The Mistress of Black Grove Manor (88 page)

              She dated several more guys into her late twenties, and when she met John she was already down on her luck. Her parents had kicked her out of the house as she was almost thirty-three and had lost her job again. At first John seemed kind and helpful, and she truly believed he loved her. But it turned out John was just as bad as the rest. When he wasn’t drinking and shouting at her he was using her as a punching bag.

              To her surprise, she felt safe for the first time with Kazuma. She barely even knew the man but he hadn’t eyed her body once and he seemed to be genuinely kind. He placed a mug of hot tea in front of her and told her to be careful, that it was boiling hot. Sitting down next to her at the island, he sipped his own mug of scalding hot liquid. Outside, it was raining again. These days it was always raining. Ally loved the rain at first until it started to affect John. He always claimed he couldn’t get anything done when it was raining, and that he felt like a piece of garbage because of the humidity. This led him to take his anger out on Ally.

              “What do you think of the rain?” she asked suddenly, wanting to better judge what kind of a person Kazuma was.

              “I enjoy it very much,” he said quietly. She noticed that he was more the quiet brooding type that would withhold information until the very last second.

              “Why do you ask?”             

              “I was just wondering is all.”

              They lapsed back into silence, staring at their mugs.

              “You can sleep over if you like,” he said.

              “Thank you I appreciate that.”

              She could feel his body heat radiating off his arm. She noticed the underside of his arm was covered in tattoos that she couldn’t read or make out. He seemed honest, he seemed kind. She would sleep over this one time, as she felt like she was imposing.

              “Where should I sleep?” she asked. “I’m really tired, I hope you don’t mind. I had quite the long day.”

              “I actually don’t mind at all. I had a long day myself, with training and all. Anyways, you can sleep in the guest room. I’ll show you where it is.”

              They got up and he motioned for her to follow him down the hall. She walked slowly so she could look at all the photographs, which included an aging Japanese man and a baby. Some of them had cherry blossom trees and other frames were empty. He led her to a small room at the end of the hall, which contained a twin size bed and green curtains. The light was soft and dim and her eyes adjusted easily.

              “I’ll be right back,” he said.             

              She merely nodded, dumbfounded at his kindness. She was a complete stranger and he was letting her into his home without question. When he came back he gave her a clean pair of pajamas and a t-shirt. “Thought you might need these,” he said.

              “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said. “I’ve never been treated this way before.”

              Instead of responding, he reached out a hand and touched her cheek. His fingers paused right above her eye, which was slightly swollen.

              “Be sure to ice that.” And with that last comment he was gone, walking down the hall towards the isolation of his bedroom.

Chapter 3

              Kazuma could barely sleep that night. He couldn’t stop thinking about the rescued vixen sleeping just down the hall. He tossed and turned in his bed, frustrated that he was even attracted to her. It wasn’t like him to feel for women this way. He generally slept around, giving girls fake names and numbers whenever he traveled for competitions. It was easier this way, to sleep around in silence and solitude. It meant no one was ever knocking on his door or calling him, begging him to come back to them. It also meant he was completely isolated.             

On those rare occasions that he found himself wanting affection or attention he generally tended to head towards the bar to pick up girls. The bars were always packed and it wasn’t hard to meet a pretty tourist who was in the business of avoiding her boyfriend or her family. The last girl he’d picked up was named Rose and had been from Oregon. She was in Florida to visit her family members for her grandmother’s birthday and had stopped by the bar for a release. She told Kazuma that she hated her family and had moved across the country to avoid them.

              “So why are you here?” he’d asked her.

              “Why is anyone here? To drink of course.” Kazuma and Rose had gotten filthy drunk that night, stumbling back to his place at three in the morning to have sex on the kitchen floor. When he woke up the next day he found a halo of flower around his head with a number scrawled in cursive. Without giving it a second thought, he wiped the flower away and proceeded to forget about Rose.

              It didn’t do him well to remember all the names of the girls he’d hooked up with. The list went on and on but Kazuma didn’t care. He wasn’t about to commit to anyone; especially not now that he was an accomplished MMA fighter. He needed to commit to his craft, his body, the fight. He had a lust and a drive for fighting, building his muscles bigger and better until they could endure the sharpest of blows. Just last month he’d been hit in the jaw from an opponent and hadn’t felt a thing. It wasn’t until his coach was congratulating him that he even noticed the blood dripping down his chin.

              It was too bad the punching bag was in the living room. If it were in here, Kazuma would at least be distracted. But alas all he had was a small French window leading to the outside world.

              Fishing around in his drawer for a vanilla cigar, he opened the window and hopped onto the windowsill. It was surprisingly clear even though it had rained three inches that day. His front lawn was soaked to the bone with water and there were scourges of mosquitos making love between the blades. Kazuma saw the moon was out, felt strangely like howling at it, then stopped himself. He didn’t want to wake Ally, who’d had a worse night than he.

              He vowed right then and there that if he ever saw her boyfriend again he would put him in a grave. Men who beat their women were the scum of the earth. They took out all their anger and frustration on the only people who tried to love them unconditionally. Kazuma would never hit his girlfriend, though he had no problem fighting his opponents. He wondered, briefly, what the difference was. Was all violence the same, bad and crude, or was his different? He had been trained in an ancient art form and that had to count for something.

              When he fought, it was as if his mind and spirit were one. Merely spreading his legs into a fighting stance aligned all the cells in his body, instantly causing a sense of calm to befall him. Perhaps, if Ally tried to stick around, he’d teach her how to fight. It wouldn’t be that hard. She already had a heart turned black from all the beatings, she’d make the perfect fighter.

              So lost in his thoughts was Kazuma that he didn’t notice Ally entering his room. She’d learned to walk quietly, like a church mouse, because of John.

              “Hi,” she said, startling Kazuma. He dropped his lighter on the ground and cursed under his breath.

              “Hey,” he said quickly. “What’s wrong? You can’t sleep?”

              “No, I’ve had insomnia since I was a kid. Whenever I couldn’t sleep, I’d grab a flashlight from the kitchen, hide under my bed, and read until it was time to go to school. The guidance counselors thought I was being abused because the bags under my eyes were the color of grapes.”

              “Mmm,” Kazuma said, taking a drag on his cigar. He noticed Ally’s hair looked even lighter in the moonshine. She had a nice collarbone, and there were two freckles on her neck that looked like a vampire’s kiss.

              “How are you feeling?” she asked.

              Kazuma wrinkled his brow. He’d never had anyone ask him that question before. He wondered, briefly, if it was a trap.

              “I’m good,” he said. “Just a bit worried about you, I guess.” He blushed the moment after he said it, afraid that he’d crossed some line. But Ally only smiled and tilted her head to the side like a golden canary as if to say, thank you, I appreciate you.

              “You can sleep in here, if you want,” he said sheepishly. “My bed is pretty big. I mean I don’t want to impose or anything, but—“

              “No, don’t apologize. I’d love to sleep in your bed with you. It helps me feel less alone when there’s a warm body next to me.”

              He nodded, understanding her completely. He couldn’t decide if what they both needed was a dog or each other. Warm body or not, Kazuma still didn’t want to trust her completely. He reminded himself for the millionth time that day that it was dangerous to care too much. All people left in the end, no matter what.

              “So,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. He stubbed out his cigar and hopped off the windowsill.

              “Please,” he said.

              There was something strangely intimate about the way they moved around each other to make way on their way to the bed. At one point her hand brushed against his, causing him to mumble,

              “Sorry.”

              “It’s okay,” she responded.

              They climbed into the soft bed, the blankets folding around them like a warm sea. She turned onto her side, letting her hair fan out all over the pillow. Kazuma turned towards her, enraptured by the waves of bright wheat that cascaded on his pillow. He’d smell it later, after she’d left, and think of her.

              They promptly fell asleep, waking in each other’s arms. Kazuma realized Ally had folded herself into his arms and was sleeping there peacefully, like a cub. He had to restrain himself to the fullest extent in order to not get turned on. All he wanted to do was flip her onto her back and ravage her until she begged for mercy. But he held back, knowing she was in a relationship and that it was as complicated as they got.

              Kazuma decided it was best to close his eyes and fall back asleep. He woke to the sound of Ally calling out his name.

              “Hmm?” he mumbled, opening his eyes for the second time that morning. “Oh sorry,” he said, sliding his hands out from around her. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he was blushing, but she was really close to his face and he couldn’t stop thinking about touching her cheeks.

              “It’s okay,” she said. “It was kind of nice.”

              He smiled and asked her if she wanted some breakfast.

              “Absolutely,” she said. “I’m starving. I hope you don’t mind I’m still here. Can I stay for a few extra hours before going back home?”

              “You can stay for as long as you like,” he said.

              He’d somehow forgotten that he’d gone to bed without a shirt on. Suddenly self-conscious, he threw on a plaid button-up shirt.

              Kazuma lifted pots and pans out of the cabinets and proceeded to prepare bacon, eggs, and pancakes. He found cooking eased his mind and soon enough it was like the whole world disappeared. It was just him and his egg whisk. Ally told him she was going to take a shower but he didn’t hear her, as he was too focused on pouring the correct amount of milk into a ceramic bowl. He whistled while he cooked, which was a bad habit of his. Back when he was dating, his ex-girlfriends would complain about the whistling, telling him it was weird or annoying. But when Ally came out of the bathroom in a towel and sat at the island, she didn’t seem to mind. She remained silent until Kazuma placed a stack of warm pancakes in front of her.

              He fished in the fridge for a bottle of syrup and two containers of blackberries. Next he handed her eggs and bacon, and finally an empty glass for orange juice.

              “This looks incredible,” she said. “I’ve never had someone cook for me before.”

              “He doesn’t like to cook?” Kazuma asked, referring to her boyfriend.

              “No, John likes to eat out. He claims that cooking gives him a headache and as a result isn’t very good at it.”

              “That’s a shame,” Kazuma said, taking a seat in front of her. “Cooking is the most important part of my day.”

              “Why do I get the feeling that’s a lie?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

              “Okay so maybe working out is one of the more important parts of my day, but I need to eat a big breakfast to fuel up before the gym.”

              “When are you going to the gym today?”

              “Probably after breakfast. You can feel free to hang out and watch some TV if you want. I’m preparing for a fight a few weeks from now and I need to be physically fit for it.”