Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“I looked like what?”
“Like you wanted to kill yourself.”
Everything about my world just kinda stops when these words come out of his mouth. I say them over and over in my head as he lets the long seconds lie still. Like you wanted to kill yourself.
I scoff. “Trust me. This sea cannot kill me.”
Which makes him scoff back. “That’s not true and you know it. There’s a rip current coming in—”
“Who cares?” I start swimming back to the breaker wall to get my shit.
He matches me, stroke for stroke, and then follows me out onto the rocks. They bake the bottoms of my feet and we are both heavy with dripping water when we look at each other again. His eyes narrow down. “Hey, do I know you?”
I shrug, toweling off.
“Did you ever fight—never mind.”
“Wait, what?” I turn to him, keenly interested now.
“Nothing. It’s stupid.”
“No, what were you gonna say?”
His eyes narrow again, like he’s thinking very hard about something. “You did fight, didn’t you? That was you, wasn’t it?”
What are the chances that I bump into someone who recognizes me from some underground fights I did here in Miami three years ago? “What if it was?”
His whole demeanor changes right in front of my eyes. His posture relaxes, his smile grows wider, and he chuckles. “What did we call you?”
“Hurricane Irene.”
He laughs. Loud. He even throws his head back a little. “No. That’s what you called you. What we called you was the dumbest name ever.”
I’m confused, so I make a look of confusion. “What do you mean?”
He points to himself, but I get that he means the other fighters too. “We called you the Honey B.”
“A bee?” I make that confusion face again.
“No. The Honey B. Right? Like the honey badger?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Honey badger don’t give a shit? You know, the meme.”
All I have left is a blank face.
“The honey badger.”
“You can say those words all you want, it’s not going to change the fact that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I hate when this happens. I have missed out on the world. I have very few reference points to anchor myself to the here and now, so I hate it when someone throws an obscure cultural reference at me. It pops me out of time and space and makes me feel alone, and stupid, and… sad, I guess.
When I first met Nandy I tried to explain this to her. She got it, because part of her job is to help new immigrants adjust to American culture. Which translates a little bit to my situation, but not completely.
There is no one out there who will ever ‘get me’ completely. Not the way the people from my past can.
And I hate admitting this.
So now I just want to get away from this guy. I want to go home, and lock myself inside my condo, and shut the blinds, and crank the AC, and force myself to put it all behind me. Just… make it all disappear into the past.
But his words are echoing in my head, softly at first, but then more insistent.
You looked like you wanted to kill yourself.
I don’t want to kill myself. I just… I let out a long sigh. I would like to risk my life once in a while. I would like there to be big consequences for my actions, the way it used to be. And I understand—I completely get it. I’ve got some kind of mental disorder because of how I was raised. It’s an illness, this want. But knowing it’s wrong doesn’t change anything. I want to feel the rush of the ring, and the pain of the injuries, and the soreness the day after. Because I don’t feel anything now. Anything.
I’m not happy, I’m just… safe.
And safe, from my perspective, feels a whole lot like death.
I don’t want to kill myself. I just want to make things matter.
I look at my would-be rescuer and just… make it happen. “Can you get me into another fight?”
The guy just stares at me for a moment. Then he grins, and his tone, when he speaks, is teasing. “Honey Badger wants to fight again?”
“Don’t call me that. It’s stupid. I don’t like Honey Badger.”
“Well, Hurricane Irene is about as lame as they come.”
“My name is Irina and I destroy things. I might not be the biggest storm, or the most powerful, but I am terrifying all the same.” This proclamation comes out loud. And terse. And angry. But it ends in a whisper.
It also sounds very, very Russian.
It stops him dead and his eyes narrow down again, his teasing tone gone. “Well, well, well. I had forgotten about that accent. It might just be the only true thing about you.”
I let out a long breath. “Are you going to tell me where the fights are or not?” This comes out Russian too, my voice a little bit deeper, less sweet, more real. It feels kinda good to be me again.