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Since we were little, Erica and I always fought. There wasn't always a reason, least none that I remember, but we seemed to take up any excuse to throw down. About the only thing we agreed on was she started it all.

I've always been a Christian, even when I was young and didn't understand what that meant. Erica took after her mother and denied God even existed, and since we met the two of us kept arguing back and forth about it. Yeah, even in grade school. You'd think little kids wouldn't get into theological debates, but then kids tend to see their parents as perfect and smarter than all the other parents. Erica was kinda pushy as a kid, and being a tomboy she wasn't above getting a little physical to drive home her point. She just wrestled kids into headlocks and noogied them until they gave up. But I apparently had a gift for driving her up the wall, and she did the same with me. I don't recall what I said, but one time in fourth grade, we got into a real heated argument, and I said something that pissed her off worse than before. Instead of trying to noogie me, she pulled her fist back and clocked me right in the nose. Next thing I know, my fuzzy ass is on the ground, Erica's on top of me, and I'm trying to keep her from putting a permanent dent in my muzzle. I thank God every day she fought like a boy; her feline claws would've turned a fox like me into hamburger.

The thing was, I didn't fight back at the time. I thought I had to be a "nice Christian boy", so I just did what I could to keep my guard up while she kept throwing punches, cussing me out with every bad word she knew. When the teacher finally got control of her, I had a bloody nose and maybe a black eye. Then we both got sent to the office, where Erica did something that surprised me.

"Why is he here?"

"What, Stephen?"

"Yeah! I mean... I kicked his ass--"

"You will watch your language, young lady!"

"Fine. I kicked his butt. So... I'm the bad kid, right?"

"You were both fighting in class, which is against the rules. So, you will both now serve detention."

"Bullshit!"

"Young lady! What did I te--"

"He didn't fight back! How can he get into trouble for fighting if all he did was sit there and take it?!"

Suffice to say, the Principal was not in the mood. Rules were rules and you didn't question them, not if you knew what was good for you. Erica got a little more detention than me, though from what I remember, her mother actually approved. She wanted her daughter to think, unlike some parents, and she praised her for pointing out how the rules were unfair. Just not for picking a fight in school. I was just surprised Erica stuck up for me. I didn't think she liked me. My own parents were shocked that I'd been in a fight, though they were a little embarrassed I got beat up by a girl. Yet it was a bit of a surprise that an atheist's kid would be fair to a Christian's and stick up for me. They hadn't expected that. Still, they told me to avoid fights if I could. They didn't want me rolling over mind you, and Dad tried to tell me to fight back if I was attacked, but he didn't want me starting fights even if teachers were present. I don't remember all he said, but I do remember what Erica said to me after school a couple weeks later.

"You need to fight back."

"What?"

"I said you need to fight back."

"What, against you?"

"Yeah! I mean, if you're gonna get in trouble for me giving ya a bloody nose, you might as well give me one."

"I don't wanna hit a girl!"

"Oh, c'mon! You wanna be known as the guy that even girls can beat up?"

"No. But..."

"But nothing. Mom tells me this is a rough world. Rougher than you or me could know. She don't wancha beatin' my head in, but I'm not gonna fight dirty. So, you need to fight back."

"I don't wanna be a bully."

"Pah! Bullies are the jerks who pick on those who can't fight back! Listen, Jesus kid, I'm not a bully. So you'd better practice with me before you run into somebody who won't fight fair."

"That was fighting fair?!"

"Sure! It was one on one. Just you and me. You can handle a girl, can't you?"

"Just leave me alone, Erica."

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, I'm serious. C'mon, hit me."

"What?!"

"Hey, I'm offering you a free shot here! Right in the kisser; c'mon! Pay me back for last time!"

"I gotta get home..."

"Chicken! C'mon, hit me!"

"No!"

She started pushing and shoving me, getting in my way and in my face. I didn't want to hit her. You don't hit girls; it's not right. But Erica was like a young feminist, and she didn't care what gender either of us were. Strange as it was, she really did care about me. She didn't want me to be known as the guy who got beat up by a girl, just as she didn't want to be known as the girl who beat up boys. Looking back now, I realize that, even if neither of us knew it, this was a defining moment of my life. It was either fight back and learn how strong I was, or live a scared, miserable life fearing my own strength, or lack of it, and never knowing if I had what it takes. To be a wuss forever. So, strange as it sounds, I'm grateful for her provoking me.

"Hit me!"

"Stop it!"

"Make me stop! Hit me!"

"No!"

"Wuss! Man up and hit me!"

"No! Stop it!"

"Damn it, Stephen, hit me!"

So I did.

I was a natural. I pulled back, made a fist and followed through right into her face. Even though she'd been demanding I hit her, she hadn't known where my fist would land. It turned out to be a good thing. Her head snapped back, her neck loose, and she grunted and fell down on her back, with me standing over her. Then her nose started bleeding. I panicked and knelt down next to her.

"Erica! Oh jeez, are you okay?"

"Whoa... that's... that's quite a punch ya got there..."

"Oh man! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I--"

"Hey! Shut up. I'm fine, okay?"

She got up and wiped her nose, looking at the blood and grinning. Then she hugged me and laughed.

"Congrats, Jesus kid. You're a man."

"Hitting a girl makes me a man?"

"Nah. But fighting back will. Next time I jump ya, just do that. Then no one can say ya got beat by a girl."

"I... are you sure you're okay?"

"Eh, I'll get over it. It's just a bloody nose."

"I... I guess..."

"I gotta get home. See ya later, Stephen. Keep it up; ya got a good punch there."

"Uh, yeah... same to you."

She grinned and ran off, leaving me a little bewildered and confused. I never told Mom and Dad about it, but they found out anyway. Erica's mom wasn't quite as cool with my actions as she'd been. And Mom and Dad were more than a little cross about it. Still, when I told them what happened, they mellowed a bit. Not much, but enough. And Dad agreed with Erica that I needed to fight back. He just didn't approve of hitting a girl, even one who told me to. He told me I'd lost control this time, but I didn't need to be afraid of doing it all the time. So long as Erica or anyone else didn't bother me, I didn't have to worry about it. And besides, now I knew I could punch. All I had to do, Dad said, was learn control. I had to admit, it kinda felt good to know if someone gave me trouble, I could shove my fist through their face. And although they didn't want me fighting, Mom and Dad agreed I needed to defend myself. If Erica could help me learn to do that, so much the better. Not an ideal situation, but at least they didn't have to pay for martial arts lessons. Though they still insisted I not throw the first punch and know when to stop. Fighting a girl still wasn't that okay.

From then on, Erica and I fought a lot. We continued to argue over our views on religion (though in politics we often agreed it seemed; her mother was Libertarian, my parents were Conservative), and on occasion it would turn into a fist fight. I think our second fight was just Erica making sure I'd learned my lesson. I passed with flying colors, and traded black eyes with her. And although there was always tension between us, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement: we never fought dirty, and we never used anything other than our own fists. And most of all, we made sure the other was okay afterward. Despite showing up in detention a lot, our grades never really slipped either. The schools just didn't know what to do with us.

Somewhere along the way, it turned into something of a friendship crossed with a rivalry. We actually started hanging out together, though our friends mostly hung around to make sure we didn't kill each other. The only fights were between her and me, pretty much by our insistence, and everyone else in the group managed to work out their disagreements without violence. I guess Erica just liked to fight, and I was one of the few people who wouldn't shrink back from her, and the only guy who'd throw the first punch. Despite this, I still got marked by bullies, who decided since I couldn't beat a girl without a sweat, I must be an easy mark. They only jumped me a few times. That's when I learned how to fend off multiple attackers. It's also when I learned Erica considered me off limits to anyone but herself. The last couple times, I not only held my own, but Erica showed up to help me clean up. She also disarmed a guy who was gonna knife me in the back (though her idea of "disarm" is "aim for the nuts"). I thanked her for it, though not without insisting I could've handled it. You know how guys are, and I was no exception. Her response was to roll her eyes, and then catch the bullies later on and make it quite clear I was not to be bothered. After that, everyone pretty much left us alone, and we started to mellow out a little. Neither of us knew, but it was the start of something beautiful.

Then in high school, we got into another fight during gym class. The school system had tried to keep us out of the same classes, even though we tried not to fight in class, and had managed it for the most part throughout Junior High. This time someone goofed. Erica responded to us being in the same class in predictable fashion: by insulting my faith and thus picking a fight with me. Before the coach knew what was happening, we were rolling about the floor, trying to bash each other's brains out. He stopped it by proving why lions are considered kings: by roaring loud enough to make half the school pause and listen. We froze, Erica on top of me with her fist cocked, and me with half a guard and a hand in her face.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"Um... he started it?"

"The hell I did!"

We nearly started up again, but coach was in no mood.

"Enough! In my office! Now!"

And once again, we ended up sitting in someone's office, ready to get lectured on why fighting was bad, that we all had to get along, part of living in society, blah, blah, blah. We had the entire speech memorized by now, and few teachers really understood our relationship. To his credit, coach actually had a brain between his ears, and grilled us on why we had chosen his class in particular to start a fight. Erica and I gave him the Cliff Notes version, summarizing years of fighting into a few minutes. At first, he was appalled that we were so quick to throw down (and that it wasn't always self defense on my part), but then he began to think about how to work with us on this. When he became convinced we wouldn't stop fighting, and switching classes would only make it less frequent, he had an idea.

"How much do you two know about boxing?"

We knew very little, but it wasn't hard to learn. Coach offered to teach us over the weekends, if we agreed to pull our punches and try not to pick fights with each other in his class or in school in general. A school sanctioned form of fighting seemed like a trap, but we figured we might as well try it. As it turns out, we loved it. Even though coach made us pull punches, even in sparring, it was good for us. It was a safer way to vent our frustrations with each other, and provided a good workout too. Our parents were relieved we wouldn't be using bare fists anymore, if still unconvinced. Rumors flew in school, of course, but what did we care? Erica and I had a new pastime now, one that was less dangerous than what we'd been doing, and most people wouldn't mess with us anyway. And besides, we could use the rumors to stop any bullying we came across. No one messed with us, and we kinda became celebrities. We even started a boxing club with some of our friends and classmates, and coach supervising. Bullying took a dive after that.

In our Senior year, coach had a brilliant idea. At the end of the year, after finals, we would have a few charity boxing matches. Each one would be short: five three minute rounds. No one really wanted to hurt each other, especially since we needed our brains for college. It was a bit controversial, but the competitors had to be legal adults, and we all signed documents that released the school from any liability. We knew what we were doing; we weren't about to sue the school if one of us got hurt. All we needed was a referee (coach fit the bill) and some corner men. Those who couldn't compete volunteered to run the corners for the fighters. Our friends helped out too, getting us prepped for the fight months in advance, and encouraged people to buy tickets to the event. Everything was to be donated to charity, except for a small fee skimmed off the top to help us pay for college. Turns out, it got so popular, we had to move the fight to the City Civic Center to fit everyone. The entire school showed up to cheer us on, and quite a few parents too. Our moms were a little scared for us, but showed up to give support, and Dad nearly made me cry when he told me how proud he was of me. Even if I was fighting Erica. Everything was perfect, and we were all pumped for the fights. It'd be our first real boxing matches, even if they were amateur fights. I think Mom was real glad we had to wear headgear. She didn't want her boy to get his vulpine brains splattered all over the inside of his skull. I told her I had no intention of letting Erica do that to me. Not without making her pay for it anyway.

Waiting was hard. Erica and I were last, I guess to honor the fact that we'd started the whole thing. There were only five matches in total. We got to watch the others while we waited in the makeshift locker rooms, catching a few snatches while we warmed up. It was a bit awkward having guys and girls in the same rooms, but they had to keep opponents separate to keep us from starting the fights outside the ring. I'm glad they did. I don't think Erica could've resisted provoking me, and I wasn't sure I wouldn't just shove my fist in her face to shut her up. I'd done it before after all. But as it was, I just had to wait, talking and joking with the others, giving them encouragement until it was their turn. Not to mention a little betting and cheering during the matches. One by one, they left. One by one, they fought. One by one, my match got closer, and the butterflies in my stomach got worse. Before too long, it was my turn.

I admit, it was kinda scary walking up to that ring, even with everyone cheering for me, and also for Erica. This was a little different from sparring or our old fights. For one thing, there wasn't gonna be any "ground and pound" stuff going on (we still like to joke that she and I invented MMA before anyone knew what it was). And unlike the sparring matches, there was no holding back, no pulling punches. Plus, I'd come to love her as a good friend. Maybe my best friend. I didn't want to hurt her.

However, I had to put that out of my mind when it came time for the stare-down. God bless Erica. She knew I'd been nervous, and she gave me the most pissed-off stare ever. That's when I knew I couldn't let her scare me. Or the fear of hurting her. This was a boxing match; she was my opponent. And if I didn't give my all, she'd never let me hear the end of it.

All in all, the fight went pretty well. Erica and I gave a good show, trading shots back and forth, both of us managing to take control of the match now and then. The only troublesome spot was when I knocked her down in the fourth round. Coach wanted to call it, but Erica insisted on continuing. She didn't care if she got KO'ed by me. Hell, later on she admitted if she had to go down, she'd rather it be by my hand than anyone else's. I had to blush at that comment; she said it with a rather suggestive tone. In the end though, she came back and won the match on points alone (and she did have me staggering at one point), and the two of us had gained new respect for each other. The charity drive was a success, and we had a lot of donations of both food and money for the local homeless shelter. And Erica and I, and all the competitors, had a good chunk of change. It'd help defray the costs of whatever college we went to. And we pretty much cemented ourselves as a legend in the school, inspiring quite a few others to take up boxing to stay in shape and vent their frustrations. I hear the bullies still run when someone breathes about the boxing club coming around. Things were looking up, and life was good.

But life doesn't always go the way we plan.

During summer vacation, Erica and I developed our friendship into something more. Even with all the plans for college, we still managed to find time to spend together and stay close. And I became captivated by her beauty, even though our religious views continued to clash. Then she sprang a surprise on me.

Erica wanted to go professional. She'd had a couple more amateur matches over the summer, without really telling anyone, not even me, and she was eager for more. She was convinced she could be a champion, that she could prove herself in the big leagues. I was hesitant. Boxing was cool and all, but it was only really something I did with her, and I had college to think about. I couldn't go professional, and I worried about her getting hurt. She was insistent though, and even joined a local gym to prepare. She wanted me to at least be in the seats at her matches, if not in her corner. I cared about her too much to just sit by, so I agreed to be a corner man for her. The manager was a nice guy, though a little rough around the edges. I should've been concerned when I smelled a bit of liquor on his breath. But Erica had her dream, and I didn't feel right telling her to quit the gym. I wish now that I had.

Her first real professional boxing match happened a couple years later in the summer, when I had more free time. Before that, I had to juggle school and her amateur fights, and find a replacement if I couldn't be there. If I thought watching her box before was hard, this time it was excruciating. We hadn't known how corrupt the boxing commission could be, nor how someone decided Erica would make a good "fall girl" for the fans. We didn't know her manager had gotten a call long before the match from some very powerful friends of his. We only found out later, when the damage was done.

The fight was a massacre. Erica was out-classed in every way, and worse the referee had been bribed to let the match continue a bit longer than most fights between women. She just kept getting pounded and falling for tricks she never saw coming, leaving openings for her opponent, that predatory lioness, and having her head and stomach abused as if she was a plaything. Her manager kept feeding her encouragement, but I soon figured out he was just telling her the wrong things. She figured it out too, despite the pain, but she couldn't figure out a good defense on her own. When I tried to pipe up, the manager threatened to have me removed. All I could do was watch as she got tenderized in round after round. There weren't that many, and they were short, yet it felt like an eternity to me. It was worse for her since she was the one in the ring. I finally started begging the manager to throw in the towel, to keep her from any more abuse, but he refused. Kept saying I "wasn't experienced" and "didn't know what I was talking about". It scared me. It was then I realized he wasn't on our side, that something had happened, and he was determined to keep Erica in the ring until she was either knocked out or the final bell rang. Or she dropped dead. I couldn't take it. I hated seeing the abuse, seeing her bruised and bloodied, far worse than anything I had ever done to her, and feeling powerless to help. It got to the point where I was desperate to stop the match, desperate enough to do something, anything to stop her agony.

So I threw in the towel.

The referee stopped the match, but not before the manager cussed me out and hit me, then kicked me while I was down. People stopped him, but I didn't care. Erica was safe. The match would be stopped and she'd be safe. That's all I cared about. I had no idea that what I'd done was against the rules, or at least forgot it in the moment. Even if I had remembered, I wouldn't have cared. I just wanted her safe. Imagine my horror when the referee started up the match again, when Erica stood up from the shock of my betrayal and nodded her assent to continue. But not before she glanced my way, shooting me a teary-eyed glare filled with hurt and anger. She stood through the entire last round, and although she didn't score many hits in the fight, she at least managed to keep standing and walk from the ring. She didn't say a word to me the entire time, not until we got to the locker room.

"What the hell was that?!"

"Erica, I'm sorry! I just couldn't--"

"Couldn't let me finish? Couldn't trust me to stand on my own?"

"How?! You were getting pulverized out there! There was no way you could've won!"

"It wasn't your call to make!"

"You got that right," said her manager. She gave him a busted nose and threw him out.

"Shut up, you piece of shit! We're through, you hear me?!" Then she turned on me. She didn't hit me, but her gaze made me flinch. Not so much from the anger as the hurt in her eyes. I felt horrible.

"Erica, please. How could I just stand there? She could've killed you!"

"It's my fight, damn it! We agreed you'd support me in this! You said you'd stand by me!"

"Not if you're gonna get yourself killed!"

"This... this is my life, Stephen. Not yours. You don't get to choose what I do."

"So, what? You expect me to just let you get turned into a retard? To just... just stand in horror when they turn you into... into this?" I didn't think my words could sting so much. She flinched as though I'd slapped her. I'd always kinda admired her beauty, even when I'd banged it up a little, but now... now she could stand only because she refused to lie down. I couldn't know at the time that what I said was the wrong thing for her to hear.

"Oh. I see now. You're worried about having an ugly girlfriend, is that it?"

"What?! No, that's not... For heaven's sake, talk sense!"

"Shut up about heaven, Jesus boy! Why do you have to bring God into everything?"

"Oh for... it's just an expression! Erica, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"What the hell's wrong with _you?_You afraid, huh? Scared that God's gonna make you marry an ugly atheist woman? Is that it?"

"I... what? Where are you getting this?"

"That's it, isn't it? That's always the thing with you! It's all Jesus, and God, and heaven, and good lord! Look out! An independent woman who can fight! Better call the nuns and send her off before she makes you bend over!"

"Now just a damn minute! You're the one who brought religion into this! It has nothing to do with that!"

"Nothing?"

"No!"

"So why'd you throw the towel, huh?" I didn't answer her. She wasn't the only one swirling with emotions. "Why'd you have to kill my dream? It's mine, dammit! You said you support me!"

"I do!"

"So why'd you throw the damn towel?!"

"Because I didn't want to lose you!"

I grabbed her arms as I said this. Then I saw the shock in her eyes, and watched as more emotions swirled in them. Then she hardened. Her eyes grew cold and she pulled away from me, though the physical distance wasn't as wide as the spiritual one. Blame it on spiritual warfare. Blame it on her stubborn, "Free Thinker" upbringing. Blame it on my big mouth. Whatever the cause, she wasn't ready to hear what I had to say. A confession of deep love became twisted in her mind, and she saw it as a rejection of her own independence. When she finally spoke, she had just two words for me.

"Get out."

I thought that was the end of us. I suffered for a bit, going into depression. My parents and friends tried to console me, but it was little use. Her friends called or chased me down to tell me what a sack of shit I was. I didn't care. All that mattered, all that made my life seem worth living was gone. I'd blown it with Erica. Who knew if I'd ever get her back?

Turns out Erica didn't have a much better time of it. She soon gave up boxing, realizing that I was right. And when she confronted her manager and learned the truth, she felt horrified for how she treated me. But she wasn't ready to apologize yet. And she was sure she hated me. At least she got her friends to stop with the verbal beatings, even if I was too depressed to notice. I didn't let any of my friends hurt her either. Just once, someone tried it. I told him he deserved the black eye. For the longest time though, neither of us contacted the other and things just started to fade. But God had other plans.

We crossed paths again at the local mall. It was awkward and kinda brief. We stuck to small talk about our parents and families, and the crazy things our friends got up to. We almost parted for good that time. But Erica stopped me and made a rather unusual proposal: a private sparring match. I balked at first, my last memory of her being in the locker room, wondering when she was going to collapse from the pain or her injuries. She insisted though, arguing that every other time we'd had an argument, we always worked it out by fighting. And if we didn't do it now, we'd never work it out, and we'd lose our friendship. I didn't want that. I wasn't sure I was ready to hit her again, but she didn't care if I held back. She just thought maybe throwing a few punches with some gloves and headgear on might clear the air a little. The summer was almost over, and I'd thought about quitting college since she wouldn't be there to keep my spirits up. I sensed this was a turning point and that everything between us hung upon this moment. If we waited, I'd be too busy to even focus on a simple spar. And I might lose her forever.

I said I'd show up.

Erica, true to her nature, managed to sneak a set of keys from her old gym (I didn't ask how), and let us in late at night. We had our gear together and changed right in the open. I was hesitant, but she insisted we didn't have much time. With the lights on, someone was bound to notice we were in there. So I agreed, though she at least consented to having us turn our backs to each other. I think she might've snuck a peek at me, but I never returned the favor. After that, we got our headgear and gloves on, and stepped into one of the rings. The spar wasn't a friendly or good-natured one. This was a fight, and though I hesitated to hurt her again, she had no qualms about it. I just followed old habits and soon we were having a real good brawl, exchanging punches left and right, with little regard to defense. But the fury soon waned, at least on my end. I loved her too much. I finally clinched and told her to stop, though she didn't. I took a few good shots in the gut and sides before she started slowing down, throwing lighter and lighter punches. She started crying. Before I knew it, we were holding each other in the ring, her crying softly into my chest while I just stayed quiet and let my own tears run down my cheeks. We apologized. We confessed how lonely we were. We kissed. Okay, we forgot to take out the mouth guards for a moment, but we got around to it. And we made up, right on the spot.

We also got in trouble.

Turns out the manager came back for something. He recognized Erica's car, and he knew mine well enough on sight. He burst in on us, demanding to know what the hell was going on. The next few moments were a blur. We somehow managed to pack our stuff, run circles around him, and make it out the door. Erica had time to lock it and waved the keys in his face through the glass. Then she dropped them on the ground and ran for her car, while I jumped in mine. I followed her back to her place, which she shared with some friends, and only then did we realize we'd forgotten to take off the headgear. We laughed and joked about cops pulling us over. Then we took them off and kissed, happy to be friends again. Hell, to be more than friends. We didn't need to say it. We knew this was the start of something more. But God's not the only one who can make plans.

We needed to shower, and her roommates were all out on the town, working to make rent. Erica proposed we might as well save on the water bill by sharing a shower. I wasn't happy about her suggestion. That was a line too far, I knew. But she insisted, and gave me a look that could melt a glacier, full of enticement and love as well. What was I to do? I knew it was wrong, but with her beautiful face grinning at me, and my hormones raging like that, there wasn't much resistance left in me. So, I followed her and, as you can guess, one thing led to another. Before I knew it, I had her back pressed against the wall, feeling her arms and legs around me, her fur brushing against mine, flesh upon flesh. Her moans were in my ears, my hot breath on her neck as I nibbled and nipped. I took her right there, right in the hot stream of water, snarling in feral lust and raw need. It was mind blowing, it was terrifying, it was exhilarating, it was beautiful, it was...

...it was a mistake.

When it was over, we both knew it. The full realization of what happened hit us. Yeah, we were both adults, and we were consenting... but neither of us was ready. I'd been raised to believe in sex _after_marriage; Erica had been taught she at least needed to wait until her career was started. And now we'd broken our promises to our parents... and to each other. We'd never said it, but now we knew we had wanted each other for a long time... but not like this. _Never_like this. She broke down crying, and it was all I could do not to follow suit. I just held her to me as the full weight of our sin came crashing down. We were scared, we were alone and we had no idea what would happen next. The only thing we could think of to do was to finish the shower together, and then I headed for my apartment. We said nothing, knowing the words would tear the wound wide open. I almost kissed her, but held back. Maybe that was a mistake, but what could we do? We were both hurt and shaky. I almost said, "I'm sorry," but couldn't get it out. So I left and that was it.

Didn't take long for the news to get out. Our parents could tell. Something was wrong, and although Erica and I avoided the topic, eventually we both caved. At the same time even. My parents took it hard, but they were at least willing to try and help me through this. Erica's mom flipped, fearing her daughter was going to repeat her own mistakes. She'd had a boyfriend, married him, but the guy left shortly after she got pregnant. They, too, had sex before they were wed. Far as she was concerned, I was the same guy, and she refused to accept Erica's part of the blame, or to let me see her. But Dad insisted I couldn't just let this go. Yeah, I made a mistake. And even if Erica didn't end up pregnant, running away was the biggest mistake I could make. Dad made sure I knew and understood: Some things you just don't run from.

We had to meet in secret, but Erica and I managed to see each other. We stuck to places that were public though, just not where our families hung out. We didn't trust each other not to jump the other's bones if given half the chance, yet her mother called mine to keep tabs on me. Our friends helped out and covered our tails more times than I care to count. Later on, I confessed to Erica I really was tempted to do it again, and she admitted to the same feelings. Sure, it had been a little awkward, since we were both virgins, but it had still felt so good. How could we not want more? But we had to sort out our feelings first, and figure out where to go with this. She didn't end up pregnant, but we still had to do things right. We couldn't afford another mistake.

Then a guy I knew loaned me a book. In it, the author spelled out the essence of a man's soul, and the secret fears he held. It resonated with my soul, and I read all the others I could get my hands on. And then I understood: Men needed to be strong; women needed to be beautiful. And I gained new understanding of myself and Erica, and everyone else around me. I also finally understood how things had gotten so out of control in the gym. I began to pray earnestly everyday for myself and for Erica, for healing and restoration. I also showed her the books, but she was a little skeptical. She didn't want me pushing my religion on her, especially with what had happened. But she did relent, and although the first book didn't do much for her, the second one had her crying. It hit all the right spots, and she came to realize just how badly she needed Jesus. I held her close in my parents' living room one night as she gave her life to Christ, clinging to me and sobbing as she opened her old wounds and let God's healing power in. Since then, she's never looked more beautiful to me.

Erica's mother was a harder nut to crack. She accused me of turning her daughter against her, and refused to give any blessing to our plans for a wedding (I mean, c'mon... would you have me dump my best friend just 'cause we had sex?). I ended up having an argument with her, which was mighty odd. I felt like I was talking to an older version of Erica, except much less friendly and more vicious. She poured salt in a lot of my own wounds, but I held on, Erica by my side and the Holy Spirit in my heart.

Then she slapped me. Hard. Right across the cheek.

Bad idea. All I saw was Erica starting a fight with me, and it was a damn miracle I was able to stop myself from clocking her. If it wasn't for Erica, I wouldn't have realized I'd pulled back my fist. I left the house to cool my head, though I felt bad about leaving Erica there. But that turned out to be for the best. She managed to reason with her mother, and pointed out that I didn't lose control. She called it one of my finest moments (me, I called it close). I could have clocked that woman, right there and then. Heaven knows, I wanted to. But it wasn't right, and though Erica had to help, I stopped myself. And Erica knew I'd never hurt her on purpose, even in the ring. Heck, she knew that ever since I first popped her in the nose; she just forgot it for a little while. Her mother relented, though she still distrusted me. I doubt anyone could blame her for that.

It wasn't a perfect happy ending, but it worked out. Erica and I married in a small ceremony, the very next summer. I pushed for us to live with her mother, to save on expenses and so she could see our relationship for herself. Plus, I wanted to let her know the love of Jesus, to see it up close. Not to mention I needed to finish school and pay off my loans. And though finances got tight and tensions did arise now and then (hey, this is us we're talking about), we stuck to it. It was like we were destined for each other, and it didn't take long for my new mother-in-law to see that. And y'know, she did convert just last year, after some real intense soul searching with Erica at a woman's retreat. Now you could not find a more beautiful woman in the whole town. I think she was even getting courted by our new pastor at the church. And she's not afraid to flirt back. Crazy how God works, huh?

As for me and Erica, we did graduate from college, though it was a bit of an adventure and we're still paying back her loans. Still, we wouldn't trade it for anything, and we have three wonderful kids. Andrea is a beautiful little girl, and Billy and Michael are no cowards. Funny thing though... Andrea seems to have taken after her mother. She's a bit of a tomboy, and we've already had to go in on account of her picking a fight... with a boy. The principal had a hard time accepting our amusement at the whole thing, but what could we do? It became our private joke that Andrea would marry the boy one day. Of course, we had to talk with his parents and apologize, and try to make sure Andrea knew not to pick fights. Which she accepted, just in time for the boy to pick one with her. Heaven help us, that took some time to iron out, but at least his parents were amenable to letting them take up boxing, even at a young age. It was better than bare fists.

It's a little rocky, but it's working out okay so far. Billy and Michael love having him over, since they consider him an ally in their wrestling matches with Andrea. Erica and I just make sure to referee so things don't get too out of hand, and his parents, though a little nervous, are warming up to us and our little tomboy.

And who knows? Maybe someday, they'll have their own rivalry. They might even get married for real. Now if we can just keep them from killing each other!