Chapter Twelve: Tape Up the Wrists

Needless to say, the two weeks leading up to the tournament passed by without much in the way of mending the rift between me and Elsa. I tried my best to give her space that first week, putting my optimism to work in the hopes that she would contact me first, but I suppose that was just wishful thinking. After a week, there was no word, and my optimism quickly deflated.

So, again, needless to say, regarding my stubborn streak, I started texting and calling her.

Two very apologetic voicemails and ten texts later, I found myself once again griping to Kristoff at the gym.

"I mean, the least she can do is send me a quick text telling me to leave her alone!" I grind out while dishing out a few punches to the mitts Kristoff is wearing. "Then, you know, at the very least I'd know she's still alive!"

Kristoff chuckles briefly before a forceful punch from me has him stumbling backwards.

"She's not dead, silly."

I shoot him a glare, taking the time to wipe sweat from my brow.

"How the hell would you know?" Letting my anger die away for a bit, I begin to fret. "I mean, she's probably depressed from the entire incident, you don't think she could be suicidal? Shit, Kristoff, what if our fight led her to kill herself?!"

"Anna!" he shouts, casting the mitts aside to grab my shoulders and give me a good shake. "She's alive, okay? I know because I paid her a visit the other day, alright? She asked me to keep it from you, but I can't if you're gonna freak like this and send the cops to her place thinking she's done herself in!"

I gape at him for a moment before I hit him across the face.

"You talked to her and didn't tell me?!"

"She told me not to!" he shoots back. "Damn it, Anna, weren't you listening?" Huffing, he sits down on a ledge by the window. "I went to her place to check up on her and apologize on your behalf."

"How was she? Did she say anything about me? And how the hell did you even know where she lived?" I fire at him.

"She seemed okay, all things considered," he responds, rubbing the back of his neck. "Eyes were a bit red, but whether that was from tears or lack of sleep I don't know. She told me she's at war with herself over you." With that, he looks at me and quirks a smile at my hopeless face. "I was right, you know," he says, "about how she felt the night of the fight. She was angry with herself for how she treated you, and she really regrets kicking you out like she did. She also wants to apologize for pushing you and threatening to hurt you."

"But…?" I prod, knowing I'm not off the hook that easy.

"But," he stresses, "she's still angry with you; livid, even, sometimes, she told me. She's at war with herself, Anna, over what to think. Part of her knows you were right and that it's time for her to stop grieving and get back on her feet, but the majority of her still believes it's not possible."

"But she's not going to be alone!" I cry out. "I've told her over and over that I won't desert her!"

"She still doesn't know you that well, Anna," Kristoff tells me gently. "It's hard to put as much trust as is needed in this situation in someone you barely know."

"But we've known each other months!"

"And for some people, that's not very long at all," he defends her. "You're an extrovert. You meet someone and can be best friends with them the very next day. It's a good trait to have most of time, but sometimes it does get you in trouble, you have to admit."

"Don't bring up eighth grade," I basically growl, cutting him off.

He raises his hands, but has a grin plastered to his face at the same time.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he quips.

"Shut up," I grumble, shoving him slightly. "Go on."

"You're an extrovert, but Elsa's an introvert," he continues. "For her, friends don't come easy; trust even more so. Months may seem like a long time to you, Anna, but to her? That's nothing. Especially given what she's been through the past year. And being somewhat of a celebrity on top of that? I'm sure having to deal with the paparazzi makes you more leery of people."

"Okay, good reasons," I huff, "but you still haven't answered my last question. How did you know where she lives?"

He flushes and looks away.

"I may have looked through your text messages and saw her address there," he mumbles quickly before ducking and covering his head with his hands, knowing a blow is sure to come.

But, to keep him on his toes, I explode verbally instead.

"You snooped through my phone?!" I scream, jumping up from my place on the ledge. I really do have to hold everything back to keep from hitting him. Damn that stupid, immature jerk!

"Well, it's not like you were going to tell me if I asked, right?" he cries out in defense. "Look, I'm just trying to help both of you, okay? You were so happy, and from how Elsa's dealing with everything, it's clear she was really happy too. She wants to forgive you, Anna; really, she does. Just…give her more time, alright?"

I had given her two weeks already and was at the end of my rope, but I knew deep down that I would continue to hold out even if it took another year. I had known what I was getting myself into once I found out her secret and was bombarded with the desire to help. I knew things were about to turn ugly that day in Milo's office, and I knew I was digging my own grave when I provoked Elsa the night of our fight.

My optimism might have been slowly fading, but my promise to Elsa…?

Not a chance.

XxXxX

It was the night before the boxing tournament and I find myself riding the elevator to the fourteenth floor of Elsa's apartment, bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates in my hands.

Was it cliché? Yes.

Was I expecting this gesture to get me out of trouble with Elsa instantaneously? Hell no.

Was this gesture coming from the heart nonetheless?

Definitely.

The elevator dings and I step out timidly, taking my time walking down the hallway. I'm rehearsing the speech and apology I had come up with while lying in bed last night, although I know the words would desert me the moment I open my mouth. That's how it always is with me; no amount of practice is going to change that, it seems.

Especially when Elsa's involved.

My feet come to a stop and I look up with a gulp, my eyes darting to the plaque with the numbers 1403 on it. Hand shaking, I knock the rhythm I had adopted as my own long ago. Hopefully, Elsa will recognize it from before and know it's me.

When I don't hear any footsteps on the other side, my heart rate picks up.

"Elsa?" I call out softly. "It's me, Anna."

The silence remains.

I knock again. "Elsa, please let me in," I call out. "I want to apologize. And you honestly left me no choice when you didn't return my calls or texts."

I hear a few soft footsteps approach, but the door remains locked and closed.

"I know you're in there, Elsa," I tell her. "I heard you approach. Open the door, please?"

A beat.

"I brought flowers and chocolates!"

The silence still lingers.

I heave a sigh and hang my head, my teeth immediately going to gnaw on my bottom lip. Surely Elsa is listening, right? I mean, I swear I heard footsteps; she must be literally right on the other side of the door. I know she can hear me.

But she's still not letting me in.

That thought hurts more than the failure to return any text or call ever could.

"Elsa, I'm so, so sorry," I begin, deciding to go ahead and deliver my speech to the closed door. No matter how silly I feel doing so, the fact that Elsa can still hear me and I don't have to face her directly gives me some comfort. "I didn't mean to hurt you, honest. I didn't mean for that night to turn out the way it did.

"Elsa, Kristoff told me he's visited you. I know you didn't want me to know that, but he cracked because I was freaking out after not hearing from you. I know you're mad at me—and with good reason—but I was so scared, Elsa," I continue, trying to keep my voice from wavering. I have to remain strong. I don't want to break down to a door; that's just embarrassing, right?

"You couldn't have just sent me a simple text telling me you hadn't forgiven me yet? I thought you had hurt yourself, Elsa! I was worried you might commit suicide!" I stop to catch my breath briefly, my hand clenching into a fist against the wood before me, having dropped the box of chocolates to the ground long ago.

"It was a silly thought, maybe, and I'm not trying to say I think you are suicidal or anything, but can you blame me for worrying? I mean, last I saw of you, you were crying and distraught. Suicidal tendencies or not, a situation like that could have easily led to self-harm.

"I meant what I said that night, Elsa: I care a lot about you. Maybe I shouldn't so much yet, since we haven't known each other long, but I can't help it. I get attached to things easily, and people even more so. You're my friend, Elsa, and we were so happy." I pause, and my heart sinks to my stomach. "You were happy too, right, Elsa?"

Looking up, I see the peephole on the door, and I can only wonder if Elsa's watching. I feel a tear trail down my cheek and am quick to wipe it away.

Stay. Strong!

"I care about you, Elsa," I restate, wanting her to at least take that statement away from this one-sided conversation if she doesn't anything else. "I care about you and that's why I'm not going to give up on you, even if you've already given up on yourself. If you're not going to open the door, then I'm going to say what I said that night again.

"I don't want this to sound as bad as it does, Elsa, but there's no other way to put it: you need help. You need help and I want to be the one to be by your side. I'm willing to do that. I've seen the sparkle in your eyes; the way your face lights up for brief moments of time. You're capable of happiness, Elsa. I know things can never truly return to the way they were, but you can't deny that they could still increase tremendously."

I take time to prop the flowers and box of chocolates up against her door, mentally preparing myself for what I'm about to say. I truly hate to play this card, but if I was in her boat, it would be something I'd want to hear.

"Your parents wouldn't want this for you, Elsa," I say firmly, closing my eyes and tightening my hands to fists as the words leave me. "I know; who am I to judge, right? But, the fact that you didn't break down this door in an irate fury means that you know there's some truth to my statement. Think of boxing, if anything. I see the pain in your gaze while you've been training me. I know how much you miss the sport. You were so good, Elsa, and you loved it so much; are you really willing to give it up for the rest of your life?"

I run a hand through my hair as I avert my gaze back to the peephole.

"You still have so much you can accomplish, Elsa. Screw one gold medal, you could win ten! Maybe the medals aren't what you want so much, but missing out on the chance to compete regardless? To improve exponentially though the years? To simply just take part in the Olympics again and again? That's not something I would want to pass up."

Biting my lip once more, I look down at the floor.

"Look," I sigh, "I don't want to sound condescending or anything, although I'm sure I do, and for that I'm sorry, but I just needed to get all this off my chest." Looking up at the door once again, I continue, "Regardless of what you choose, I won't give up on you, Elsa. I'll continue caring about you no matter what. You're one in a million, Elsa, and I'm not going to simply cast you aside, as an Olympic boxer or a friend." I smile, knowing she can see it on the other side. "I told you earlier you wouldn't get rid of me that easily, but I also told you that you would come to see that as a good thing. I may have done a pretty crap job of that recently, but I swear I can make up for it. I won't mention anything about your accident again if it means you'll keep me around. Please, Elsa. I'm not giving up on you, but you can't give up on me either."

Knowing I'm at the end of my spiel, I fall quiet for a moment. Swaying back and forth on the balls of my feet, I glance down once more to my gifts.

"The tournament's tomorrow, you know," I tell her. "I think I'm ready. Kristoff's been helping me train these past two weeks, and he's been a pretty decent tutor despite not knowing the first thing about boxing." I take the time to chuckle before I'm clearing my throat. "I hope you'll come tomorrow night, Elsa, or at the very least be cheering for me in spirit. The fights are all being broadcasted on the local stations here.

"Anyway," I heave another sigh, "I've said all I needed to say, and I'm not too keen on one of your neighbors walking out to see me standing here talking to a door, despite the fact that you and I know what's really going on. So, yeah… The chocolates and flowers are leaning against your door." I wring my hands together for a moment before looking back to the peephole once more and whispering, "Good night, Elsa."

With that, I take my leave, and I wouldn't find out until much later that Elsa had heard every word I had uttered, sitting against the door, smiling at times and crying at others, truly taking everything I had said to heart.

I would also find out much later that she would open her door to retrieve the presents I brought her, bringing the flowers to her face to inhale their scent, the biggest smile you could imagine present on her face and eyes shimmering with love.

XxXxX

"Woah."

Kristoff and I had just emerged from the subway station, and I found myself frozen, staring at the incredibly large, brightly lit building before us.

"Yeah," Kristoff says with a chuckle. "Probably what my first word was first time I got this close."

He grabs my arm and starts dragging me across the street while I'm still in a trance.

"It's so…big," I mumble.

I hear the blond beside me snort as he retorts, "Probably because it's freaking Madison Square Garden and not the itty-bitty KFC Yum! Center like you're used to."

"Yeah," I mutter. "I bet three Yum! Centers could fit inside this place."

We enter the Garden with no trouble and find our way to check-in for the tournament with little hassle. Despite my stomach churning in anxiety, I'm also completely pumped for tonight. I mean, this is my first tournament outside of Kentucky! Not only that, I'm in freaking New York City! Madison Square Garden! A boxing tournament! A competition where I don't have to share any trophy or medal or win with a school!

Yeah, you get the point. This was a big fucking deal.

"I'm going to go sign in," I tell Kristoff. "Mind watching my stuff?"

He nods and I take off to the tables in a near mad dash.

"Hello," a bulky bald man grumbles. "You competing?"

"Yup!" I exclaim. "Anna Summers!"

Baldy—since he wasn't wearing any kind of identification, I've dubbed him—flips through a few sheets of paper before taking a highlighter and marking something out.

"Size?" he asks me.

"What?"

He rolls his eyes and huffs. "What size gloves do you need?" he restates.

"Oh!" I blush. "Uh, small, I guess, please."

I'm handed a pair of gloves and told to go to the Home locker room before I'm skipping back to Kristoff.

"All good to go?" he asks, hefting my duffle bag onto his shoulder.

I nod.

"Do you think you need to sign in too?" I ask. "Since you're my substitute trainer?"

"'Substitute' trainer?" he questions with a small laugh. "I feel so demoted."

"Shut up, you know I'm grateful."

Kristoff walks over to Baldy while I'm left waiting this time and comes back minutes later wearing a lanyard with a tag that reads Trainer with a sticker of my name underneath.

"Boy, that guy was a real ray of sunshine," he grumbles as we make our way through the mass of people to our designated locker room.

"Baldy? Yeah, he must really love his job."

We share a laugh, and for a moment the fact that I'm entered in a boxing tournament leaves me completely—a rookie tournament, but a tournament nonetheless.

Needless to say, upon walking into the locker room and seeing my fellow competitors gearing up and practicing with their trainers on the countless bags spread throughout the room, I remember why I'm really here.

And then my nerves take over.

"Holy shit, Kristoff," I whisper frantically. "I can't do this."

The big oaf just rolls his eyes at me and pushes me further in the room.

"Of course you can do this, Red," he tells me. "You've basically been training all your life for this. Not to mention your impressive record back home."

"That was high school," I say, my optimism seeming to have chosen the best time to desert me. "This is…not high school."

Kristoff scoffs which turns into a chuckle. "Clever deduction there, Watson."

I'm standing in front of a locker and probably supposed to start changing and warming up, but instead I'm just staring ahead blankly and observing the royal blue paint that's peeling from the lockers before me.

"Anna," Kristoff says, and I feel the comfort of his hands on my shoulders. His voice takes on a serious, calming tone. "You can do this, okay? You're ready, alright? You've had one of the best trainers out there and one hell of a punching bag these past couple weeks. You've got a leg up on everyone here."

My hands are in fists and my eyes are clenched shut as Kristoff spins me around.

"Hey," he soothes, pulling me into a hug. "What's up?"

"Do you think she'll be here?" I whisper, my voice cracking as I feel damn tears welling in my eyes.

I see the sympathy in Kristoff's chocolate orbs as I pull away from him.

"At the very least, I know she's watching at home," he tells me.

"Will you text her?" I ask. "I… I-I can't do this unless I know she's watching. Sh-She got me here; I couldn't have done this without her."

"Yes you could have," Kristoff retorts with a sly smile, "you just wouldn't have as good of odds as you do." His smile softens as he pulls his cell from his pocket. "But I'll text her. You get changed, okay? I'll be right here."

I nod somewhat numbly as I take my change of clothes from my bag and retreat to a stall, using all my willpower to refrain from crying. I need to toughen the fuck up. So what if Elsa doesn't come? It's not like I was expecting her to. Last night I had been perfectly fine with that fact.

Although last night I also had my little friend Optimism to help me out, and there's still no sign of him.

Shit, I grumble internally as I pull on my sports bra; I'm giving a gender to a mental attitude and referring to it as a friend. If I don't get my head in the game, I'm surely fucked.

"Get it together, Anna," I whisper to myself, rubbing my eyes with vigor and slapping my cheeks lightly. "You've been dreaming of this opportunity since middle school, don't fuck it up because you can't stop thinking about a girl. You can't do anything about it here and now. Just focus on the task at hand. Go out there, kick ass, win a trophy or a medal or whatever the hell they're handing out here, and go to Elsa's and show it off. Make her proud and then maybe she'll be more inclined to let you back into your life. But none of that's going to happen if you don't focus. Game time, girl."

Okay, so maybe not my best self-pep-talk, but it seems to have worked as I leave the stall hardened and determined.

"She answered," Kristoff tells me upon my return. "Says she already has it on the TV. She has full confidence in you, Anna."

I quirk a smile but don't let my thoughts run with his words any more than the simple acknowledgement. Although the warmth that settles in my stomach is calming and reassuring.

"Can you help me tape my wrists?" I ask.

Kristoff blinks at my sudden change in demeanor, but knows I can get weird before a fight so he lets it slide and takes the roll of gauze from my duffel. I take it from it and wrap up my left hand myself before handing it back to him and stretching out my right.

"You need any more words of encouragement, or did you take care of that in the stall?" he asks me, his gaze on the task at hand.

"I think I'm good," I tell him, and actually with a hint of confidence in my voice. "Don't want to get my head too full of air, right?"

He looks up and smirks. "Right."

Once he's finished, I put the gloves on and adjust them so they're on tight. Sighing, I turn to a nearby mirror and take in my appearance.

"You look like a pro, Red," Kristoff says.

I smile and see him mirror it over my shoulder.

"Give it a few minutes, and I'll hopefully feel like a pro too."

"Wanna go warm up on the bags?" he asks. "It seems like that's what everyone else is doing." His eyes scan the room before he shrugs and adds, "That, or they're praying."

"Well, I don't pray, so let's go punch something."

An hour later, I'm sufficiently warmed up—as well as pumped up, my optimism having faithfully returned to me right on time—as the loudspeaker out in the arena can be heard.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" a man's voice echoes through the stadium, drifting into the locker room, where all of us are staring up at the ceiling like the voice is God himself. "Welcome to New York City's annual Rookie Boxing Tournament!"

There's a bout of cheering and applause before it dies down enough for the announcer to continue. "The bracket for tonight's tournament has been selected and we're just about ready to start here in the Garden! The atmosphere is crazy here, and for all of you joining us at home, I hope you're as equally pumped. Let's give it up for these rookies ready to show us what they've got, huh?"

Another cry of approval and the announcer goes on to some other spiel. I tune him out, however, as Kristoff alerts me that the bracket has been posted on the small television screens throughout the locker room. Shuffling over to one, I look up and immediately start looking for my name.

Finding it, I inhale sharply.

If this all seemed like a dream until now, seeing my name up there solidifies the fact that this is really, truly real.

I'm in the fourth of eight fights. I examine the name next to mine, the name of the person I'm to be fighting, and try to picture them in my mind like I always used to do in high school.

Aurora Rose.

Blonde, definitely, is my initial thought. I reread the name and hum quietly to myself. Had I not been standing in the middle of a boxing tournament, my first guess would have been that this girl was a cheerleader, not a boxer. Don't ask me why, but the name "Aurora" just gives off the popular-girl vibe; the kind that goes hand in hand with a cheerleader.

But, whatever; it's not like Anna Summers screams "boxer" either.

"Aurora, huh?" Kristoff speaks up, and it's only then I realize he had come up beside me. "Sounds easy enough."

"Yeah," I agree. "She's a cheerleader, what's she doing here?"

Kristoff grins, immediately jumping into the game.

"She must have gotten lost on the way to the cheerleading expo," he adds.

I snort and chuckle, and hear Kristoff do similarly next to me. Our game is cut short, however, when a horn trills from out in the stadium and Mr Announcer comes back on.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come! You ready?"

There's a pause for drastic effect and the crowd grows silent before the entirety of Madison Square Garden, along with the announcer, scream, "Let's get ready to rumble!"

Then a bell dings, and the tournament officially begins.

So I lied; no fight yet. Apologies, but I'm actually really scared to write it since I've never really paid attention to the sport much before. I want to do a good job, however, so I will be taking my time with the next chapter and doing my research.

On that note, any fellow boxers reading this who wants to give their input, I'd greatly appreciate it. I want to do your sport justice.

On the other hand, guys, I can't get over the attention this story is getting. I'm only a few followers away from breaking a record (which belongs to Belonging at the moment) and I have even had fan art drawn for this story. I have never had fan art for ANY of my stories before, so that's a big f-ing deal to me. So, thank you all from the bottom of my little heart. You all are great and amazing, and I love you all.

That doesn't mean you can get lazy on me, though! ;)