The Aristocrat

They call it near morning pt. 3

Saturday 24th. 

"So, you liked it then?" Marley asked, puffing out a heavy cloud of smoke. He tapped his cigarette between his thick fingers, the butt flickering in tiny sparks to the floor, "The fight I mean?"

Outside the small converted shed, Marley and I stood speaking between ourselves ignoring the loud bursts of laughter and music that came from inside the wooden shed. I had stepped outside for a mouthful or two of fresh air. The blending of a stuffy room and hard-hitting alcohol I had found too much for my brain to compose. Marley had followed me, lighting up a cigarette the moment he stepped out. 

"Yeah it was fun," I told him, rocking back and forth on the heels of my feet in an attempt at keeping myself warm in the bitter temperature, "I never expected you to be that good."

With the exhale of his cigarette Marley released a short, light-hearted chuckle, "I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."

"You should," I laughed alongside him, "you're an amazing boxer."

"Thanks," Marley nodded, pausing then before tipping his chin up in my direction, "How about your brother? You said he fought? Was he any good?"

I thought back years ago, standing on my tiptoes on a bench inside a gym, attempting to catch glimpse of my brother boxing his first real match. The sight was one obscured, waving hands and bobbing heads blocking my view. 

"I think so, I can't really remember," I admitted to him, "I only saw him fight a couple of times. Nothing like how you fought though, he only did it as something to release stress I guess."

Marley swayed his head back and forth as his back leant against the wooden exterior of his shed. He rested on the window ledge, one hand wrapped around it to steady himself and the still holding the cigarette.

"Boxing's good for that," He agreed.

"Yeah, it helped him for a while," I explained, "Until he gave it up."

"Does he miss it?" Marley questioned placing the cigarette between his thin lips and taking another long drag of it. I watched in fascination, attempting to recollect the last time I'd had one myself. I assumed it would have been a time when I was with Thomas, he smoked religiously when his parents weren't around. 

"I'm not sure, I haven't asked him," I replied. My gaze tore from his mouth where he blew out another mouthful of smoke. I focused on what he'd asked me, "He lives really far away and we don't get to talk as much as we used to."

"That's a shame," Marley sympathized. I tried not to hold onto his words too much or let myself get dragged into a conversation about my brother. I was far too interested in keeping the mood easy. If it were another night I might feel tempted to talk about him, I never got the chance to at home. Alex was the topic of discussion that wasn't allowed to be brought up, a no entry room you were terrified of opening. But tonight, I was enjoying myself far too much to open that door.

"Yeah it is," I agreed, pausing to think of a route I could divert the conversation in, "You know, I really like this little space you have here."

Marley's brows cocked up towards his hair line, lips quirking up in a proud smile, "Really? It's not much but there's something about it isn't there?"

"For sure," I said, titling my head over my shoulder to further inspect his small home through the window behind his back. It was definitely no pent house suite but there seemed very little wrong with that. It reminded me of Asher's home; cozy and inviting. When you stepped inside you knew someone lived there. The walls were decorated with photographs, memories that meant something. Sport trophies that gathered dust on the shelves, old school books thrown into one corner. It wasn't just a collection of furniture identically matched to a room design out of a modern living magazine. It wasn't cold like our home, there was something that resembled real life in it.