MARI
I would never think to visit such an event. I can't understand this men's craving for maiming someone or for being injured themselves. What for? To shed energy overages? Well, there are so many much more pleasant ways to do it. But this experience is still interesting for a change. We pull into a small parking lot for the participants where Dina, Javad and an unknown girl are already waiting for us. I notice in surprise that I start to see difference between the overly wrapped women who looked similar before. I eagerly hug my friend and she introduces me her companion – this is Javad's beigaly Miriam. I watch the girls chatting perplexed with the absence of jealous or competing between them. It's so weird to me, unacceptable even, because it should be only me and no one else in the relationship. Or do it without me, guys. By the way, it's a one more reason not to fall for Kiram's charm, harem is absolutely not my thing.
Kir says something in Palerian to his friend meanwhile, whilst everybody was talking Aranian before for my sake as I get it. I'm watching Dina questioningly in hope to hear the translation: it's something definitely not meant for my ears, so it's twice more enticing. Dina checks if the guys are looking at us and then whispers to me:
- Kiram honored Javad with entering the close family circle, – oh yeah, now everything's utterly clear! Dina gets it that her explanations didn't make it any more comprehensible and adds. – It's a ritual phrase, it means that Javad can see your face and talk to you now as a close friend and relative. Also he takes the responsibility for you if Kiram's not there. You know, he has to leave you alone during the fight.
- Are they relatives? – I'm a bit surprised.
- Second cousins. And the sworn brothers besides.
I'd never tell that. But it doesn't matter indeed. We're entering quite big and shabby building of the sport club. Dina with her family heads towards the main hall where the show will take place itself, what about me and Kir we're going to a personal changing room. A manager who met us explains where and when Kiram should come. Kir translates it and I'm trying to keep up, because the hallways are winding and tangled here and I'm the only one who can see of the two of us.
The changing room turns out to be a tiny closet with a small couch, but it has as tiny shower room, where my companion hides straight away. When he leaves it, he's already wearing the sport shorts, gloves and... flip-flops?
- Why are you wearing slippers? – I can't hold my curiosity back. – I thought the boxers should be wearing trainers.
He turns my way in surprise as if he forgot of my presence.
- It's MMA not boxing. It's barefoot.
We have like half an hour before we have to go, so I'm taking the niqab of. The necessity to wear this thing all the time is a mere torture to me. Kir's a bit on edge, warming up. I'm trying to read an article about the fights without rules to understand what's going on at least remotely, and I'm doing it in attempt to distract myself from such a perfect body right in front of my eyes of course. Honestly I'm real bad at it. My eyes are living its own life constantly getting back to the boy. When Kir is finally done with his exercises, he's landing by me side. Way too close as for me.
- Will you wish me good luck? – He asks unexpectedly.
- Do you really need it? You move like a demon without any luck.
- Confess you were watching me in the gym, – he smirks.
- No, not of course. – I answer pretty dispassionately. – But the way you react to the moving it tells a whole lot. Besides you wouldn't get to the final if you wouldn't be that super cool, – today I was amazed to know from Dina that the guy is not just some lame sportsman, but he's five minutes to the champion and genius. – It's time, – I say taking a look at my tablet.
Kir rises up and extends his hand to me, and I don't know why I accept it. Instead of letting go he pulls me closer causing the storm of goose bumps along my back. These are the sense of danger and excitement tearing me apart. He brushes my cheek with his fingertips, kisses my lips shortly and orders to put the niqab back on. And I'm discouraged by myself and my very own resistance once again. Because I want more. And I want to never see him again. But I have no time to indulge in any emotional distress, Kiram takes my palm, and we're striding to find our path to the main hall.
It's noisy, bright and the air is overfilled with the testosterone near the ring. I'm looking around with curiosity. You know, curiosity is one of the main reporter's features along with the gift of gab. I notice Javad and his girls in the first row seat and head their way, we're still holding hands with Kir like Siamese twins, so to speak. Kiram drags Javad away to the ring immediately when we approach them, but his cousin turns back quickly leaving Kir with his assistant. Or what's the name of that man who gives the towels and water during the fight? It's not important anyway. I get seated near the girls and wait for the beginning of the gig.
The second participant shows up and I start to doubt Kir's winning. The guys have , but yet the expression of another fighter is so aggressive, it makes me feel uneasy. Javad notices me flinching and leans down to my ear to say:
- Don't worry, Kiram's better.
- I can't get it how it's even possible to be honest, he doesn't see a thing, – I'm sincere at that point, because the boy's reactions are far beyond human.
- No one does, – he laughs. – But one thing is clear, my brother is gifted. He feels the move even before his opponent starts it.
We don't talk anymore as the match begins. Guys are hopping around the ring hitting each other with their arms and legs, and I understand that Javad was right, because Kir dodges his opponent deftly. It's obvious that Kiram moves much more effortless, even though Shakar, as the judge introduced him, attacks more active. The mob around us is buzzing, cheering up one fighter or another, but then again the three minutes are over and they part to their corners. I have to admit this performance has its own belligerence beauty to it. It's the beauty of power and dominance of one human over another. It's brutal and obscure to me, but here we are. Twelve rounds pass one by one and in the end men move not as easy as in the beginning. Kir ends up on the floor during one of the rounds but leaps up very quick. It just makes absolutely no sense to me how they calculate the points and who's leading during the whole match, but Kir triumphs in the last fight knocking Shakar out pretty hard in a fantastic hit which is evident even for me.
The room goes wild, the sportscaster is running his mouth most likely praising Kir – my knowledge of Palerian is not enough to pinpoint anything except for his name and 'yes' yet. Javad gets up to his feet to applaud next to me. Kiram stands on the ring with a really devilish smirk on his lips, he's definitely enjoying the moment. And it's hundred per cent he earned this right. Javad meets our boy from the ring and hands him to me – Kir needs to freshen up before the presentation of the cup, that's why we're heading back to the dressing room. We have only twenty minutes in and out. As the old door shuts behind us, he grabs my waist, rips the niqab I'm sick of off and kisses me firmly pressing my back against the wall. I'm freezing in confusion and in awe. It seems the adrenaline boils in my blood no less than in winner's, because I'm responding the kiss. I'm running over his teeth with my tongue, sucking on his bottom lip tenderly and sinking in the moment. 'I just don't want to ruin his minute of triumph' – I'm persuading myself, but it's a pure fiction.
Kir breaks away from my lips however but he's still gripping me tight heavy breathing. It feels like he's not going to get back there for his well-deserved award.
- We gotta go, – I breathe out barely audible and I hate to do that. Here and now I let myself go, but I shouldn't allow things like that henceforth.
As though understanding this he squeezes me tighter for a split second before giving me freedom and rushes to the shower, very quick shower we must say, I hardly manage to fix my outfit. I fix my clothes, but not my thoughts. And it hits me overdue that now there's not a single chance he's backing up.
We don't talk to each over on our way back, me in order not to spoil his moment of glory, he for some unknown reasons. The awarding ceremony itself is surprisingly swift. Kir smiles like a Cheshire cat who you'd love to stroke while he's standing on pedestal, but now I know for sure how deadly dangerous this 'kitten' is. Dangerous by all means: physically and for my inner peace.
His father accompanied by Azra and Jahiza joins us when Kiram steps off the pedestal and pretty confidently moves in our direction on his own.
- Good evening, Mister Arafat, – Javad greets the man in Palerian, and I understand his words. Also I get it that I hear the surname of my kidnapper for the first time.
They're making a small talk, and I'm watching Kiram working his way through the crowd, some random people approach him, shake his hand and clap the shoulder, and the boy responds them so natural like he can see them. He stops waiting for something few steps away from us, probably for his father to notice him. Soon they're hugging each other, both laughing, and the women are standing aside allowing themselves only a brief hug when Samir steps away from the son. After saying our goodbyes we're getting back to the dressing room without any hurry. Kir and Javad arranged a small party in our house to celebrate the victory, and the last one promised to go and stock with everything we need for it. So no one's waiting for us, and I'm frightened to stay alone with the boy again. The moment is gone.
KIRAM
Already tuned to the fight I don't think about anything but the winning. I need to feel the rival, need to outrank him and win. Everything's simple and obvious as usual. Everything's hard at the same time, Shakar is good at what he does.
My vic isn't an easy one, but when I just hear his body hitting the mat I know straight away it's a triumph, I figure out of his breath it's a knock out. Yes! I did it! When the judge holds my hand up, I can't stop myself from glee: look, you all, what a 'miserable' is capable of, it's something you could never do. Look, father, I made it through. Look, Mari, how lucky you are, you never had someone better than me and you never will.
Then we go to the changing room, and I can't resist the temptation to touch her even if I know that she will shove and curse me, but I need to feel her by my side. And I'm damn high when she answers the kiss, because this victory is as sweet as the one on the ring. Her lips are teasing me promising the unearthly bliss, Mari puts her hands to my bare and sweaty chest timidly causing the excitement. I let my girl go unwillingly, 'cause I'm well aware it's not going to be easy, she will build hundreds of fences between us right away. But now I'm certain I'll be able to crush it all either.
During the ceremony I feel myself the happiest person of living today and I'm carried with the sense. My father will be proud of me. He used to be the one to escort me to all the competitions before, now it would be weird. I know for sure he's here tonight together with my mother and Azra to see my rising and I feel grateful to him for permitting me to achieve all of this.
After accepting the congratulations and settling with Javad about the party I head to that tiny closet together with Mari. On one hand, all I want to do is to lure her right there while impression of the fight is strong in me, on the other, my girl deserves so much more than a quickie in some dirty public room. We have all the time of the world thereof. Besides my ribs are starting to ache – seems like that asshole Shakar floored me a bit too strong. But still I can't refuse myself to tease her a little, that's why after locking the door I change my clothes right there in the room. As I'm pulling the shorts down Mari starts to hiss at me absolutely irritated:
- What are you doing?
- And what it looks like? – I find her acting funny and laugh.
She's puffing like an angry hedgehog and apparently turning away from me. I'm taking an opportunity, coming to hug her from behind. Without a stitch on me. I'm leaning tight to let the girl acknowledge, how badly I do want her. She wore her hair up today exposing the neck, and I'm feeling lucky lowering my lips to its base noting with joy how fast and tense her breath becomes. She jerks sharply, demands to let her go, and I comply with her wish. It's not a proper time and place. Yet I know, you will remember these sensations, my sweetheart.