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“Holy shit. Kinsley, he’s a fighter.” She slides the curtain closed quickly. “You need new clothes. We need to hurry.”
“No I don’t. I’m not even going to go.”
“The fuck you aren’t. I’m not going to listen to your ass for the next three years while you look back on this missed opportunity because you’re a pansy ass that wont take this chance. Worst case scenario… he loses the fight and you end up getting ditched while he licks his wounds.” The smell of soap fills the air as her words sound rushed while she continues to hound me about what to do. “Or better yet, he loses and then lets you lick his wounds… but even then, you’ll get to go to a fight and it’ll be something you’ll never forget.” The curtain opens once more, so she can pull me into her glaring look again. “We did come here to do shit we’ve never done before. This is the perfect chance.”
“Fine. He said there’d be two tickets. Looks like we’re both going. That is, if you ever get ready so we can leave the damn house.” I leave the bathroom as I say the last bit, not giving her a chance to throw out any more excuses as to why she’s made me wait to do anything this morning.
It only takes her about an hour to get her hair and makeup on, which is faster than normal. I purchase us two tickets online for the ghost tour that starts in about an hour, refusing to let her force me into a full afternoon of shopping.
The tour bus stops at a few creepy hotels and the guide fills us in on all the legendary stories that are meant to send chills up our spines, but it isn’t until we make it to the grave yard that I feel the chill.
Ornate tombs fill the cemetery, quickly reminding us just how old this town is and how many lives have passed through here. The rumors of vampires and ghosts leave me unsure how to think, but I guess anything is possible.
We move around the cemetery in a group, even though I keep getting drawn in by the tombs inscriptions, making up my own story as to how each one may have died. Mollie follows the group, leaving me behind out of her own boredom.
I’m stepping around an elaborate tomb that’s overly decorated when I see him in the distance. I know it’s Mavick the second I see the hoodie. He’s resting his forearms against the walls of a tomb, his head lowered while he doesn’t move a muscle. I watch him for a few minutes, neither of us shifting from the position we started in.
Seeing him like this does something to me. Something I can’t explain, but somehow it makes me feel even more connected to him. I want to go to him and wrap my arms around his waist and just let him know he’s not alone. And another part of me is dying to know who’s tomb he’s here to see. Is this something he does before he fights?
I take a single step and regret it instantly because a stick cracks under the weight of my foot. He turns his head at the sound, our eyes connecting instantly. His face is red and tears trace down his cheeks before he catches them with his sleeves. He doesn’t say a word, but the intensity in his stare says everything. We’re both just frozen in time saying so much, yet nothing at all.
My hand moves to my heart before I can stop myself. He watches until I spread my fingers flat against my chest, then he pulls the hood further down over his face and turns to run in the other direction.
Curiosity has me wanting to read what the tomb says that he was so connected to, but out of respect for him I walk the other way and don’t give in to the temptation of being nosy. It’s obviously someone that meant a lot to him and I’m not about to disrespect his privacy when it comes to something like this.
