-which feel gooey-and I see they’re soaked in red, as if I’m having a bad period. But he stands with his eyes on the ring and distractedly follows me to the filthy makeshift bathrooms. It sounds scared, truly scared, and it trembles. “Pete, I need to go to the bathroom right now,” I say in a voice I’ve never heard before. I see him, but I keep retreating into my head. My lungs constrict as I glance up and see every possible muscle in existence working as he fights, his arms corded and flexing. Then the cramp feels like a pinch and I fold over a little, and when they bring out his next opponent, I’m not even watching. He flashes his dimples at me, his eyes twinkling, and I’m dying to lick up that drop of blood and put salve on it. His arm is yanked up in victory, and I notice the open gash in the center of his plump bottom lip. “Riiiiptiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide, folks! Once again, I give you, Riiiiiptide!!!!!!” I put my arms around my stomach and shift uncomfortably. The pain starts like a throb, and it progresses into a cramp.

The entire room is screaming, “Riptide!!!” while I sit motionless in my chair.

Mine katy evans free read online