Fight Like a Girl | ✔️

6)

"How's fight life going?" He asks. "Or is there a rule, don't talk about fight life?"

"I know, that you know, I'm not fighting."

He winces with guilt. "Yeah. I wanted you to be the one to tell me though. How come you didn't?"

"I dunno. You've got. . . your own life. I'm not going to bother you every time something changes in mine."

"We might not live an hour drive from each other, but you can still talk to me, dude. I'm here, whenever you need."

I'm grateful he said that and it's not because I thought he wouldn't be here for me, but more because I figured he'd appreciate being left alone. It's hard to believe that he's living life in the glitz lane and he's still more than willing to set aside time for me.

"What happened?" He asks.

A couple of older men slink past our table and watch me the entire time. Creep is a universal language. Drayton catches their stares and straightens up, his stance intimidating, even when he's sitting.

That's the thing about him, he's cautionary to the point of homicidal. He's the sort of person I could be honest about the assault with because he wouldn't do tears and affection, he'd skip straight to the murder and justice.

His twin sister was raped and murdered when she was twelve. Twelve. It was the sort of crime you watch documentaries about but can't ever imagine it happening to you. He's never recovered and because of that, he's vigilant and I grew up listening to him warn me over and over again.

"No walking alone at night." "No leaving your drink unattended." "Don't walk close to the road or close to the hedges, walk right in the middle of the footpath." "Make sure your location is on if you are walking in the dark and send someone a constant stream of updates." "Don't even bother walking in the dark, call me."

The no walking alone at night was a big one, it still is. That was how Abby was snatched. He left her at their friend's house which was a few doors down from their house and she walked home alone. Except, she never made it. He's had that on his conscience ever since and the year I was twelve, he called me from College three or four times a week.

As much as I would like to be honest with him because I know without a doubt that he'd dish out some street justice, I can't tell him for that exact reason. He'd get himself arrested and fired, mom and dad would find out. It would be a whole mess because Drayton is an act now, think later sort of person. He does what he has to do for the people he loves, and he doesn't care if it gets him into trouble.

Which is exactly why he knocked dad out cold when he found out he cheated on mom.

"I was over it," I say.

He drums his fingers on the wooden tabletop, staring at me. "Honest?"

"Yeah. I want to do something else."

No, I don't. I miss fighting.

"That's a shame, no one throws a right hook like you do."

I start jabbing the air, laughing along as if it doesn't hurt to know I've had so much taken from me. One person put his hands where they didn't belong, and he filled his palms with pieces of me. My virginity, my strength, my fighting, my peace. But he isn't holding on, he's washed those hands and let the remains of who I am, slip down the drain, leaving me hollow.

Drayton and I catch up over dinner, both of us treading around the subject of mom and the arrests. Instead he talks a lot about his children and the NFL. The season is about to start which is why he tells me he shouldn't be eating pizza right now. I'm more than happy to listen to what's going on his life, rather than mine. All I'd have to tell him is that I don't get a lot of sleep, my own nakedness is a trigger and I feel like a shell of the person I used to be.