Real

Remington

I still sometimes can’t believe Brooke loves me.

I get crazy when she talks to Pete and Riley, and sometimes I can’t sleep for fear of waking up and finding she’s not next to me. I start getting jealous and fear I’m going to lose my shit, but when she touches me, I find anchor.

I fight for her tonight, and I want her eyes only on me. I want her hands on me later. And the way she tells me she loves me. She shows it too, but I have never in my life heard it before. She puts love songs to me, and I cling to the lyrics like she wrote them for me. Sometimes I have trouble putting to words how I feel. Sometimes I feel a thousand things at once and can’t find a single word to tell her what I want to say. That’s why I look for songs, and as soon as it hits a chord in me, I can’t wait to play it to her. I played “Iris” for her because I wanted her to know that I’d do all kinds of crazy shit just to be with her, and more than that, I wanted her to know me.

She does.

She may know parts of me even I don’t.

Every time I wake up, I check her out. “Did I hurt you?” I ask.

Sometimes I remember when I’m black, but other times I don’t. All my life falls apart when I’m black.

I’m afraid to hurt her.

I’m afraid she’s gonna go again.

But then she tells me she promises to let me know the shit I did or said, and that appeases me. Honestly, I don’t think I have it in me to hurt her. It’s grounded in me to protect her, even from myself. I think even black Remington would kill himself before he hurts her.

But I still dream I wake up and hear that I did something stupid and she’s gone.

She tells me every night I’m her real.

She’s my real. She’s my only.

But I want it on paper.

I want to win this year, and when I do, I’m going to ask her for it.

Because she’s mine.

Tonight, I hear the crowd as I come up to the ring, and I suck their energy into me, let it feed me, but I’m already turning to stop at the point where she’s sitting. Every detail of what she is wearing tonight is in my head. I see a face that has eyes so gold and I feel richer than a country. Her cheeks rosy. Her smile wide.

And the sight of her hits me like adrenaline.

A rise in dopamine.

Testosterone.

Endorphins.

I’m jacked with it. She jacks me with it, and I smile and point at her, as I plan to do from now on so she knows, “This one’s for you.”

It’s all.

For you.

Brooke Dumas.

She blows me a kiss and I catch it in my palm.

Crowd loves it like I love her.

And then I put it in my mouth, and they roar.

And I point at her, laughing, seeing the lights in her eyes, and I can’t wait to be inside her, hear her sigh for me, come for me.

I’m high already. The surge of adrenaline pumps through me. I’m going to beat anything they put in my way just to show this female that I—me, Remington Fucking Tate—am the male she wants.

“The one and only, Remington RIIIIIIIIIPTIDE Tate!”

I hear my name once more, and I’m high with the crowd, high with her smile.

High on her.