Wrong: A Spoiled Stepbrother Romance (14 page)

*****

Madelyn

Since Rorke had mentioned several times where his fight was going to be, I was able to easily find the address for the old auditorium downtown. I drove like a crazy person, rushing to get there before it was too late. Since I wasn’t the only one who wanted to see the fight, each parking lot I came across was full. When I eventually happened to see a car pulling out of a spot, I raced over there as fast as I could, hoping it was as good as it seemed. Though I had arrived before anyone else, I soon found myself in a game of chicken with a gray SUV from the other side, its blinker flashing towards my rightful spot. After a brief thought of just handing it over, I decided, you know what? No. I needed to park and get inside. This new me had already been declared and she wasn’t going to get walked over any more. With a quickness I pulled into the new spot, my head held high and ready to fight anyone who dares to step in my way.

“Sold out,” the woman behind the glass told me flatly before I even had the chance to speak. She then turned her rollie chair away from the window and pretended that I wasn't even there.

“M'am, I really need to get in there,” I pleaded. Still nothing, she remained turned away, her arms crossed over her large chest and a defiant scowl on her face.

My new look on life dashed for a moment as I started to turn away, doomed to stay in the lobby for the entirety of the fight, I saw no other way. As I tried to come to grips with the reality, I saw a young couple, a man and a woman, rushing out, looking worried as they struggled to put on their coats.

“Excuse me,” I bravely asked as I approached them, out of my element, bothering strangers for my own gain. Although each were clearly in a big hurry, both were kind enough to slow down a little as they walked. “Are you leaving? It's sold out and I...” My words couldn’t have sounded more desperate but I hoped it would end up finding sympathetic ears.

The man didn't even hesitate, fishing in a couple of pockets in his coat before handing me two tickets they had apparently used to get in. Another victory made me beam with joy. The couple hurried off as I tried to thank them, not having the time or concern to deal with me any more. The only sad part about this whole thing (apart from what had the couple in such a rush) was the fact that the ticket booth lady hadn't even noticed. Looking in, I saw her still turned away from the window, still with arms crossed and still staring at the wall.

Locating the entrance to the main auditorium, it took some strength to get the door open but when I did, a wave of heat, intense crowd noise and the smell of sweat and stale beer ran over me. I briefly checked the tickets to see where the seats were but it was pointless. The entire gym was filled with people everywhere, there wasn't any order. Many cans of beer risked being crushed inside the hands of the strongest men in town, the liquid splashing everywhere as the gestured wildly with their arms. The yelling and jeering was almost deafening and completely disorienting. Through all of this I struggled to find a place to just be able to stand but it was clear I wouldn't leave the situation unscathed, I'd have to wash my clothes and hair a million times to get this stench and mess out.

After scanning every row I passed, I had to eventually give in and take advantage of one of the small empty pockets I spotted. The one I chose was a tight squeeze but I was able to situate myself between some big, bulky men and their dates standing on the metal folding chairs that lined the floor. My legs widened to test the limits of my space, elbows went out but my neighbors didn't even seem to notice that I was even there.

There was more work to do. Because of all of the people standing on their chairs, sights of the ring only came in drips and drabs. Flesh tones waved in between the countless jean-covered thighs and asses right at my eye level. Exerting awkward lunges in all directions, I was occasionally able to make out two different fighters, at one point believing I identified my stepbrother in the ring.

When I thought I had spotted Rorke, my knees suddenly got weak and my heart fluttered. Knowing Rorke was in that ring, fighting right in front of me, overwhelmed my entire being. I wanted to scream and yell and support him, let him know I was here for him; let him know I believed in him.

"C'mon Rorke!" I yelled out as loudly as I could. My sudden outburst startled a few people around me, heads turning to check and see if "This bitch serious?".

“Fuck this rich fuck!”

“Beat his ass!”

“Kill him!”

Those are the types of exclamations that followed my well-intended voice of support. And that was just what I heard in my section. The angry rumble rippling through the entire working-class crowd was clearly not happy with Rorke and didn't bother to try and hide it. The townies here had an axe to grind, they wanted blood from my stepbrother for being the man they all assumed he was. They didn't know him and had no idea how hard he worked.

“F you, Fratelli!”

Any hope that they would lay off was dashed once I heard him called out by name. I may have been the only one in that auditorium pulling for Rorke but it saddened me to realize that he had no idea I was there. As far as he was concerned, he was alone up there, up against the world.

“C'mon, Rorke!” I tried again to show him he had support. More heads turned my way, more anger and disbelief that I would openly cheer for someone so hated. Someone they hated. The stares lingered and I had to pretend it didn't bother me, looking right past the sneers as I continued to clap and call out my stepbrother's name.

Just when the heads seemed to turn their attention back towards the ring, a loud 'ding' sounded, alerting everyone to the end of the round. The tension momentarily diffused as the angry crowd lightened up a little and engaged in conversation with each other. This allowed me a better opportunity to see into the ring. Through some more crafty maneuvers, I was able to get a glimpse of Rorke sitting on a bench, his arms spread out wide, resting on the ropes. An older man was working on him as my stepbrother kept a thousand-yard-stare off across the ring. He didn't look like he heard the crowds vile taunts, didn't flinch when flashes from the cameras at ringside tried to take humiliating pictures of him. I looked as closely as I could and was surprised I didn't see much in the way of injury; no new cuts, bruising or swelling. Granted I was pretty far away but from what I could tell, we wasn't as banged up as I had feared. It was impossible for me to try to get a glimpse at his opponent, all I could see was his back. As I tried to move around to see my stepbrother again, I happened to see what the other fighter's trainer had tried to throw out of the ring. Landing on the side of the ring's mat, the discarded towel had splotches of crimson red. The shocking red mixed with small patches of white delighted me. Rorke had been effective enough against his opponent to make him bleed. This gave me hope that Rorke was defying the odds against him.

“Excuse me?” I appealed to one of the groups beside me, “Excuse me?” I repeated when they ignored my first request. Speaking to strangers wasn’t something I was normally did but the new me was busting out of my comfort zone. Thankfully, one of the short women turned to me, attitude and unwelcomeness her main priority. Her look let me know I needed to speak quickly or to just leave them alone.

“I can't really see...how is the fight going?”

The mood of the group instantly lifted, they had clearly thought I was about to complain about something they were doing and were relieved to learn that wasn't the case. One man, a big, hulking mountain of a man came forward with a warm smile. His cut off jean vest showcased his large, tattooed, toned arms that moved wildly when he talked.

“Ok. So this rich kid is fighting this super fast guy. Rich kid can't seem to catch fast guy. They both have got some good punches in but it's anyone's fight.” Those words rapidly left him as he spoke it all in one breath directly into my ear that he had leaned over to be closer to.

When I asked if anyone was hurt, he told me he didn't think so. “What about that bloody towel?” I asked and after looking over at the ring, the man changed his stance. “Oh shit, I guess fast guy is bleeding, a lot, but he'll be fine, he’s been in this position before. Tough kid, he's not done.”

Suddenly the bell rung again and the man turned to me with added urgency. “This is the last round. It's gonna be craaaaaaazy!” He vanished back to his post and left me struggling to see.

It was even more difficult this round than it had been previously. Flashes of light, waving arms and loud bursts from the crowd let me know that at least something was happening up in that ring. Any positive emote from the crowd filled me with worry for my poor stepbrother, they were clearly rooting for him to get what they were certain he deserved.

There were a thankfully a few pauses between the loud bursts of crowd cheers but soon I grew nervous as one cheer quickly followed another one and then another. Something was happening fast, so fast the crowd barely had a pause between their excited outbursts. The frenzy of the audience let me know that at that moment, somebody was getting pounded and by the viciousness by which the audience egged it on. It was abundantly clear that my stepbrother was in trouble. Even through all of the screaming and yelling of the crowd, I swear I could hear the sound of a body getting hit; like two large slabs of meat slapping together. My mind envisioned blood and sweat flying wildly as one of the fighter's head thrashed in defeat.

The sound of the bell attempted to cut through the raucous crowd and signify the end. The fight being stopped didn't damper this audience, instead prompting them to erupt in victory, the fight had seemingly ended as they had wanted it to.

The man who had been so friendly earlier, came over all smiles, very happy about the fight's outcome. His happy eyes told me he wanted me to join in his celebration. His two big, meaty paws gripped my upper arms as he gently shook, asking over and over again “Can you believe it?”

“Lift me up!” I shouted directly into his ear, figuring I could put him to use. This man wasted no time and hugged my body to his, my breasts squished right against his face as my head rose above all the others. As the pandemonium played out beneath me, I finally had a clear view of the ring.

Just as I had feared, I saw Rorke up against the ropes, this time hanging on for dear life. His face was completely banged up, a stark contrast to what I saw only a few minutes ago. The ref was keeping Rorke's opponent away from him, his arms spread to stop any potential attack. Though the fight had clearly not gone in his favor, my stepbrother continued to taunt the man who had beat him, daring him to come at him again.

“I’m still standing! I’m still standing!” he yelled several times at his enraged opponent. The other fighter was trying to come back at Rorke but the trainers and ref did their best to keep them apart. My helpful new friend started to lower me but not before Rorke had turned my way and we made eye contact. Even through all the swelling and distance, Rorke’s eyes locked with mine delivering a much more powerful punch than any he had just endured. His face told me that he was hurt, either at knowing I saw him lose or from the fact that I was being held tightly by another man. Before I could even try to mouth an explanation, I was completely lowered to the floor by my friend.

“Wasn’t that amazing?” he shouted, looking to me to match his enthusiasm. Back on the ground, I tried to stand as tall as I could to try and assure my stepbrother that I didn't care that he lost, that I was there for him, that I was so proud of all he had accomplished. The guy next to me tried to talk to me so more but I pushed right by him, running for the aisle, needing to get to the ring before Rorke disappeared.

“M'am, stay at your seat please.”

A large brute stood blocking my exit and he just wouldn't listen to reason. Try as I might, he refused to let me out. “Fire issue” or something or other. Wouldn't keeping people trapped by their seats cause a fire hazard?

In a move that would've made my old gym teacher proud, I somehow vaulted myself up off the corner of another chair, leapt over the row behind me and was off and running down the aisle in no time. The guard who had tried to stop me gave up before he even started to give chase. Not even bothering to come after me once I was more than 20 feet away. I was able to witness him calmly speak into a walkie-talkie as I attempted to put more distance between us. Knowing my time was severely limited, I took off towards the ring, yelling Rorke's name the whole time.

Rorke and his trainer were slowly exiting auditorium, about to enter a tunnel at the opposite side of the ring. The trainer was under Rorke's arm, giving his wounded fighter the assistance he needed just to walk the short distance.

“Rorke!” I yelled, loud enough for people two towns over to hear. His trainer looked back for a quick second but not Rorke, he kept his head tilted towards the ground without turning back to see who was calling for him; he had heard his name shouted all night and it was never for anything good. As I sprinted around the ring to catch up, I was almost immediately surrounded by four burly security guards, including the one from before. There was no way I could run or escape these guys, they had me trapped. In between two of the meatheads, I had a very small window to watch Rorke slowly disappear with his head hung low.

“Rorke!” I yelled out again in vain, watching my stepbrother lean on his trainer for support as they vanished from my sight.

The four lovely security guards were more than happy to guide me towards the exit, before the rest of the crowd was about to start filling the aisle. Both of my arms were grabbed tightly as I was dragged to the exit, shoved outside before anybody else had made it out. After brushing myself off, I felt a need to get the last word in.