Cross My Heart (18+)

Pearl

         When I had gotten home, I rummaged through all of my mothers old vinyl. I smiled as I noticed she had the album Pearl by Janis Joplin, one of the most iconic artists in my mother's time. I sang along to the lyrics as I began to make dinner, swaying my hips to the sound of the intense bass. I knew that in just a few hours I would have to go back to the ring, which obviously crippled me with anxiety — but I tried to ignore the thoughts. I figured that soon enough, I would become numb to it.

Is that a healthy coping mechanism?

No.

Will I do it anyway?

Absolutely.

The smell of spaghetti drifted to my nose, making me hum in happiness at the nostalgic scent. Although I hardly knew to cook, this was one recipe I was particularly skilled at— probably because it required hardly any work. I began to eat as I continued to listen to my music, flipping through the pages of The General in His Labyrinth. It was very rare for me to be reading a book and feel my fingers itch to turn the page, needing to know what happens. However, in this novel, it was a constant feeling. The author's words spoke to me and resonated deep in my bones, shaking me to my core.

"... he was shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness.
"Damn it," he sighed. "How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!"

I understood what the author was trying to convey — the labyrinth is life and all that it encompasses, which is, for many, suffering. However, there is no way out of this labyrinth — at least until you're six feet underground. Maybe I was wrong with my interpretation, but that is how I took it.

As I came towards the end of the novel, I knew much time had passed. I begrudgingly took my phone out from my back pocket, seeing as it was 10:30.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I whisper-yelled, trying to not wake the others in my apartment complex. I quickly scrambled and flew out of the door, unprepared for whatever awaited me tonight at work. When I had almost arrived at 21st street, my heart sank into the pits of my stomach. I had forgotten my bag. That means I had forgotten my gun, my pocket knife, and my pepper spray. I tried to take some deep calming breaths. "It's okay, Lux. Everything will be fine. You're a fast runner in case anything happens." If someone had heard me talking to myself, they'd be terrified. However, it was quite helpful in moments of panic.

You may be thinking why I'm so persistent with carrying these tools with me — and that's because I felt as though if I did anything wrong, I would be hurt. Plus, I was working with the most notorious killers in the United States. I could never be too sure.

I began walking down the stairs, my hands gripping the cold steel of the rusted banister. I looked up to the stars, saying a quick prayer to myself, before knocking three times — just as I did the night before. This time, when the door opened, it was only Mr. Sanchez. He nodded at me, opening the door fully. He was wearing what was obviously a very expensive suit, probably worth my entire life's savings.

"Lux, come with me. A fight starts in just ten minutes. You're new, so I won't deduct money for being late." He spoke quickly, walking in front of me towards the second door that led to the ring. My short legs struggled to keep up with him.

"I'm late?" I choked out, my breath almost entirely gone from having to sprint here.

He pivoted on his right foot to face me, before checking the obnoxious Rolex on his wrist. "It's 11:02. I've made myself very clear here. Did you see the deposit in your account?" He questioned, turning back around so he could keep walking. I wanted to scoff — I was a whole 120 seconds late — but I didn't. I wanted to keep my head attached to my body.

"Yes, Mr. Sanchez. I did. Thank you." I replied weakly, still walking swiftly with him. He didn't reply, instead he unlocked the huge padlock that led to the ring. My nose scrunched at the horrible scent, something I hadn't noticed the night previous. It smelled like the place where things came to die — quite literally.

My heart felt a little more at ease when I saw Axel standing a few feet away from me. Although we definitely didn't have a conventionally 'good' relationship, at least he didn't kill me despite my attitude towards him last night. He gave me a curt nod before using his index finger to motion me to come to where he was. As you can see, he is a man of very few words.

He looked at my face of disgust, making me blush. I couldn't help it — when so felt something, it was written all across my face. He lifted his brows, waiting for me to speak and explain why my nose was so scrunched.

"It smells like utter shit." I mumbled. A small smile graced his lips, making me smile in response. Okay, so maybe Axel could protect me that was the horror of this job. My father told me when I was a child that if you can make people laugh, you can conquer almost anything. That advice was especially useful now, considering the circumstances.

I sat in the same beat-up plastic chair as I did last night, directly next to Axel. My eyes wandered around the room more tonight, though, than last night — and the loud crowd didn't seem to bother me as much as it did. Sure, my heart was still practically beating out of my chest, but it was a tad more bearable after being able to expect the ear-piercing yells and clamor of the audience.

I jumped when I heard the announcer start to yell, this time introducing another man — but I knew, even far away, that it wasn't The Diablo. The little voice in my head was scolding me, why was I so fascinated by this man? He was ruthless, he hurt people. However, deep down, I couldn't see that in a person. I wanted to believe otherwise.

In order to keep your sanity in this world, you have to believe there is still good in it.

The crowd cheering for the other man was loud, but not even a fraction of the decibels of when The Diablo came out. My eyes widened as I looked at him, entirely forgetting that he had only just had some major wounds stitched up. I turned my head to Axel, who was staring ahead, anticipating the game.

"His wounds will reopen." I yelled over the large audience.

"And you will restitch them." He replied shortly, with no emotion. I sighed in defeat. There was only so much I could do before he died, and then everyone would blame it on the healers. I clenched my jaw as I saw the other man throw a punch at Th Diablo first — my body suddenly feeling ridden with anxiety.

From then on out, it was just déjà vu from last night. They fought for approximately three minutes, those and those three minutes singlehandedly felt like an eternity. With every kick, punch, and drop of blood, I felt a part of my already minimal innocence vanish into thin air. I closed my eyes tightly when I saw The Diablo's hands wrap around the other mans throat, knowing fully well that he was forcing the remaining life from his body.

I wasn't aware that I was crying until I heard Axel murmur in my ear, "You cannot cry. These are bad men. This happens for a reason."

Instead of taking solace in his words, it only chilled me further.