Chapter Text
It was all Min’s idea.
Ever since Bambi showed up at my door, asking to be in my life again, I haven’t had a peaceful day.
It’s not like you’d expect your ex—who disappeared without saying goodbye—to come back and beg for us to be friends again.
And you’re probably thinking I slammed the door in her face.
The thing is, I still like her, and the thing is, before things got complicated between us, we were friends. Real friends. The kind where, when you’re down, she’s the person you need to see, and she’ll tell you what to do. She’d listen to me talk for almost three hours—without interrupting me—about old records and directing techniques. With Bambi, I could talk about all my dreams, even the most ridiculous ones, and she’d listen and still support me at the end of the day.
So, when Min looked deep into my eyes and said that the solution to my ‘Bambi problem’ was to date again, she suggested blind dates. According to Min, “it was more fun that way.” It might have been for her, but to me, it seemed like a terrible idea.
But what did I have to lose? The worst that could happen was a few mediocre dates and some really bad ones. So I agreed.
And here I am, after two glasses of wine and a shot of courage, looking at a warehouse.
Prim
Is it just me, or am I at a gym?
WARIGYM. And there was a flashing dumbbell in place of the Y.
I take a picture and send it to Min.
Min
yeah, yeah, but relax—it’s just a date with Manmuk
and no texting!!
focus on the date!!
I don’t wait for her reply and put my phone away.
Focus on the date, Prim—you can do this.
As I walk through the glass doors, I realize I’m the third person in the place. The other two are a couple doing squats with their backs to the door. I look around to see if anyone can give me some information, and there’s no one who looks like they work there.
It’s hot in here, even with the ceiling fans whirring above my head; I start to wonder if I should have worn a long-sleeved shirt.
I’m reaching for my phone to call Min when I hear a voice calling my name.
“Are you Prim?”
I turn, and through a doorway I definitely hadn’t noticed, stands a woman a little taller than me, her hair tied back in a ponytail; she’s wearing loose shorts and a T-shirt.
Her eyes are small but intense. The dim light in the warehouse makes her features look more sharp and rigid. She has a disturbing kind of beauty—cute, but the kind that could kill you.
I open my mouth to reply, but I feel a little intimidated by her stern, serious gaze. Her hands are bandaged, and a thin sheen of sweat covers her forehead.
Well, thank goodness she’s not the one I’m going out with today.
“I’m Manmuk.”
Oh shit.
I’m caught off guard and just stare at her, speechless. Finally, I greet her with a wai. My date, Manmuk, keeps staring at me without blinking.
I swear, she hasn’t blinked yet. How is that even possible?
“Follow me,” she says, turning around and opening the door she just walked through, and as I see the curves of muscle in her arms and back, I follow her.
If this is a prank, Min deserves congratulations, because when I walk through the door, I see a ring.
I'm serious.
The place seems empty except for me and the woman. She walks over to the lockers and I exhale in relief; she’s going to grab it, and we’ll get out of here.
I look around and notice that besides the ring, the walls are actually mirrors that make the place even darker. I don’t know what a room with a ring is supposed to make me feel, but I don’t feel at all safe. I continue looking around, spotting some punching bags, gloves, and some weightlifting equipment. When I turn my attention back to Manmuk, she’s already looking right at me.
“Cool place,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think of right now.
“I know,” she replies, puffing out her chest proudly. “It’s mine.”
“Oh. Cool.”
She raises her eyebrows, and I notice she’s still wearing the bandages; her bag is still sitting on the seat just as before, and then it hits me. “Did you know this was a date?”
I panic at the thought that she thinks I’m here for a trial class or something. Did Min not tell her about the date? Manmuk looks at me, and I can't read her face.
Damn it, Min, this was supposed to be a normal date, not some fucking trial class for whatever the hell Manmuk teaches.
“I know this is a date.” Manmuk finally replies in a monotone. Great, neither she nor I wanted this—it seems perfect.
“How do you know Min?”
““Hmm, she’s trained with me before.” Manmuk looks at the ring and smiles without showing her teeth, remembering a funny story.
“She’s a good fighter, do you fight too?” she asks, pulling a pair of gloves out of her bag. A fucking pair of gloves!
“I’ve trained with Min a few times,” I reply, and I’m not enjoying this conversation. Not at all.
“Oh, so you must get beaten up just like her.”
What the hell?!
“What?”
“I’ve already beaten Min. And it was right here, actually.” She points to the ring, her smile widening at the memory.
Okay, I know some people are tired of the usual 'What do you do? Or what do you study? Or even what’s your zodiac sign?' But this is way too alternative and different for me. Why is it important for me to know that you defeated my friend in a fighting ring? It’s not like we’re going to fight here and now.
“She never told me that.”
“I think she’s embarrassed.” Then Manmuk stares at me, and I notice something in her gaze—a spark, something mischievous.
“Do you want to practice with me?” she asks, but her tone sounds more like a command.
Seriously?
“I’m not dressed for this,” I reply quickly.
“You look great.” And I could turn around, call a cab, head straight to Min’s apartment, and make her suffer.
“I don’t think we should do this”—after all, this was supposed to be a date!
“Come on, don’t be a wimp,” Manmuk rolls her eyes. “I’m going to teach you a few things. Come on.”
I struggle (not ironically) with the urge to grab my phone and ask Bambi to come pick me up, but something makes me sigh and head toward the ring. Maybe it’s exactly because of Bambi that I’m facing this. I want to get over her; I want to have fun with other women. I want to forget that Bambi kissed me and left the next day.
So that’s it—I’m going to fight on a date.
After taking off my shoes and rolling up my shirt sleeves to my elbows. I’m in the middle of a wrestling ring, sweating like a pig.
“Let’s see your guard,” Manmuk says, and I raise the most perfect guard there is—or at least I try to. Manmuk shakes her head, almost impressed. “A jab and a cross,” Manmuk orders, and I obey—after all, those few years of Muay Thai did me some good. “Now an uppercut.”
And we keep this up for a while. She calls out strikes and dodges, and I follow her commands as if I were training for an important upcoming fight. I can already feel the sweat on my face and parts of my body getting sticky against my shirt. But strangely, I start to get into the vibe. Sure, it’s a weird date, but it’s not the worst. And now that I stop to think about it, Manmuk and her commands are kinda hot.
“Great… You’re not that bad,” I hear Manmuk say as I rest my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
She waits for me to compose myself and tosses a pair of gloves my way.
“Now let’s fight.” For the first time since I met Manmuk, she seems genuinely excited; she even forces a smile showing her teeth, but it comes out too awkward, as if she were feeling physical pain while doing so.
The gloves fall at my feet; my reflexes are non-existent now. “Okay, I don’t think we’re on the same page here.”
“What? Why?” Manmuk looks taken aback, as if she hadn’t just asked me to fight her.
“This is supposed to be a date, you know? At a bar, with drinks and cheesy music in the background,” I reply impatiently. “Not in a ring where the other person can draw blood from me.”
“All my dates are here,” Manmuk says defensively.
“Well, mine aren’t.”
“Stop being such a pussy,” Manmuk rolls her eyes. She turns away, putting on her gloves, and then I get it.
I should be scared, but from what little I know of Manmuk, I’m almost certain I’ll be okay.
She’s not the talkative type. We’ve barely talked about our lives; I don’t even know her last name, but something tells me this means something. Maybe it’s her way of making sure this date is safe. A sort of test drive. Maybe she’ll kill me right here in this ring, or maybe after a few laughs, we’ll grab a healthy snack and finally talk. Either way, I’m playing along.
What could go wrong?
We take our positions, facing each other. Manmuk has a determined look, but with a sparkle of something more. She looks ready to defend a championship belt or something. Deep down, I hope she’s just horny.
“Look, I’ve dated a few women who liked to have sex in peculiar places, but a gym ring is a first for me,” I say, because I’m actually kind of turned on—this setting is weird, but it has its charm.
I don’t know if Manmuk understands what I’m saying, because she still hasn’t blinked. As if she were ready to fight in the olympic finals.
But I couldn’t have predicted what she did the very next second. With incredible speed, she lunges forward, her fist aimed right at me. Luckily, I manage to avoid it.
“Wow, you almost hit me,” I say, a mix of fear, anger, and disbelief in my voice. “If my guard hadn’t…”
And it happens even faster. She was just waiting for me to lower my arms. Her fist smacks right into my nose, my head snaps back, my legs give way, and I fall. I'm sure I was KO'd.
I feel like I’m in a cartoon, because all I see are stars.
“Prim. Prim, can you hear me?” A muffled voice calls out to me, but I can’t recognize who it is.
I can’t tell if I fainted or not; I struggle to open my eyes. My whole face hurts, but my nose is throbbing, and I’m sure blood is running down it. I look around and realize I’m already out of the ring, though I’m still in the mirrored room.
When I was a teenager, I got into some serious trouble; I didn’t have the best reputation. I’ve broken an arm and sprained my ankle, but I’ve never broken my nose. This was the first time. And also the first time it happened on a date.
“Oh shit, you’re not going to pass out again, are you?” the same voice speaks up again. Manmuk.
“I didn’t pass out,” I try to say, but I let out a scream of pain—talking makes my nose hurt.
“I thought you could handle a little tap like that,” she says, looking down at her hands and muttering to herself. “Oh shit, not everyone’s as tough as you, Manmuk.”
“First of all, that wasn’t a tap, you punched me in the nose!” More pain. “And second, who thinks it’s okay to punch someone on a date?!”
For the first time, Manmuk looks embarrassed; she crosses her arms and looks away. Seriously, I’m going to kill Min. I stand up, trying not to lower my head—I don't want all my blood to drain out of my nose. All I can think about is getting out of there and going home. Or to a doctor.
“I can take you to the hospital,” I hear Manmuk say behind me. “Oh shit, Manmuk, stupid Manmuk!”
I keep my distance from her because I'm really scared. But then I hear a bang, and the noise makes me jump, which makes my face hurt again. I turn around and see Manmuk with her fist on the locker, her expression blank.
I don’t know if I realized it before, but I think Manmuk isn’t quite normal. She turns to look at me, the blank stare still there, untouched. “Hm, I think we both need to go to the hospital. I just broke my wrist.”
***
I’ve been staring at the hospital ceiling for about 30 minutes now. Manmuk is in the nurse’s station taking care of her wrist, while I’m trying to keep my blood in my veins and stop it from coming out of my nose.
(Actually, it’s stopped bleeding now, thanks to a tampon I had in my bag)
I’m waiting for someone to come pick me up, since Manmuk said she called someone from my phone. I pray it’s Min—what am I going to do with her? It’s better if she’s in a hospital.
“P’Prim?”
I turn my head so fast when I hear the voice that my nose twinges and I squeal. When I open my eyes, she’s standing right in front of me, those bright brown eyes staring right back at me.
Bambi.
The cause of all this.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice coming out accusatory; I try to look away, but my gaze goes straight to the choker. Of course she’s wearing a damn choker—it’s her trademark.
“Hm, I’m still your emergency contact,” she replies defensively. Of course this is my fault. Of course I didn’t delete her number after a year without any contact.
And then, out of nowhere, I feel her fingers on my face—soft and warm, but gentle—pulling me toward her. I have no choice but to look at Bambi. Her eyebrows narrowed, and a small but noticeable line appeared on her forehead.
“What happened?” she whispers, her warm breath brushing against my face. I don’t know if it’s the broken nose or the physical pain but having her so close makes my chest tighten.
And she’s still holding my face. The contact makes my body heat up; it’s been a long time since I’ve felt her touch.
(Or maybe it’s a fever. Does breaking your nose cause a fever?)
I could lie, say I fell. Or I could tell the truth, that I’m on a date. But that would mean explaining everything.
I’m on a date to get over you.
“A date,” I reply, and it happens quickly—something in her eyes flickers, and then she lets go of my face. Strangely, I notice the cold air of the hospital.
“And how did a date put you in the hospital with a broken nose?” Bambi asks, dismissively, grabbing her phone. Her familiar mask slipping back into place.
“If I knew, I’d tell you,” I reply, trying to sigh, but it hurts. The pain in my nose, the cold of the waiting room, Bambi’s presence—too warm, too close—leave me in agony. I shift in my chair, and Bambi notices.
“The woman who called me—where is she?” she asks, then turns, looking around, trying to find someone, but there’s no one there besides the two of us and three other nurses standing further away, gossiping at the counter.
“Inside,” I say, pointing to the room, and Bambi raises her eyebrows. “I didn’t do anything; she did it all on her own.”
“Was that P’Min’s idea?” Bambi asks, and I confirm, feeling a little embarrassed. “You should be smarter; P’Min isn’t exactly known for having the most… safe contacts.”
Bambi shakes her head, but a smile spreads across her lips. “The last time she set me up on a date, someone tried to burn my car.”
“Yeah, I should’ve suspected something when she gave me the address of a gym,” I say, and Bambi smiles. A warmth settles in my chest as I hear the sound of her smile; I try to swallow that feeling.
“Really, starting a date at a gym isn’t exactly a green flag, is it?” Bambi says, and we fall silent. It’s still strange having her around. One night, we kissed, and then she disappeared for a year. No messages, no news. Nothing.
“Are you done here?
I nod, and then Bambi stands up and offers me her hand. I look at that small hand with long fingers, perfectly manicured nails painted peach, and maybe it’s the anesthesia (it was just in my nose, but let me daydream a little, please), but something inside me says that if I accept, all the feelings and regrets and desires will seep out of me like the dried blood on my shirt, and I’ll never heal from it.
“Um, I just…” I don’t know if Bambi notices, but she pulls her hand away; I almost see disappointment in her eyes, but she hides it.
“Are you waiting for her? Your date?” Bambi asks, her mask returning. “Round 2?”
“Hell no,” I roll my eyes. “That was definitely the worst date I’ve ever had. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, so, that sucked?’”
“You shouldn’t have waited.” Bambi and I look at each other at the same time, and it makes me let out a howl of pain. Manmuk is behind me, and she’s wearing a sling.
“I, um, I just wanted to see if your wrist is okay.”
“You don’t have to lie.” She notices Bambi, then narrows her eyes and seems to analyze her completely. Since Bambi is a menace, she smirks and puts her hand over her nose, protectively.
“Goodbye,” she says, and leaves. I don’t know how she’s going to get home, but Manmuk doesn’t look back.
“God, how could you not tell she wanted to punch you, looking like that?” And despite the tension, it makes me smile.
On the way to the apartment, I ask Bambi to stop at a beauty supply store and buy some green hair dye that will be Min’s new hair color.