Wrestling

The sunlight shone through the gap in the blackout curtains, casting a sharp yellow line across the floor of the master bedroom.

Jey blinked his eyes open. He stared at the ceiling for a long minute, waiting for anything to set in. Usually, the morning after a match was a strictly scheduled nightmare. The moment consciousness returned, the brain would boot up and immediately check out the damage. The ribs would scream or the neck would lock. The joints would ache with tremendous pain.

He took a slow breath for testing sake. He filled his lungs completely, expanding his ribcage to its absolute limit.

Nothing happened.

There was no stabbing sting on his left side. He turned his head to the right, peering at the digital clock on the nightstand. His neck rotated smoothly, the vertebrae gliding without the familiar resistance that had plagued him for the last month plus.

Jey pushed the duvet off his chest and sat up. He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and planted his bare feet on the floor. He stood up straight.

He was in shock. He looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. The strength was there. The deep purple bruising on his side was still visible, a harsh visual reminder of the match, but the underlying tissue felt calm. The inflammation had seemingly vanished overnight.

He turned around and looked at the bed.

Bambietta was sprawled across the mattress, sleeping heavily on her stomach.

One of her arms was draped over the empty space Jey had just vacated, her face buried deep into the fluffy pillows.

Jey smiled. He gave her the full credit for his condition. It wasn’t some miraculous genetic healing factor or some shit like that, that had fixed him. It was her. The icing she had enforced the night before, the anti-inflammatory medication she had practically shoved down his throat, and her refusal to let him stress over his brother’s drama.

She had helped his body to shut down and repair itself.

He leaned over the mattress, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. As he shifted his weight, his knee bumped the wooden bedframe. It rattled loudly against the wall.

Bambietta groaned. It was a deeply annoyed sound muffled by the pillow. She shifted, pulling the duvet higher over her shoulders to block out the morning light.

"Stop moving," she mumbled, her voice heavily laced with sleep. "You’re supposed to still be sleeping by now."

Jey chuckled softly without backing away. He leaned down further, pressing his weight onto the mattress right beside her. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from her cheek.

She cracked one eye open, glaring at him with a sleepy but defensive scowl.

Jey leaned in and planted a firm, warm kiss directly on her cheek.

He lingered for a second, feeling the initial annoyance in her jaw melt away. When he pulled back, the annoyed glare was gone. Her eyes fluttered, and an unmistakable blush spread across her cheeks, coloring her skin a soft pink. She quickly pulled the edge of the duvet up over the lower half of her face, hiding the flustered, bashful smile she couldn’t suppress.

"You’re too energetic for someone who got dropped multiple times yesterday," she mumbled from behind the blanket.

"I feel incredible," Jey said, standing up and stretching his arms high above his head. He rolled his shoulders, relishing the fluid, painless motion. "I’m serious, Bam. I feel like I didn’t even wrestle yesterday. I’m at one hundred and one percent."

She lowered the blanket an inch, looking at him suspiciously. "Don’t lie to me just so you can get out of bed. If your neck is stiff, you need to tell me."

"I’m not lying. Look." Jey rotated his neck in a full circle, proving the lack of stiffness. "Whatever you did last night with the ice packs, it worked. I feel strong enough to hit the gym."

Bambietta dropped the blanket completely and sat up, her messy hair falling around her bare shoulders. "Excuse me? The gym? Absolutely not. The only lifting you’re doing today is picking up a fork at the kitchen table. Do I need to call your mother for you?"

Jey laughed, holding his hands up defensively. "Okay, let’s keep mom out of this. I’m not talking about maxing out on squats or deadlifting heavy iron," Jey argued, walking over to his open gym bag resting in the corner of the room. He pulled out a clean pair of grey sweatpants and a black tank top.

"I’m talking about active recovery. I read online that it’s good to stretch out muscles after injury. If you just lie in bed for days straight, something settles and the tissue locks up. You end up feeling ten times worse."

Bambietta crossed her arms over her chest, unimpressed. "Oh, you read it online? Let me guess, a WebMD article written by some keyboard warrior who has never been subjected to any physical attack?"

"No," Jey replied, pulling the tank top over his head. "I was actually browsing a professional wrestling forum, looking at recovery routines. There was a highly detailed sports medicine breakdown. It said that active mobility is key to keeping swelling away permanently. I just need to get the blood flowing. You know?"

She watched him pull on his sweatpants, her gaze intensely checking on his movements. He wasn’t wincing. He bent down to tie his sneakers, and his spine curved naturally without hesitation. He genuinely moved like a man who was fully healed.

She let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Fine. But I swear to god, Jey, if you come back here limpin, I’m going to put you in a headlock myself."

"Just a quick sweat, nothing more," Jey promised, grabbing his phone. "I’ll be back in an hour. We can take Mom out for lunch later if she’s up for it."

Bambietta nodded, falling back against the pillows and pulling the covers back up to her chin. "An hour. Don’t push it."

Jey was about walking out of the bedroom.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Let me go with you."

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