Fierce

by L. G. Kelso

  "What exactly should I have done, then?" I crossed my arms over my chest as Bill's hands flailed around him while he talked. At least he stepped pulling at that gross skin.

  "Walk away. Smile pretty and flirt until he forgot what he was doing. I don't know. Anything but break his damn nose!"

  Walk away or break someone's nose. Huh. Seemed like I had that dilemma often.

  "Sorry, Tori. But you're fired. Clock out. I'll mail you your last check." Bill walked away, to the back. Cherry had disappeared. The diner, so loud only minutes ago, was quiet.

  And I was screwed.

  Totally, flipping screwed.

  Chapter Two

  I left the diner a few minutes later, after I had tossed my name tag on the counter and grabbed my coat. It had been a dry, desert winter but the wind had been particularly nasty and cold. I slipped into the night, made a right, and stumbled to a stop.

  A shadow stretched out in front of me, blocking the light from the streetlamp. The man with the broken nose leaned against the wall, and the super drunk guy had his back to the lamppost.

  "That was pretty shitty what you did in there, sweetheart," the man said. He ran the tip of his finger over the bridge of his nose.

  "I gave you a chance to back off." I kept my arms loose, and stopped myself from biting my lip. The man looked at his hands, dark in the minimal lighting, and I took the chance to look down the street to make sure they were the only two left of the gang. I tried to think of a plan. I could deal with the two of them. But another shadow had caught my attention.

  Three? If I didn't freeze, I would be fine.

  "You broke my nose."

  I shrugged.

  "You need to get out of here, now." Max's voice came from next to me. I glanced at him quickly, but didn't startle. The other drunk hadn't moved from the lamppost. "Now, fellas, there's no reason to get carried away. How about everyone calls it a night?"

  Had he moved closer to me, or had I moved closer to him?

  "I know you. Boys, do you recognize him? I could kick your ass. I'll even give you a free pass. Go ahead, hit me," Mr. Attitude said.

  "I don't start fights. Just back off," Max replied.

  The man's attention had focused on Max, but behind Max, the drunk moved in. Brass flashed under the glow of the streetlamp.

  "Move!" I snapped as I shoved into Max. The fist came fast. I slipped it and planted a hook onto the guy's side. "I don't think your talking is working," I groaned.

  "Nope. Oh, well," Max said.

  The broken-nosed man charged forward. Max ducked to the side.

  "You going to fight now, show boy? I thought you didn't start fights?" the man asked.

  Max shrugged as he answered, "I don't, but I finish them." He straightened back up and punched. Max had moved in, next to the man, and the hook landed on the side his head. One hit, one moan of fractured air, one solid impact and the man went down.

  "Anyone else want a go? I'll finish it quick. I'm not here to screw around," Max said. I didn't see anyone else, but after he spoke, a faint echo of feet dragging on the pavement sounded.

  The man on the ground stirred and groaned.

  Max turned to me and said, "Now. We should probably leave now." He shook his hand in front of me, and I took it. The minute my skin touched his, he bolted, pulling me behind him. "I'll walk you to your car. In case those drunk morons decide to be drunk morons. You parked nearby?" His low voice made my skin tingle. Must have been the adrenaline.

  "I walked here. Really, I'm fine."

  And I went down. My heel caught in a crack in the concrete. My ankle swiveled, and I knew that I had sprained it before my knees even slammed into the cold ground.

  Dammit. Figures. It wasn't the big, drunk gangbanger who took me out tonight; it was my damn shoes.

  Max offered me his hand, but I brushed it away and stood. "I'm fine," I said. "I can get home." I took a step. Nope, not in these shoes. I yanked the shoes off and tried another step. Cold concrete burned against the bottom of my bare feet, and my ankle stung.

  "Come on," Max said.

  I could do this. I would get home on my own. An ankle sprain was nothing. But for some reason, as I took small steps to test out the ankle, I let Max continue to lead me. He came to a sudden stop, and I looked at the car next to me, parked on the street. "You're barefoot. There are drunk morons out. You hurt your ankle. Let me drive you home."

  The barefoot part made me stop before I could rant out a rebuttal. I loved being barefoot, but not walking around the ghetto part of downtown Albuquerque in the middle of the night.

  Broken glass or metal in the foot didn't sound appealing. I nodded, he opened up the passenger door for me, and I slid in as he went around to the driver side.

  "Did you know those guys?" I asked once he started the car and pulled onto the road.

  "No."

  "They said they recognized you?"

  "I've never met them before. Maybe I just have a common face." He shrugged, but in the soft glow from his dashboard, his knuckles blanched as he gripped the steering wheel.

  That seemed unlikely. I had never seen a face like his before. Caramel-colored skin, which was different from my Hispanic friends, black pools for eyes, faint stubble running across his sharp jaw and chin.

  Well, this was awkward.

  "Address?"

  I listed off the way to get to my apartment, located a few streets away.

  "You're not from here, are you?" I asked, my thoughts apparently still stuck on his uncommon face.

  "Nope. I'm from Bogata."

  "Bogata?"

  "Bogota, Colombia."

  "Are you like some Colombian singer, like a male Shakira? Is that why they thought they knew you?"

  He chuckled. "You don't want me to sing, trust me. Or dance like Shakira either. That wouldn't be a pretty sight. I'm an average Joe, that's all."

  Yeah, if average Joe was a hot Colombian. My cheeks turned warm, and I leaned back in my seat.

  "Where'd you learn to throw a hook?" he asked after a minute of silence.

  "Nowhere."

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized what I had done wrong. I should have played stupid and should have asked what a hook was.

  A scent emerged through the stale smell of heat coming from the vents, and I inhaled sharply.

  Familiar. Hard work and boy. Clean but lingering sweat. Leather? I peeked over my shoulder, but I couldn't make anything out in the backseat thanks to the darkness.

  "Sorry if I smell bad," Max said.

  "What?" I looked at him. He glanced over, out of the corner of his eyes.

  "Oh no. You don't. I just..." What? Am taking creepy stalker breaths?

  We had one more street to go. Thank God.

  "You smell fine." That didn't sound much better.

  He pulled into the lot for my apartment complex.

  "Thank you," I said, turning my face toward him but grabbing the door handle at the same time.

  "Wait." He turned on the light in the car, and settled onto his right hip in his seat. "Let me see your hand."

  "What?"

  "May I see your hand?"

  "Why?" I asked as I showed him my hand.

  Cool fingers pressed against my hot skin as he touched my knuckles. His sleeves were rolled up and black words ran down his forearm in a straight line.

  Never let fear create your fate. Six numbers were inked below it in date form.

  "Does this hurt?" he asked.

  "No. My hand is fine."

  "I just wanted to make sure you didn't have a boxer's fracture. The way you hit that guy looked like it may have hurt something."

  "I don't. Really. It's fine." I yanked my hand back.

  "You're lucky, then."

  I felt about as lucky as a fat man's pony.

  "You sure?" he asked again.

  "I've had my fair share of injuries. I know when it's not fine." I knew Max didn't mean it, but his repetition reminded me of my younge
r years—years when everyone expected something to be hurt because I was a girl.

  Max's jaw flexed, and I was sure he caught the icy tone in my voice that I hadn't meant to slip out. Fortunately, he let it go.

  I cleared my throat, and tried to pull back bitch-Tori. "Thank you. Really. I'll see you next... Oh crap. No I won't." How had I almost forgotten that I had been fired? Did he distract me that much?

  Well, at least I wouldn't have to relive this awkwardness. Although, I couldn't deny that a part of me felt a little bummed about not seeing my regular customer.

  "You go to the university?"

  I nodded.

  "Then maybe I'll see you around. Night, Tori."

  "Night."

  I flung the door open and hurried out—well, more like gimped out—to my apartment.

  As I drifted off to sleep that night, two words danced through my mind.

  Fear.

  Fate.

  #

  Imaginary fists haunted my night for the first time in months. While it left me feeling tired and groggier than normal, it also made it far too easy to get out of bed the next morning.

  Two hours into my morning, and two cups of coffee later, I had found zero jobs. I was going over my monthly bills and my semester dues when the knock came from outside. The tip of my pen skid across the page, scoring out the lump sum I would need this month.

  I could keep my electricity payment low. I could layer clothes and wear blankets. I had an idea my roommate wouldn't agree, but she wasn't exacting rolling in dough either. The cost for water and waste removal was at least consistent. I already had rent—well, what was supposed to be rent—saved from last month. That left me with groceries and school tuition and fees. Part of my deal with my parents was that they paid for half of my school tuition, so long as I stayed in this preset, safe, failure-free plan.

  They had offered to pay for all of my tuition this year, but I couldn't let them do that. They were still paying off my surgery and physical therapy bills from my ACL tear in my right knee, which happened during my last fight almost three years ago. That had just added to the other hospital debt I had racked up from the night that changed everything.

  The knock came again. Oops. I had already forgotten about that.

  "Tori. You ready?"

  Great. I had forgotten about that as well.

  I slipped off the couch. Slight pain flared in my ankle, but I refused to gimp. So, I half-gimped and half-walked and opened the door.

  "Good morn—" Trevor leaned in to kiss me, but stopped and pulled back as he looked me over. "You forgot about breakfast, didn't you?"

  "Crap. Yes."

  "We can still make it if you hurry. My mom is usually late anyway."

  I backed up, letting him in, and closed the door behind him. A piece of blond hair flopped in my face. "Trevor, I'm sorry, but I really need to stay home and work on stuff this morning."

  "On what stuff?"

  "Bills and stuff."

  "I'm not following," he said, pulling at the collar of his button-up.

  Great. Here we go.

  "I need a new job. I need to work on applications this morning."

  "New job? What happened with the diner?"

  My mouth twisted in hideous shapes as I thought about how to approach this.

  "Tori?"

  "There were these guys, and they were drunk. And they were crossing a line..."

  I pulled at the rim of my pajama shorts, and wondered, for a moment, if Trevor had realized yet that my thighs were bigger than his were. His long dress pants draped over his legs as if they covered sticks.

  "Tori," he repeated, his voice urgent. "What did you do?"

  My gaze jerked back to his freckled face. "Why do you make that assumption?"

  "Am I wrong?"

  The cotton slid between my fingers as they clenched. Soreness ached in my hand, reminding me of what an awful punch I'd thrown.

  And damn him for being right.

  "Look, Trevor, they were being inappropriate. They grabbed Cherry."

  Trevor grabbed my hand. "Jesus, Tor, what happened?"

  Shit. He had used the Jesus word. I was in trouble.

  "You hit him, didn't you?"

  I yanked my hand out of his grasp as the accusation in his tone hurt worse than my hand and ankle combined. I wasn't sure if it was because he was right, or because he thought it was wrong. I took a step back, retreating farther into the tiny living room.

  "He touched me and didn't stop. So, yes, I hit him."

  "Jesus, Tor. You can't go around hitting people. You don't live in that world anymore. You're a civilized female on her way to a solid career, and you need references and work connections. You can't go bonsai on people at work," he said.

  "He wouldn't back off," I snapped. I had stopped walking, anger making me instead move forward.

  "He wouldn't back off or you wouldn't back off?"

  I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping if he didn't see my hand he wouldn't be such a jerk. "Why would you say that? If I wasn't me, if I had never hit anyone, would you still react like this? Or would you agree it was appropriate? Self-defense maybe?"

  "Self-defense? He wasn't assaulting you." Trevor sighed. "I'm sure you're making this much more dramatic than what actually happened."

  "So, I'm supposed to let it get that far? What is your definition of assault, then?" The possibility of ever talking to Trevor about what really happened in the week before my last fight vanished. I could almost hear him yammering with the others about how I knew what had been coming. I wondered if he would think I had asked for it.

  "You're being ridiculous," he said.

  "You're being an asshole. And you didn't answer my question. It's just because it's me, isn't it?"

  "That's your first reaction. It isn't normal for a person, let alone a girl. What if you start getting weird urges to get back into that sort of thing?"

  "I'm not going to." I stepped toward him, unsure how to make him see that he was overreacting.

  He took a step back.

  I guess I had my answer.

  "I can't believe you got yourself fired." He paced and rubbed his face in his hands. Finally, he stopped and looked at me. "I just can't be with someone like that."

  No, not someone. He couldn't be with a girl like me.

  I had no interest in punching Trevor. None, whatsoever. But, I wished, standing there looking at him, as the truth came off, layer by layer, that I had the honesty I had only ever found in the ring.

  "You're dumping me? Because I hit some drunk guy?"

  Leah's door opened, creaking behind me, and her voice interrupted whatever Trevor was about to say. I didn't need to look at my roommate to know she'd be pissed.

  "You two are being extra rude this morning. I'm trying to sleep here." A muffled yawned delayed whatever bitch-out we would surely momentarily get.

  "Trevor's dumping me here," I muttered.

  "He's what? So, he's not just having a hissy fit?" she asked and yawned again.

  "Excuse me? I don't have hissy fits."

  "And pigs fly out of my ass on a regular basis. Well, you dump her yet? Yes? Why are you still here? Out of my apartment, please," Leah replied to him. I felt her behind me and a second later she moved past me, marched to the door, and opened it.

  "We should probably talk about this more," Trevor said to me.

  "There's nothing to talk about. The door's behind you." I jutted my chin in that direction and kept my arms close against my chest.

  "Tori, please."

  "Seriously, man, she said there is nothing to talk about. Get out before she punches you in the face."

  "Argh, thanks, Leah. That was exactly what he needed to hear right now."

  Trevor shook his head, tugged on his suit-jacket and left.

  I walked to the couch, sank onto a cushion, and buried my head in hands.

  The door closed but there were no steps. I felt Leah hesitate before walking over to the couch and sitting
down next to me, causing the couch to creak and my cushion to sink deeper. "Why'd Mr. Boring Pants dump you?"

  "Probably because he thought I was going to punch him in the face." I peeled my face away from my hands to glare at her.

  "Girl, don't be upset. I've been telling you to ditch him for the past...six months." Her hand gripped my shoulder.

  "We've only been dating six months."

  "Exactly."

  Regret from this weekend flared in my core. Maybe if I hadn't punched that guy, Trevor wouldn't have left me. Even more important was that maybe I wouldn't have that longing—the longing I kept locked away as much as possible—expanding through my mind. I wouldn't have the need to feel the sweat and the hit, the correct technique of a punch. I could still be in my safe life.

  I had done so well with my rules. I had kept my fists to myself for almost three years up until now.

  "Why did you he dump you, Tor? For real?"

  "Because I punched a jerk last night and got fired."

  "Oh, I see." Leah's hand retreated from my shoulder and started tugging at her hair. "So, pretty much, he dumped you because you have bigger balls than he does?"

  "It's not funny. Having bigger balls is tiring when you're the one with the vagina."

  Leah laughed, and I admit that I found a bit of relief in her laughter, even though I had meant what I said. Guys didn't exactly like dating someone who was less of a girl than they were, which was probably why Trevor never took interest in me until I was laid up in a hospital bed, recovering from ACL surgery, with half of my muscles wasted away.

  "I'm going to make some more coffee."

  Once Leah stood, I logged onto my computer and went to one of the local job posting sites. Three pages later, nothing had caught my attention. Everything wanted specific experience. I had a friend who tutored ten hours a week. Maybe I could do that.

  Who was I kidding? I didn't know anything enough to tutor.

  On page five, something caught my eye. Retail. Eww, but doable. I scanned to the bottom of the blurb: retail experience mandatory, must be available most days.

  A page later and another post grabbed my attention.

  Secretary/front desk work. Needed part time, full time may be available. Filing and billing. Bring résumé to 4203 Cruz Blvd.