(Zorya)
Xalik had his hair tied at the top of his head in a half bun.
The tight pull of his hair highlighted the sharp features of his face even more.
The lines of concentration were etched on his forehead.
Instead of grey, he donned a black pair of stretchable trousers.
His ripped torso was bare, as always, rugged and perfected in a manner that I couldn’t stop my timorous stares.
Black ribbons were tied on his buffed, bulging biceps.
But it was his feral eyes that had my heart racing.
That kindness and warmth he carried when he was with me last night had evaporated like it never existed, only to be replaced by savageness, a purpose to kill and maim.
Xalik terrified me at that moment, but at the same time, I understood that this was a matter of survival.
He had to survive.
It was to kill or get killed.
His vacant gaze stayed on his mistress as she gave a small speech and wished him good luck.
Slowly it swept with an urgency until he found me.
The hardness on his face and rage in his eyes dialled down a notch.
An emotion flickered.
I offered a brief smile before he discreetly looked away.
“Good luck!” I whispered under my breath.
The drum banged again, and the fight began.
Nervously, I clasped my sweaty hands in my lap.
My heart wildly banged against my chest.
Every punch and kick towards Xalik seemed to fall on my heart.
Most of them he blocked, landing his own.
The rain of his attacks began, and soon his movements became blurry.
His speed was phenomenal, and his attacks merciless and brutal.
“Shade!”
“Shade!”
People chanted around us.
Xalik quickly got the upper hand in the battle, beating the opponent with his bare fists until his face was turned into a pulp and he stopped breathing.
The blood and gore spattered on Xalik’s face.
The crowd cheered.
“Yes!” Rami triumphantly raised his fist in excitement.
Canara proudly stood up and clapped.
The referee declared Shade victorious, raising his hand.
But not a single trace of a smile crossed Xalik’s face.
Blankly, he stared at the disfigured body of the warrior he had killed.
No raising of hands in triumph.
This was him being forced to become a killing machine for the entertainment of the elites of this world.
The spectators continued to chant behind him, but Xalik was silent, angered, probably lost.
Two sentinels dragged him to our medical enclosure.
Quickly, I left my seat and picked up the bowl of antiseptic and cotton swabs.
They settled him in a chair.
Rami gleefully offered him water.
Tatiana and Ashlia began checking his vitals.
I, on the other hand, knelt in front of him.
Carefully, I took his bloodied hand in mine.
Warm, it was still warm.
His knuckles were raw and bruised.
My touch seemed to have pulled him from his stupor, for his wild eyes drifted towards me.
Reassuringly, I smiled at him.
Letting him know there was no judgement.
That it wasn’t his fault; he was merely trying to survive, just like me.
“I am going to clean and sanitise your hands,” I informed him in a calm tone.
He appeared in shock; I had to be his anchor, like he was mine.
Xalik merely nodded, staring at the blood on his hands.
I wanted to say so much like it wasn’t his fault.
But two sentries remained sharp behind him, observing us like hawks.
I held my tongue and gently cleansed his wounds.
His knuckles were bruised from all the punching.
Spreading some Arnica gel on his knuckles, I wrapped his hands with bandages.
Tatiana and Ashlia had scanned his body for any broken bones and internal injuries.
“No injuries.
You are fit for your next fight.” Tatiana mechanically said, jotting it down on her notepad.
Soaking a white cotton cloth in a bowl of warm water, I rinsed out the extra water and began cleaning his torso of the splattered blood.
He sat still, his grieved eyes fixed on me.
The urge to whisper a few words of reassurance gripped me like the talons of an eagle.
My fingers brushed against the heated, sweaty skin of his torso.
Smooth to touch, invoking a blooming warmth inside me.
An urge to protect.
The undiluted emotions flickered in his three-shaded eyes. The source of this chapter is g.com.
Behind us, the crowd cheered; another match had begun.
“We are going to watch the match.
Can you finish cleaning him?” Rami asked, and I nodded.
Tatiana followed him.
Ashlia pressed my shoulder; I knew in a reminder of what she had previously told me.
Her way of saying, ‘Be careful.’
The three of them returned to their seats
Both the sentries also excitedly turned to watch the next match.
I wished I had something, anything to offer him.
I owned nothing except this piece of gown on my body.
I picked up the scissors.
Taking hold of the end of my white gown, I used the scissors to cut off a long strip.
Xalik quietly and patiently observed me.
Proceeding to open one of the ribbons decorating his bicep, I tied the white strip underneath and whispered.
“This is for good luck.
You are innocent; don’t think otherwise.” I tied the knot against his bronzed skin.
A part of me I was going to leave with him, to give his heart hope.
“It will be mine forever,” he finally answered in his deep, resonating voice, meant only for me.
His warm breath kissed the side of my ear, sending a shudder running through my whole being.
The tips of my ears turned red, and I couldn’t glance in his direction.
I covered the white strip with the black one.
Grabbing the white cloth, I dipped it in water again.
Raising myself on my knees, I covered my index finger with the soft cloth and carefully wiped the blood under the soft skin of his eyes.
He stared at me with an enamoured gaze and a helpless adoration.
His eyes dipped to my slightly parted lips, only inches apart.
Xalik clutched his hands tight against the edge of the seat he was sitting on, resisting himself from touching me.
I could sense the agitation rising.
My finger cleaned his rigid jaw and proceeded to his plump lips.
With a trembling hand, my finger gently grazed over them, and a hefty grunt resonated in his chest.
He abruptly stood up, his chest heaving.
I took a tentative step back.
“I am done here,” he announced to the sentries and, without a glance, walked out.
They followed him.
With a bruised heart, I watched him disappear through the door.
An emptiness remained in his wake.