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"About a fight?" he asked, seeming confused at the very prospect. "Nah, sweetheart. I've been doing this for years. It's just another Monday night for me."
And then the words came flying out of me. Really, I wasn't sure they had even crossed my mind as thoughts before they were out of my mouth.
"Can I come?"
His head jerked up, brow raised. "You want to come to the fight?" he clarified.
"I, ah..." How did I explain that I wanted to see him as something other than my somewhat-captor and somewhat-savior? That I wanted to know what he was like out in the real world with other people, with his boss, with his biker friends? I was pretty sure there was no real way to say any of that without sounding completely out of my freaking mind. "I'm just curious."
He looked off for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, I can bring you."
"Really?" That totally came off desperate and way too excited and, judging by the way his smile went warm and his eyes went all gooey, he noticed it too.
"Yeah, really. You can't stay trapped in this apartment all the time going crazy. And since you seem a lot better today, I don't see why we can't drop in for a bit."
Despite a crazy couple of days where I almost died and then maybe kind of wished I died as I withdrew from the pills I had been taking, it seemed weird but... I was excited.
Maybe it was as simple as it was out. Though, really, I had stopped feeling like a prisoner after that first day. Quite frankly, Lazarus' presence had probably been the only thing that got me through the whole ordeal and once I was in the middle of it, I knew I would have gone out and used- ten times over. He was what kept me strong, kept me focused on the goal to sweat it out and move on.
There was also the fact that I literally couldn't remember the last night out on the town I had had- the night of my OD at Chaz's excluded. I had become so secluded from everything. First, because of grief. Then, increasingly, the downward spiral I found myself in until I finally turned to the drugs and then certainly didn't want anyone to get close enough in case they could tell.
Granted, underground cage fighting wasn't my usual forte, generally preferring things like movies or coffee or any other untold number of events that wouldn't leave me covered in blood or sick to my stomach.
But, hey, out was out.
On top of all of that, though, there was definitely a part of me and there was no telling how large or small that part was because I was doing my damnedest to not think about it at all, that wanted to go out with Lazarus.
Maybe the connection between us was superficial or White Knight and Damsel In Distress-y, but I hadn't felt as connected to someone as I did with him in a really long time. He understood the loss of my mother and how it still affected me. He didn't judge me for my addiction and painful withdrawal.
True, it was so definitely one-sided.
He was just a nice guy saving the poor, pathetic girl.
It didn't go beyond that for him.
But that didn't change the fact that I really wanted to see what it was maybe like to be with him without my addiction being the elephant in the room.
To just be... two normal people.
Quite frankly, if I wanted to stay on the straight and narrow, I really needed a friend.
And Lazarus was the perfect candidate for that.
Also, going out would be a good way to get my mind off my aching muscles and the absolute shitstorm that I was going to face when I eventually did go back to my old life.
Even just thinking about it made my stomach clench painfully enough to put down my fork and seriously wonder if I was going to throw up again.
I took a deep breath, trusting in the sage advice of Scarlett O'Hara and deciding I would think about that tomorrow. Even though I knew that the longer I put it off, the more trouble I was in for, the more dire the consequences.
But I wasn't going to go there. Not yet.
"That's a dark mood," Lazarus said suddenly and my head snapped up to find him watching me, brows furrowed, head tipped to the side slightly.
I tried to shrug that off. "I guess the mood swing thing was right," I hedged, knowing that that had nothing to do with it. Then, to try to move the conversation to safer topics, I asked, "So what does one wear to an underground cage fight? Black leather pants, a halter top, and combat boots?" I mused, smiling.
To that, his smile was warm and amused. "Much as I'd like to see that, sweetheart, you might feel out of place. Some women might show up casual, but they're usually in dresses."
