HANNAH
J
ames’
apartment was immaculately clean, but there wasn’t much to clutter the single, studio room. A bed was pushed against the far wall, and a dresser sat butt against it. The set up gave a surprising sense of privacy, and I glanced around as he sauntered towards the tall armoire. Awkwardness made me fidget as I stood just beyond the closed door.
Following his movements through narrowed eyes, I rubbed the tips of my fingers together as I recounted the day. James had called me to ask if I wanted to watch him box, and in my mind, I pictured him with big gloves and a mouth guard, trading weak blows with someone wearing protection pads.
Oh- how wrong I had been. He went bare knuckle against a man whose padding did nothing to lessen the impacts. At first it was hard to watch, but
