Work Text:
He's sitting in the locker room wrapping his knuckles when he's approached by a water boy. Short and terribly skinny, he could pass for a fifth grader or perhaps a girl if he grew his hair out longer. He coughs a wet cough, and Jake wonders if maybe he's sick. In that case, he should probably back up, he's got an important fight in twenty minutes that would make or break his winning streak.
"Your ex wife is getting married."
He stops his wrapping to twist his neck in the direction of this water boy. He's wearing a loose fitting red polo shirt and too tight khaki shorts. He's chewing on a piece of gum and the zits on his face ooze with pus.
"What."
"Three days from now. To some unknown dude."
A long pause from Jake.
"Is he a boxer?"
"I don't think so."
Before he really has time to process it, Jake's in the middle of the ring getting knocked around like a rag-doll. And the worst part is that the guy he's against isn't even that good. Knock-out material for him easily. It's just that he's a bit distracted really.
He loses the fight pathetically. And everyone's the happiest they've ever been after a Jake Paul fight. Except for him, and it's not even for the reason it should be. It's ironic he meets his demise here in this ring, the same spot he lost her. When he first started boxing, it quickly became his crutch. Any problem, perhaps he was feeling unaccomplished, he gets in the ring and beats the shit of some random innocent sparring partner and then he's lit up like a match again. And she hated it. She hated his distance, his aggression. He was inattentive, argumentative, and most of all losing focus of what should have mattered. The wife he had at home.
She filed for divorce on Halloween. They finalized it on her birthday.
He liked to soak in the tub when he was depressed, he had a big soaker tub, a jacuzzi basically. The basin was deep and hid his body up to his neck when he sat down. The porcelain was wide enough and sloped comfortably so he could rest his arms on the sides. He had it cleaned after every use so it always smelled of fresh detergent and a chemically jasmine. Another thing about the bath was that it faced a floor to ceiling mirror, with thin veining designs running through it. He could stare at himself soaking in the tub through this mirror. Document his own misery, and pity himself all while staying clean. It was a win win situation for Jake.
But today he hadn't wanted to bathe alone. He didn't want to look at himself in the mirror, or rest his arms on the sides. He wanted the company of a silver razor blade he kept in the cabinet under the sink. It's kiss felt cool on his pulse and the warm bath water turned a muted rose.
And then his stupid brother walked in to tell him she got married a day early.
She visited him right after her wedding, and was still wearing her wedding dress. She stood in the doorway of his hospital room and was lit by the hallway lights behind her. She looked stunning, of course. Hair down in waves, white dress pristine and classic. It was made of silk, her favorite material. She made no noise as she sat beside him in a chair, and she stared at him and waited for him to glance back.
He wouldn't do it because he knew himself too well. And he would start crying. She always made him cry, something few others could. He opts in the end for closing his eyes and pretending to sleep.
"Why would you do this."
He's forgotten how unforgiving her eyes are. A piercing green that should be soft and welcoming instead twists itself into something demanding and harsh. But he wouldn't want them any other way, not on her at least.
"Don't marry him."
"It's too late for that. And anyway, why do you care."
"I don't."
She stares at him a few seconds before standing up straight and moving to lean against the wall in the corner by the tv. He's been watching his beat down two days prior on repeat, she covers it with her dress. With her wedding dress. A dress she wore to devote herself to someone else.
“I love you.”
A very long pause in which they stare deep into each other’s eyes.
“I’m married.”
They’ve been apart for years, and she’s 28 and already been married before, so it isn’t an insane concept for her. Yet he’s still torn apart inside by something that seems too sudden, wasn’t it just yesterday she said her vows to him? He begins to tear up, and kicks the covers off his figure. She catches his arm as he leans up to walk away.
“What are you doing?”
“Why did you marry him?”
She’s silent again, and then she hangs her head to play with the ring on her finger, shifts her hand down to the base of her dress and pulls it up to her thigh to reveal a garter. Looped inside the garter is an older wedding ring, still shining like the day it was given to her.
“You still have it.”
“I couldn’t bare to part with it.”
“But you could part with me.”
“I never wanted to. It was your idea.”
If it had been he doesn’t remember, but she’s always been a woman of her word, so he doesn’t want to dispute her claim. In fact, he doesn’t want to do anything except maybe hold her hand. He reaches out for her hand and she takes it in both of hers.
“I think we’re just gonna have to be secretly in love with each other and leave it at that.”
And for now, he was content with that answer.
She left before dawn the next morning, giving him a kiss on his temple and slipping out past his door and into the early morning rain. He woke up much later and was released early on account of his complaints that he “was fine” and the hospital was only making him “more suicidal”. He never had another boxing match, and they were never seen together again, but sometimes, if you payed close attention, she was wearing a slightly different ring on her left finger.