Word of the Day: Sedulous

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Sedulous (adj.)- (of a person or action) showing dedication or diligence

“Harder.”

She lets out a grunt and delivers another jab to the punching bag. Better.

“Care to stop hiding behind that thing and spar with me like a man?” she says with sedulous eyes, her chin still tucked beneath her gloves the way I showed her.

“Only if you promise to start hitting like one,” I say. Another punch. Harder too. I must admit Jessica had me fooled when we met at Starbucks. The way she smiled as she ordered her coffee and the frivolity behind her words as she bantered with the barista. It was enough to save my world the time to know not every beautiful woman hated what the world had become. But now, watching her from behind this punching bag after asking her out on a date, one could only wonder how could I have been so oblivious as to think this woman was in anyway vulnerable to the universe around her. She is a fucking animal.

“Just because you showed me how to protect my button doesn’t mean I can’t push yours. Did you think me to be a helpless girl? A damsel in distress?” I scoff. Yeah.

“Of all things, a damsel in distress was the last thing I thought of.” A white lie. “As for thinking you of being incapable of taking care for yourself, don’t be so naive. Everybody, even me, knows the best thing for a woman to love is her own heart. However, I’m surprised to find you aren’t afraid to get your hands dirty. These aren’t amateur punches you’re throwing. Care to come clean?” She scoffs this time.

“Everybody doesn’t know that,” she says. She punches the bag once more and puts her hands down. “I know who you are. You aren’t fooling me. Did you really think you could get away with taking advantage of women with your slick words and pretty face? I’ve come here to fight, not flirt. Put on some gloves pretty boy.”

My brows arch. Her words do more damage than her punches could ever do. Usually, I take great pride in choosing my victims, but I’ve read this one all wrong. Yet, she has piqued my competitive nature in such a way that I would feel foolish to skip over her challenge. If all of my world is what she wants, that’s exactly what she is going to get.

I walk from behind the punching bag over to the shelf where the gloves are.

When she suggested we go to the boxing gym for our first date, I just thought we were going to hit on each other playfully, figuring she wanted to learn how to protect herself. But now I see this was all a charade. She isn’t vulnerable. She isn’t weak. And now, she really wants a piece of me.

So be it.

If she really knows who I am, then she knows I’m a fighter at heart. She knows I’m not going to go easy on her. I have a reputation to uphold.

The gloves are firmly on my hands as we make our way to the ring.

I hope she is ready.

 

 

Word of the Day: Esoteric

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Esoteric (adj): understood by or meant for only the select few who have special knowledge or interest; secret; confidential; private

When I looked into her eyes, deep, past the tear hanging from each, I felt the anger ebb slowly away, sinking, sinking, an anchor latched to its ankle, pulling it back down to dormancy. That’s when I knew she was something more than just another beautiful face. She mattered.

So esoteric¬†was the rage I felt that the world in itself could have easily been swallowed whole by an impermeable wall of darkness that even a black hole couldn’t manage. Breath, heart, lungs, stomach, genitalia. All responding, all trusting. And those eyes, somewhere lost in a color between green and blue, and her hair black as a blank television screen, falling down, down past her shoulders. Even past the middle of her back.

No one had been able to conquer my rage…until now. That was her purpose. And as selfish as this sounds, another part of me, the one who had toiled for years and years to obtain the success I so richly deserve, had wanted to hold on to that anger for as long as I could. But now I know, that kind of passion was just slowly killing me. Holding me in place for years and years, not knowing the damage it was doing, not knowing the irony that came with its protection. I wasn’t safe holding onto such rage, even though it is what gave me so much power. What I needed now was control over that power. So I decided to make a new decision.

Hate.

“I’m here.” Such a soft voice. Amazing what two words could do to all of the pain, all of the agony, all of the heartache I’ve endured. Two words.

I’m here.

And to think my little bitch of a sister is the reason for so much of my heartache, prodding into my affairs without the right to even do so. Fighting for my love when she knows me and her will never be a match. The dumb bitch. But at least I can feel my chest again without it hurting so much.

The woman standing before my very eyes has brought something into my life I couldn’t see before.

Reason.

Reason to not want to destroy any and everything in my path. Reason to give this world another chance, even though it has had nothing but cruel intentions against me. Reason to love myself truly, not by giving myself all of my attention, but by loving another.

Love. Hate.

The two things in my life now that make the world go round.

“I’m sorry for what I put you through,” I say, chest heaving, wanting to push against hers while unsure as to whether I deserved the right to do so. She places a hand over my heart and feel the thing beating away passionately. Furiously.

“There is no need baby. I have you.”

And that’s when life changed.