Boxing
I met Frank Castle at 10 pm on a Sunday. I was at Gleason’s, getting in a workout after finally leaving the office at 8:30 after a particularly brutal table read. I’d been at it for about an hour, working my way rhythmically around the bag, ducking, slipping, snapping out punches in an effort to shake off the tension that always snuck into my shoulders by the end of the work day.
When I heard the basement door open over the James Brown I always played when I boxed, I whipped around, unaccustomed to anyone else coming into the gym this late.
“Hello?” I said, cautiously, steadying the creaking bag with one hand.
“Oh shit,” I heard a deep voice say and watched as a pair of beat up sneakers appeared on the second stair down. “Didn’t know anyone was down here, sorry.”
“It’s okay!” I called back, pushing my hair out of my eyes with my forearm. “Come on down.”
The sneakers made their way down a few more steps and slowly a whole person emerged out of the gloom and holy shit, it was Frank Castle. He was wearing a hoodie zipped all the way up and his face was half-shadowed by the hood, but there was no mistaking that crooked nose and jawline. My breath caught slightly in my throat, but I quickly cleared my throat and turned to my phone.
“Sorry for the music, I’ll turn it off.” I laughed nervously and ripped at the Velcro on my right glove with my teeth to loosen it.
“Nah, keep it.” Frank said from behind me and I heard him drop his gym bag near where I knew mine was. I shrugged and turned around, suddenly very conscious of the fact that I was only wearing a sports bra and leggings. He was looking straight at me and to my surprise was smiling.
“I like James Brown.” He explained. “Good music to move to, especially when boxing.” He nodded at my gloves.
“Yeah, I think so too.” I returned his grin and went to re-do the Velcro on my glove.
“Hey, let me.” Frank stepped towards me and caught my wrist before my teeth could make contact with the glove.
“Oh, thanks.” I said, slightly flustered at his proximity to me. He carefully wrapped the Velcro snugly around my wrist and pressed down on it to secure it.
“There ya go, sweetheart.” He said, giving me a knock on the glove. “Mind if I use the bench over there then get a turn on the bag?”
“Yeah, no worries. I’m almost done.” I said a little breathlessly, still feeling where he’d touched my wrist.
“Cool.” He flashed me another smile and I turned back to the bag, shaking my head a little to clear it. In a minute, I was back in the zone and threw punches for another ten minutes before deciding I was through.
I stepped back, pushing my hair off my forehead again and made my way over to where I’d put my water bottle. I ripped off my right glove with my teeth then worked the left one off and shook out my hands, which were throbbing.
“You’ve got good form.” Frank said suddenly and I turned around. He was standing in front of the bag, in a faded MARINES t-shirt and basketball shorts, wrapping his hands.
“Thanks.” I said, turning down the music a few notches and starting to unwrap mine. “I’ve only been boxing for about a year, but I love it.”
“Yeah? How come?” Frank asked, and I felt that he was genuinely interested.
“I don’t know, it makes me feel powerful, I guess.” I said, meeting his eyes. “Like nobody can fuck with me.”
He barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Girl, I just met you a few minutes ago and I can tell that anyone who tries to fuck with you is gonna get their ass beat.”
I laughed out loud, a real laugh, and threw my sweaty wraps to the side. “Yeah, I like to think so.” I stepped forward once I saw that he was done wrapping his hands and extended my right one. “I’m Ella by the way.”
“Ella.” He repeated, shaking my hand. “I’m Pete.”
“Right, it’s Pete now.” I said without thinking then clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Ah.” Frank said quietly. “Should’ve known that I couldn’t pull the wool over your eyes.” He was smiling though, so any fear I had of offending him disappeared.
“I mean, it’s hard not to recognize you, especially now that you don’t have the whole hipster thing going on,” I said, gesturing to his lack of beard and once again closely-cropped hair. He threw his head back and groaned.
“Why the fuck does everyone think I look like a goddamn hipster when I have a beard?” He complained, scrubbing his hand over his face.
“God, sorry, calm down drama queen!” I laughed. “I actually prefer the military style, seems more…. genuine, I guess.”
He fixed me with an intense stare.
“Interesting.” Was all he commented before turning to grab his gloves. I picked up my water bottle and took a long drink, pouring some over my head as well.
“Help me out?” He asked after he’d put his left one on, holding out the right in my direction. I put down the towel I’d picked up to wipe off my face and walked over, grabbing the glove and holding it upside down so he could slide his hand in. I bent over his wrist to adjust the Velcro and was surprised to see a deep cut on his inner wrist.
“Whoa,” I said, looking up at him, slightly blurry through the drops of water beaded on my eyelashes.
“Yeah.” He grunted. “Can’t seem to sew it up so that it’ll stay since I’m stitching with my left hand.”
“Uh, you could go to a doctor, you know.” I said, standing up straight.
“Nah, waste of time.” He grinned cheekily.
“Or I could do it, I guess.” I suggested timidly.
“You know how to stitch someone up?”
“You sound surprised.”
“Should I not be?” Frank was laughing at this point and I rolled my eyes.
“Come on, I’ve got stuff in the office. No way I’m letting you box with that all open and shit.” I grabbed my towel and started walking towards the tiny office in the back corner, running the towel over my face and chest to catch the sweat lying there. I felt, rather than heard Frank’s presence behind me and I paused right outside the door and turned to face him.
“Gotta warn you, my dog’s in there and she’ll probably go nuts when she sees you.” I said, reaching for the handle. True to my word, the second the door was open an inch, Lola was worming her way through the opening and leaping up onto me.
“Hey, down girl!” I snapped my fingers and pointed at the floor and she immediately sat, but her whole body continued to wiggle with excitement.
“Damn, you’ve got her trained good.” Frank said, stepping into the office behind me and closing the door.
“Yeah, I rescued her from a trashcan when she was just a few weeks old, so I’ve had a ton of time to turn her into the model dog.” I laughed from where I was hunting through the ancient desk a few feet away. “Gotcha!” I held up the First Aid kit in triumph. “Sit down over there.”
Frank stopped scratching Lola’s ears and plopped down in the chair I had pointed to and obligingly laid out his right arm. I pulled over a stool and sat down on it, reaching for his hand.
“Gotta undo the wrap first.” I said quietly and for a minute the only sound was James Brown’s muffled voice through the office walls as I carefully peeled back the layers of fabric. “Alright, let’s have a look.”
The cut was about six inches long and fairly deep, but was already starting to heal, which was a good sign.
“I’ve seen worse.” I said drily. “I think you’ll live.”
“Wow, thank you for your diagnosis Doctor Ella.” Frank chuckled. I looked up from examining the wound and inhaled when I realized how close our faces were. I unconsciously licked my lips and watched as his eyes traveled down to watch the path my tongue took. I cleared my throat and sat back, blinking and trying to ignore the pace my heart had picked up.
“Looks like it just needs a few stitches.” I muttered, hunting through the kit balanced on my lap for a needle, thread, and alcohol pads. “Hold this.” When I found what I was looking for, I shoved the kit at Frank and he placed it on the thigh that was not occupied by Lola’s head. “Kiss ass.” I directed at her, laughing at the way she was staring up at Frank adoringly and nudging his hand in an effort to receive more ear scratches.
“So are you gonna tell me how you got this cut?” I asked, holding the needle up to the light so I could thread it. “Pete.” I added as an afterthought, grinning when I got the thread through on the first try.
“Just call me Frank.” Frank sighed, not answering the question. “I fuckin’ hate being called Pete and you called my bluff right away, so might as well go with it.”
“Cool,” I said, looking him in the eyes as I grabbed his wrist. “I’d tell you that this is gonna hurt, but you already know that. So stay still.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, a wry smile at the corner of his mouth. I looked back down and took a deep breath, pinching the skin on either side of the wound together and dug the needle in. Frank inhaled sharply, but made no other sound. However, as I pulled the needle through, I felt one of his hands suddenly grip my ankle where it was dangling in front of the stool. I told myself not to look down and stayed focused on tying a neat knot to finish the first stitch. His hand remained there, so large that it wrapped entirely around my ankle, warm and solid though all five stitches. My playlist had finished and the music stopped right before I started stitching, so all I could hear was Frank’s steady breathing, my own shallow inhales, and Lola’s panting.
I finished the last stitch and blew out a full breath, dabbing the area with an alcohol pad. I pulled my head up from its hunched position and immediately, Frank’s grip loosened on my ankle. I rolled my shoulders back and admired my handiwork.
“Not too shabby,” I announced, his fingers slipping entirely from my ankle as I smiled at him.
“Looks good.” He nodded, opening and closing his hand. “Thanks sweetheart.”
I shrugged, acting like it was every day that Frank Castle, notorious anti-hero of New York City, interrupted my workout and required stitches for a wound that was no doubt inflicted during some decidedly Punisher-type endeavors. I started packing up the First Aid Kit and hopped off the stool to throw away the garbage that had collected, Lola following me in the hopes that I had some kind of treat in my hands.
“Lola, off!” I said at the same time that Frank said, “Would you want to get a cup of coffee?”
“Sorry, what?” I said, shocked, turning to face him.
“I uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip. “Would you want to go get a cup of coffee somewhere?”
I burst out laughing and saw his eyes immediately darken.
“Frank! It’s 11 pm.” I pointed to the ancient clock on the wall. His eyes softened again and he grinned sheepishly.
“It’s never too late for coffee?” He said hopefully.
“It most definitely is too late for coffee.” I challenged, putting the First Aid kit back in the drawer. “I don’t know about you, Mr. Castle, but some of us have work in the morning.”
“Where do you work?” Frank asked and I could tell he’d stepped closer. I straightened and pushed my hair out of my eyes.
“I work for NBC.” I said proudly. “I’m a writer for Saturday Night Live.”
“Shit,” Frank said, sounding impressed and crossing his arms. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah, I like to think so. Keeps me busy, anyway.” I said ruefully. “It’s a miracle if I’m out of the office by 9 pm. Tonight was an early one.”
“Well, lucky me.” Frank said almost coyly, taking another step towards me.
“How’s that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“If you hadn’t gotten off early, I wouldn’t have met you and I’d still be all tore up.” He said, that wry smile back.
“Fair enough.” I said, walking past him to the door, Lola following me.
“So no coffee?” Frank asked, matching my pace so he caught up to me back in the gym.
“Not tonight anyway.” I laughed, picking up my gym bag and zipping myself into my hoodie. “But here,” I said, holding out my hand. “Give me your phone and I’ll give you my number. In case you need stitching up again.”
Frank chuckled and pulled a battered iPhone out of his shorts and handed it to me. I quickly put myself in his contacts and gave it back.
“Medical emergencies only.” I said mock-sternly, clipping Lola’s leash onto her collar. “Enjoy your workout.” I shot him a smile and headed for the stairs.
When the basement door closed behind me and I stepped out of deserted main floor of the gym into the cold New York City air, I leaned back against a wall and blew out a deep breath.
“Holy shit, Lola. We just met The Punisher. And he’s a total babe.” Lola licked my hand as if in agreement and we set off for home.