Christian watched her as she brought herself to a sitting position, racking the bar behind her and staring at him with the same stare, matching the same intensity which is something Christian has not experienced in a long time, since his last partner was around back when Christian was still wrestling. Since, he had talked to a lot of people, with money, without money, with standings and name value, and those with little to their family name. Yet never in the past years has he remembered feeling the way that he did when she stared at him. That feeling that was common, familiar...
He was staring in the mirror.
Christian took a deep breath, his longing eyes continuing to take in the figure of the Indian woman in front of him, although he stared not as one who needed comfort, or wanted to test his masculinity by trying to compensate with sexual acts. His stares were deeper, looking past the outward sculpture that was her body, and looking into the scars and crevices around her body, the impact wounds from the battle she just endured, and exploring how her body reacted to her warm ups, the blood pulsing through her veins.
Christian knew she wasn't in any way, shape, or form, normal. No, she was special, just as he has found himself to be in relation to what most people call "normal", although he better defined it as "average." What he stared at, while his ears heard her as she began to speak, his eyes saw beyond her ability to build a sentence and speculated at her very existence. He heard her words but saw his own self, albeit with a lack of the hard life lessons that come with age and experience.
We can hold peace, or we can say our piece...
Christian looked past her now, his eyes weighing down to the bench she had sat up on, and as he turned his body to shift toward the bench, he invited himself into a seated position next to Lal. His face hinted at the possibility of a smile, or perhaps just contentment, although it never fully broke through because his voice hinted at something greater, as he spoke for the first time that night since hours ago when he had to speak to the front desk girl.
There was an old farmer who had found himself on a walk home in the middle of a snow storm one night. On the side of the road he found viper frozen solid from the storm and taking pity on it, he took it home and bundled it onto his bare chest, warming it up and nursing it back to health. The viper revived and turned to the old man that saved it, and bit the old man right in the middle of his chest. Dying, the old man asked the snake with his dying breath, "Why did you bite me after I saved you, brought you back to life, and loved you enough to risk my life for you?" The viper responded "You silly old man, I'm a snake."
Christian remained focused on Lal Singh, his eyes burying into hers as he got lost in his story, the final word producing a snap to reality, a reminder that he wasn't in his own thoughts as he may have assumed envisioning the story. He looked away from Lal, the moral of the story still baring resemblance to his own past, and his own hurts and horrors. As he pushed past his previous thoughts, his mind drifted back to the Superbattle.
Lal Singh had befriended, if that's not too strong of a word, Matthew Stevenson. Unfortunately what she had assumed was something, turned out to be completely something else and she, for better or for worse, got bit. Christian however wasn't just intending Stevenson to be the snake, but wanted her in the midst of her anger and the midst of her own confusion toward the night, to question... is there a snake in her? Christian hoped she would see the depth goes beyond the surface level, and that while nature vs nurture is definitely applicable here, there is something beyond that argument that faces our every day reality... There is nature, there is nurture, and then there is anarchy, or organized chaos that lives inside everybody.
Boats do not sink because of the water that surrounds them. They sink because of the water that gets inside. I've watched you, and I've heard you, beyond what you say but what you feel. Lal, you have no leaks. So why then, is there water in your boat?
Christian inquires, a soft spoken tone showing his serious, confident, and yet almost tender and meek nature. He rests his hand next to Lal's on the bench, as he awaits her response.