Cage (7 page)
Authors: Sarah Sparrows
Chapter 7 – Saffron
Pensacola, Present Day
Moving everything up the stairs to my bedroom was a complete pain in the
ass, and it didn’t help that my jackass roommate wasn’t willing to lift a
finger. It took me over an hour to get everything up into my room while he
comfortably lounged in the den, relaxing in front of the big screen television.
Any time that we made eye contact, I gave him the filthiest glare I
could muster. Sawyer would flash his smile and turn back to the television,
sometimes fluffing a pillow or folding his fingers behind the back of his head.
What an asshole.
While he preoccupied himself with whatever the hell he was doing down
there, I set about unpacking.
The Beach House was built to favor
large
rooms over
many
rooms, and I had
a lot of room to work with. This included the beautiful, robust cherrywood
furniture that helped tie the entire villa together. In my bedroom alone, I
enjoyed the company of a queen-sized four-poster bed, an end table on either
side, two dressers, two bookcases, shelves, and a vanity desk. There was also a
spacious walk-in closet – half the size of my old apartment bedroom.
I had been borderline broke for most of my life; as a result, I
delighted in the simple pleasure of owning things. My suitcases were filled
with beautiful clothes that I was going to enjoy for the summer, regardless of
Sawyer’s stupid habit of bothering me. Within an hour or two, they’d be empty
and tucked away in the bottom of the closet, while everything would be on
display in their proper places.
My shoes fit comfortably into a cubby bookcase, built into the left
side. Next to them, I hung up my array of dresses, and then on the other side I
hung shirts, shorts, and a few bathing suits. A few hats wound up on the bare
pegs above, ready and waiting to be proudly worn under the hot Pensacola sun.
To one of my drawers went my undergarments. I had taken great care to
bring a spectrum of matching attire. Out of the four drawers, I left the top
one empty – just in case. To the second drawer went my bras; to the
third, I placed my panties; the bottom received my socks. I structured
everything with black on one side and white on the other, and lay out the
spectrum of dominant color between the two. Each drawer corresponded vertically
with the right color for each garment, no matter where it was.
Proud of the uniformity, I unpacked the books that I had brought. These
went on the shelves across the room, close to the exquisite floor lamp. There
were plenty of places in the Beach House where I could read to my heart’s
content, should living alone with my brother turn out to be too much a bother.
Last but not least, I removed a few small, personal artifacts, mostly
just for display. Removed from their padding, I placed them on the end tables,
in my private bathroom, and a few on the top shelf above the rest of the books.
Pleased with myself, I changed into a comfortable, loose tee and a pair
of baggy pajamas. Passing Sawyer’s room down the hall, I could hear that he had
resumed unpacking his things behind the closed door. I briefly flirted with the
idea of yanking the door open and trying to pay him back – something
he
probably would have done anyway.
Great, now I’m even THINKING
like the jerk.
I instead retrieved one of my paperbacks and descended down the stairs.
Sliding it onto an end table beside a nice reading chair in a side room, I
strolled back towards the kitchen. It was only now that I realized I hadn’t
eaten anything since the morning, and I was absolutely starving.
There was an ample selection in the fridge. Rows of sliced, premium deli
meats, cheeses, fruits and fresh vegetables, gourmet yogurts, and much more
immediately came into view. On the door there was a wide variety of beverages:
milk, soy milk, almond milk, orange and pineapple juice, grape juice, apple
juice, frigid coffee drinks, smoothie blends, carbonated sodas…
“There’s no
way
we’ll eat all
of this,” I thought aloud. “Half of this is going to spoil…”
Pulling out the bottom freezer compartment, I perused the wide variety
of frozen foods. It seemed like maybe twenty percent of the drawer was filled
with desserts and treats – there were ice cream flavors in here that I
had never even
heard
of, let alone seen.
As for the rest, it was everything you could think of, with the blatant
exception of TV dinners and preserved food. Seemed like our parents had ordered
a smorgasbord of food and stipulated
convenience
above everything else – I hated to waste, and was aggravated that
there just wasn’t any room to save anything from spoiling.
I settled on a borderline gourmet four-cheese pizza. Dreading the
nutritional facts, I closed the drawer on its gliding rails with my extended
toe, and then read the instructions on the back. A few seconds later, the oven
was preheating appropriately, and I began to rip open the box.
A noise alerted me.
I looked up, spotting Sawyer in the distance. He was passing through the
foyer and on his way towards the door.
“Hey!” I called out to him. “Sawyer, HEY!”
He paused, glancing around until he spotted me. It looked like he was
grumbling for a moment, but he wandered towards the kitchen.
Lazily and somewhat impatiently, Sawyer leaned against the doorway.
“What? What is it?”
“Do you want some pizza?” I asked, indicating the box. “There’s no way
I’m going to eat this whole thing.”
“There’s no way
either of us
is
going to eat everything in that damned fridge…” my stepbrother nodded towards
the luxury refrigerator. For the first time, I realized that it was taller than
even
him.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed, looking over at it again. “Why did they
have it filled so much? You and I could get by with maybe a quarter of that
freaking thing.”
“Because our parents don’t seem to know how to live without excess.”
“Well, that’s not fair,” I reprimanded him with a grim smirk. “Until we
met you two, Mom and I got by without the big, fancy house and the full fridge.
I think our Dad just went a little…overboard with it. That’s probably all.”
Sawyer seemed only mildly convinced, crossing his arms.
“So, about this pizza…”
“No, I’ve got plans.”
“Oh? That quickly?” I bit the back of my knuckle.
“That’s right.” He seemed oddly tense.
“And what are these
plans?
How
long are you staying out?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure what they
are
,
or how long–”
“What’s with the third degree?” Sawyer demanded, leaning up against the
wall and adjusting his crossed arms. “Back off.”
I was dumbfounded. “Look, I just…you’re all I have here. Don’t leave me
alone all the time.”
For a brief moment, regret seemed to cloud Sawyer’s face, but it was
gone before I could know for sure. “I’m going out. I don’t need any pizza. I’ll
find something to do and something to eat.”
“Sawyer…”
It was like this every fucking time, just like when we were younger. I’d
try to forgive and forget him being moody, or cocky, or just an all-around
asshole, but he would just push me again. Sometimes he’d pick at me or
antagonize me, but other times…he just got so
distant.
Why do I even fucking bother?
For a moment, I knew the answer, but I immediately shoved it back down
in my head.
No. That’s not it. That CAN’T
be it. I can’t let him have that kind of power over me.
“Look,” he conceded, “I just need to get out of here, alright? I can’t
be here.”
“We
just
got
here? You’re going to leave me alone on
our first night in? Aren’t you supposed to be, you know, watching over me or
something?”
“Is that what you want?” He growled. “You want me to watch your every
move? Stand around and just hover whenever you want to do anything? Or would
you like to slam a door in my face again?”
“Look, that was my
underwear
,
you
jackass
,” I snarled at him.
“You’re the one who left it out in the open. Why in the hell do you need
the world’s biggest assortment of sexy underwear anyway? Plan on moonlighting?”
“NO! I… That’s none of your business!” I said, flushing red.
“I was just trying to help.
And if you
do
want my help,” he said,
throwing a hand against one of the cabinets, “then
maybe
you shouldn’t piss me off.
Maybe
you should stay out of my way and let me just go enjoy some
of my night…the parts of it I can salvage, anyway.”
I clenched my jaw and fought back my tears, curling my hands into fists
at either side.
“By the way, the oven’s preheated.”
Sawyer turned away, disappearing from sight.
Fuck you....
As I furiously glared at the spot where he’d been standing, trying to
hold myself together, I heard his footsteps retreat. A few seconds later, the
sound of the door opening and slamming shut rang out into the silence, and I
broke down in tears.
Chapter 8 – Sawyer
New Orleans, Four Years Ago
Af
ter my first
brawl, life fell into a particular rhythm. The fights were scheduled late on
the weekends – but the venue skipped around from time to time, depending
on how much of a blind eye we received from the authorities.
For the most part, the fuzz didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about our
matches. Sometimes, that would change for a few weeks. Luckily for us, Gary had
a high-ranking friend on the force, and we were tipped off early to any
increased interest. All that meant was moving information through the network
of usual spectators, then shifting our fights somewhere else for a weekend or
two.
During the week, I took up odd jobs for Gary’s bar regulars, doing more
manual labor. It was easier to manage with a roof over my head and a shower on
call, and they paid me under the table for everything.
Meanwhile, Gary pulled through on that ‘training’ promise from the
start. Before the second weekly brawl, I’d already been introduced to Chen, his
dojo owner contact, and even attended a few sessions. It wasn’t news to me that
Gary had been right – I
was
unrefined,
and that was painfully clear to me after a few afternoons with the group.
“Discipline,” Chen told me on the second night. “You lack
discipline
. Your body is a heavy block
of clay – very powerful, very sturdy. But power is never enough. Teach
yourself
discipline
, and you will
learn
finesse
.” He sized me up, as so
many did around those times, and smiled confidently. “You are a quick learner,
and you do not fear pain. An excellent pupil… I think you
will
be.”
And so it continued: brawls every weekend, a roulette of work during the
week, and fitting forty hours of training around it. At first, my training was
at the drawing board – revisions made to how I lift weights and trained
my cardiovascular. At the same time, I was educated in how to throw a proper
punch, the right stances to take, and everything I needed to know about
taking
critical punches and kicks.
After I had been retrained in the very basics, I studied for a month
under Chen’s instructors with basic, common denominator martial arts. I learned
the bottom-rung ways to evade powerful jabs to the jaw, catch or deflect
striking kicks, and how to avoid being wrestled to the ground. Optimized for
efficiency and speed, the improvised curriculum was equally brutal on my flesh
and taxing on my exhaustion levels.
However, results began to slowly appear.
With my large, powerful build, Muy Thai was a natural fit for me. As a
full-contact style, it required that I utilize hard striking surface that my
body supplied – forcing me to consider my shins and elbows equally viable
weapons in the ring. This meant that I had to harden these surfaces through
rigorous body conditioning, alongside my fists and feet.
The full curriculum of training involved everything from shadowboxing to
weight training. I began to take less work during the week, allowing my body to
rest from the intensity I faced practically every night in the dojo. I moved
from four nights a week to six, resting the entire day leading up to the weekly
fight.
I could have stopped at eight months, but I pushed through for two more.
Once this was done, I took my hard, refined body and forced it through two more
months of specialized wrestling techniques, eager to either keep myself on my
feet or to crush whomever dared to get me onto the floor. Thanks to my
specialty, I could be easily devastating in either environment, and my natural
affinity for fighting made me an intimidating contender. On top of this, my
body was hardwired for increased endurance, and I always found a little more
stamina in my veins to pull from when things turned desperate in the ring.
However, I did lose a few times. Each night that I tapped out or blacked
out, Gary threatened to throw me to the streets again – but I had already
proven my worth, allowing him to charge higher ticket sales. I was
indispensible to him now.
Gary settled on making me work for his friends for half a week – usually
in something a little more nefarious that my typical work. More often than not,
I was acting as a bodyguard for some criminal element in the city. It was work
that made my skin crawl, but I took it all in stride.
I did what I had to do.
Slippery Pete was the closest thing that I had to a friend. His strange
blend of condescending camaraderie even started to grow on me a little. He
considered me his partner in crime, always making sure we wound up on the same
team in the ring. If he held any bitter resentment towards his father obviously
favoring me, he never showed it.
It looked like he was just happy to have someone.
I couldn’t begrudge him; I felt the same way.
He filled me in about Hurricane Katrina, and the devastating toll it
took on the city. I’d seen the images and read the news reports, but he had
lived
through
it, and offered a
harrowing insider’s view into the disaster.
“Thought the world was gonna fuckin’ end, man,” he confessed one night,
over takeout Chinese. “We couldn’t get out of here, Gary and me. Locked
ourselves up with every ounce of food and water we could find. Stupid fucker
gets these ideas in his head, y’know? Stubborn bastard. He stays the course,
man. A’int no matter where those tracks gonna go.”
“That’s not always the best approach,” I observed, chewing on a forkful
of
lo mein
. “Gotta know when to fold
‘em.”
“Damn right,” Slippery Pete agreed. “But it’s all okay, see? You and me,
we’re a team. We’re gonna get outta this dump, maybe head out west. Plenty of
action out there.”
“Out west? Out west is expensive,” I chewed.
“Not when you’re all resourceful, see?” He took a bite of an egg roll,
quickly swallowing. “It’s all in the, uh, approach. You just gotta believe,
pal. And
you
believe
me
…it’ll happen. With my speed and your
strength, we’ll be a duo.
Fuckin’
unstoppable
, that’s what they’ll say about us. You’ll see.”
“I wish I shared your enthusiasm,” I remarked. “New Orleans is decent,
but I could use some different scenery. Sure. Maybe we’ll head out west. I mean
it’s a cliché for a reason, right? There might be a better life out there just
waiting for us.”
“Now
that’s
what I’m talkin’
about!” He shouted, jabbing a dirty chopstick towards me. Not that he knew how
to
use
chopsticks, but he tried,
anyway. “You and me, all the way. We’ll bust outta this piece-of-shit bar and
make something of ourselves, see? It’s gonna be spectacular.”
“You might be onto something,” I agreed, swallowing another bite. “If there’s
anybody that can do it…might as well be us.”