by Liza James
She nods her head and steps back while I move toward my mirror and vanity space. I gather my things, deliberately searching for the items I'll need most when I walk out of this fucking club.
Tape. Tennis Shoes. Ibuprofen.
Stuffing them into my duffle bag, I throw on a cropped hoodie and grab my phone, throwing the strap over my shoulder while I walk out of the room. I move down the flickering corridor, the shadows and stained cement standing out to me in ways it usually doesn't.
It's so fucking filthy here. So dark. But I usually don't notice things like that. I usually like the darkness; it calls to me. It feels like home.
Why doesn't it right now?
I push out the back door of the club, feeling the ice cold air collide with my flesh. It's refreshing, and after the last hour I've had, I want to breathe in something so much more than the darkness I've sat in. I wish it were light outside, I wish I could feel the sun.
Lyp.
That's what she used to be, the brightness in the midst of my darkness. She was the one shining when I was lost in the middle of my abyss.
But now? She's gone, that's for fucking sure. Her light has dimmed so much that it mixes and stains my own colors. We've moved into this muddy blend of lost souls that I can't seem to make sense of.
What is fucking life anymore?
My phone rings and I lift my hand, watching the screen light up with a number I don't recognize.
Bingo. This is the call I've been waiting for.
"K." I answer quickly, pressing the phone to my ear as chaotic sounds of a restless crowd suddenly hit me.
"N 10th and 17th East." The male voice is familiar—Riv. He's always the one delivering times and locations when I'm needed.
"Now?" I ask, pulling back my phone to glance at the time. 10:00PM on the dot.
"Yes. You've got $1500 at least on the line. It's a solid crowd tonight."
"I'll be there." I quickly tap end on my phone and shove it into my back pocket as I pick up speed with each step. I race toward my bike, parked on the side opposite of the club, directly under one of the dim yellow streetlights.
I kick my leg over the side of my blacked-out Yamaha MT-07, sliding the key into ignition and feeling the bike roar to life underneath me. I usually have a helmet with me, but I left it at home tonight and even though it's dangerous, I'm thankful for the breeze stinging my skin while I ride.
It lights me on fire, prepping me internally for what I'm about to face.
I lose myself to the ride as I weave through the quiet streets. Racing, driving faster than what I know I should seems like the worst decision in this moment. But while my blood is rushing, my skin beads with sweat even through the icy air.
My mind lingers on what I just experienced with Lyp and also anticipates my opponent for tonight. Two completely different situations, yet both whip through my head and body like a combating whirlwind of mixed perspectives.
I shake my head, pulling around the corner of the designated street Riv mentioned. Slowing my bike, I pull all the way to the far end of the street where a large, nearly abandoned building resides.
It's tall, towering over every other surrounding structure. Old, distressed and tagged brick spans each surface. A collision of chaotic colors, vulgar words and scattered imagery paint the walls in reminders of life outside of what's happening here tonight.
Sometimes, I think of that. The idea my life is only one perspective on this big ass rock of a planet. What I'm headed to now, where I've been in my past, these tedious fucks, and my vile family—it's all only one, little piece of everything happening around me.
My gut swells with a different feeling, something strange, pulling and reminding me that every once in a while, I do feel something.
I hate it. Those moments. Because my mind always ends up falling back on one person, one memory, one fucking necessary decision.
So, I shove it all back down again, locking it tightly away as I pull behind the building and park my bike as close the structure as I can manage. Turning off the ignition, I climb over and stuff the key into my pocket, turning around in order to run my eyes over the area to find the best entrance.
Everything is blocked off with old wooden panels, nailed across doorways and exposed windows. Glass litters the gravel covered ground. Stray bits of trash and clearly dumped garbage has been thrown against the back wall and near the closest doorway. I slowly step toward it, careful to avoid any sharp edges or bigger pieces of shrapnel fallen loose from the building's frame.
I drag my fingers along the edge of the wood, pulling lightly to see if it breaks free. But it doesn't budge, and yet I can already hear the rumbling sound of the crowd on the other side. I walk near a window, also boarded up completely, but as I grip the end and tug, it slips downwards a bit and opens a narrow space that I may be able to fit through.
I slide one leg in first, edging my body through the space and turning my head to the side so I don't scrape anything. It's tight, and I vaguely wonder how everyone else fit inside through this entryway but shrug it off as I slide the rest of the way through.
It's dark. Bleak lights barely shine ahead of me, and I narrow my eyes in order to focus while my vision adjusts.
My skin itches for the fight, pulling tightly along my shoulders while goosebumps break out across them as well. I run my palms over my legs, slick with sweat but not because of fear, or hesitation.
No way. This is my space. Even more than the club or when I'm on the pole.
This is always different. It's where I'm most comfortable, when I feel most alive, when I'm strongest and most confident.
There's something powerful in beating the shit out of someone coming after you. Especially when they see me—a girl—ready and waiting for them on the opposite side of our little ring.
They usually laugh, cracking their meaty heads back and forth on their skinny necks before a sick smile pulls along their lips.
That's my favorite part. The moment they believe they've already won.
So, I always smile back, sometimes wiggling my slender fingers in a teasing wave before stepping toward them. It makes my win so much sweeter.
The fuck you in my fists imprints my image in their vision. My own eyes, my smile, my actual calm and collected demeanor towering over them when I claim my victory.
There's nothing better, nothing like it at all.
A flash of something reminiscent sparks in my blood, breaking me free of my lost thoughts. It rips a reminder through my head, proving that maybe there is something else that feels similarly.
Something else which at one point, lit me on fire in the same way.
Fuck no.
I walk toward the lights, realizing there's a small staircase a few yards ahead of me. I pause and look up, noticing the way the floors above have disintegrated and fallen apart in different places. I can see the long, steel beams above, and the scurry of rats and little creatures rush around my feet and along the baseboards.
Stepping forward, I run my fingers along the wall as I hurry down the narrow staircase and finally break into the room crowded with countless bodies.
Here we are, once again.
And as soon as I step in, a few people look back and see I've arrived. A small passage begins to break in the crowd, and the familiar shouts fill my head with the same adrenaline that's been building inside of me.
Fuck I love this.
Riv is standing ahead of me, at the edge of the circle he's put together for the fight. A confident and borderline cocky smile resides on his face, and I make my way toward him when he rests his hand on my shoulder.
"Are you ready for this?" he shouts over the loud and boisterous audience surrounding us. "Bets are high tonight. In your favor, obviously."
I usually always win.
I had a shit streak when I started a few years ago. I was just learning how to work my emotions out through my own physical responses. I was figuring out how to bury things away when I wanted to and pull them out
and use them to my advantage when it was best.
Then I started hitting wins, over and over and over again.
"Yeah," I reply, turning my body toward Riv and stepping even closer so he can hear me. "What's going on tonight? Why are bets high?"
"Two girls," he replies, raising his eyebrows in a teasing gesture. "She's new, her name is Roxy. Nothing to worry about. She's with Slate though, he's training her I think."
"Slate doesn't train anyone?" I surprisingly ask, trying to remember if I've ever seen that guy around anyone other than himself and Cade every once in a while. The two guys have fought in the ring for a few years now. I believe they're college boys, and while I didn't expect much from them initially, they surprised me when I was finally able to watch them fight.
"That's what I thought too, but they've been arguing since they arrived. Looks like he's trying to tell her what she needs to do in the ring." Riv nods behind him, and I look over his shoulder until my eyes land on the tall, wide stature of Slate.
He's hovering over someone much smaller, a shorter girl with auburn hair pulled tightly up on her head in a high ponytail. Her face is tilted down, her arms crossed over her chest, and when she finally looks up, I can practically feel the defiance and determination in her gaze. She looks at Slate and says something unreadable, before finally turning around and walking away from him.
"Damn," I reply, laughing slightly at their heated interaction as I look back to Riv. "Well, all right. How much is on the line tonight?"
"Three thousand now. People are betting high knowing you’re going against the new girl."
Three thousand. Fuck yes.
I could use that shit for rent, food, stashing away while I try to figure out if I can somehow get even farther from my brother and father.
Maybe I could move out of the city...sooner than I originally thought.
They don’t actually know my exact location now, but I’m sure it’ll be any day when they figure it out.
I step back as Riv glances down to his watch, realizing I've arrived just in time. Roxy moves to the other side of the ring, and I mentally prepare myself for how I'm going to approach this exactly.
I don't want to kill the girl, but I'll have to lay her out quickly so I can head home and clear my mind from everything that's happened tonight.
I walk to the opposing side of the ring, cracking my knuckles and bouncing back and forth on my heels while I try to pull everything together. My mind, my body, my instincts. It usually syncs up rather quickly, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't muddled down a bit by what happened at the club before this.
Lyp's attitude. Her dominance. The filthy things she made me do while she watched.
Fuck.
I shake my head, clearing the thoughts as Riv steps into the center of the ring. He whistles, a loud shrieking sound that immediately gathers everyone’s attention. He quickly calls out our names, introducing us and calling us to the center of the ring.
I meet Roxy's gaze, hers alight with a determination that surprises me. I don't usually see this kind of strength, or anger, billowing in the already anxious eyes of newcomers. My eyebrows lift in fascination, and when Riv swings his arm and signals the start of the fight with a blasting horn, I raise my hands in front of my face.
Roxy is eager, and races forward in the next moment, swinging one arm wide before attempting to hit me across the face. I block her however, and I stumble back at her quick attack before dropping one fist and hitting her in the ribs.
She winces but steadies herself immediately and looks to me with a newly invigorated rage.
"Pay attention to my hands," I advise her, smiling at the way she's getting so worked up. I nod to my right fist, giving her a moment to notice as I pull it back and prepare for another hit. She blocks this one, and I can't help but feel pride at her move. "Good job," I commend her, but it only seems to piss her off more.
Slate is at the edge of the ring, pacing back and forth with his thick arms crossed over his chest. When I look back to Roxy, she's diving forward with a growl, wrapping her arms around my waist as she slams me on my back to the ground.
"Well damn," I bite out, catching my breath as she climbs on top of me. But I'm quick, and I immediately throw her over as I hover above her frame. "Listen, I don't mind helping you out. Giving you a shot here or there, but we both know I'm about to beat your ass."
I swing back and forward, my knuckles scraping along her jaw as her head rolls to the side. Her lip splits, and as blood seeps from the wound, her hands reach up and she digs her nails into the side of my face.
"Okay, let's not fight like a bitch," I grind out, feeling the sting along my skin as I grip her wrist and yank her hand away. She kicks her leg out and surprisingly catches my own, knocking me off balance before she's scrambling to her feet and back away again.
Now she's smiling, a confident look as I slowly work my way to stand again. I move toward her, hovering my closed fists in front of my face when something suddenly catches my eyes.
Blonde hair. Long. Messy. Cascading waves over a shielded face I believe I already know. She's standing at the very back of the room, and I lift on my toes with wide eyes while I try to see her.
Hit. Roxy smashes me across the jaw while I'm caught off guard. Now I'm pissed and I need to be finished with this so I can figure out if that really was Lyp I just saw. She would have no reason to be here, absolutely no idea of what this even was.
Confusion runs through me, and at the same time, pain bursts along my skin where Roxy snuck in her one good hit.
"All right then, I hope you're ready because I no longer have time to entertain you." I grind the words out as I move closer to her, a new determination powering my every intentional movement.
A flash of fear sparks in her eyes, and now I'm the one using my hold on her to throw her to the ground beneath me. I have her pinned underneath my frame, my legs straddling her waist as she attempts clawing at me a second time. But I tsk at her, reminding again that we're fighting with the big girls now.
"Come on, just give this one up and go back to Slate over there. He'll teach you what to do next time. I'd love to have an actual fucking challenge in one of these fights." I'm irritated, and when I glance back up, I catch another obscure swish of Lyp's blonde hair behind countless attendees.
"Fuck you, I don't give up," she bites out, so I use my hold on her frame to keep her in place when I hit her again. This time a second jab to her ribs, and she groans beneath me before she attempts swing her hands against my face.
She wraps her arms around my neck, trying to pull me closer as if she can hold me in place. Her hand moves to my own ribs, attempting to hit me there and succeeding. My skin blows with heat, but it isn't horrible and a part of me is glad this chick doesn't easily give up.
I always enjoy the push back.
And that's exactly what I get, because suddenly she's using every bit of her strength to throw herself forward and knocking me to my ass. She stands in front of me, shouting at me to get the hell up so she can continue fighting.
Fuck, she's putting up a better fight than I anticipated, and I love it. I crouch down this time, just as she swings her fist forward and I duck easily out of the way. My own hand shifts down and shoots up, catching her on the underside of her jaw while her head whips back in response.
More blood spills from her face, and when she snarls at me, I can see the red staining her teeth as well. She comes forward again–impressive–and catches me across my cheek in one hit that isn't powerful enough to really do much damage.
But when I dart forward and catch Lyp's figure again, this time shadowed in the light of someone much larger than her, I feel the need to find out exactly what she's here. I throw another hit against Roxy, and this time she falls to her ass, getting knocked off balance more than I anticipated.
"Get up," I snap while glancing over to the left and quickly scanning the crowd for Lyp again. "Get the fuck up before Slate jumps in here and beats my ass
for killing you." I reach my hand down and grip the front of Roxy's shirt, yanking her up while blood slips down the front of her face.
She shoves me backwards though, an angry and frustrated growl bursting free of her lips. "Get the fuck off of me." She storms forward, clearly refusing to give up even after the fight has already been called.
I lift my hands in surrender, both in irritation at this stupid fucking fight and the fact that I swear I saw Lyp in the crowd. "You lost. Get the fuck out of my way."
I step forward again, this time aiming to move around her. She shifts in front of me for a second time, and before I can even stop it, her left fist is swinging through the air and smashing across my jaw.
My head swings back, an explosion of pain bursts along my face and across my neck. An instant swell of rage ignites in my chest, and I launch forward with my hands out, reaching for her fucking neck.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I bite out, any thought of Lyp now effectively buried in the back of my mind. My fingers wrap around her throat and for a moment, I can see the actual fear springing forth in her wide eyes.
I shove her back, pulling one hand away as I prepare to throw it forward and against her cheek. But a much larger, tighter hold suddenly wraps around my own wrist and yanks me backwards. Slate immediately steps behind Roxie as well and wraps his arms around her small waist, ripping her away from me and out of my hold.
"For fuck’s sake, K, she's done."
Cade. I know his voice—low, rough, slick with preppy pasts and probable wealthy futures.
He releases his hold on me, just as Slate throws Roxie over his shoulder and stalks out of the circle.
The crowd is screaming, loud shouts and boos fill the space with a renewed energy. Lyp fills my mind again, and while Cade attempts having a conversation with me now that myself and Roxie have been separated, I struggle to remain focused on his words.
