“Now, the hook.” I twisted the left pad and she hit it with the hook. “Good. They’re getting better.” I placed the pads over my stomach. “Push kick!” She got me with a good one. I stumbled back. “That’s it. They’ve really improved. Now we have the combination down, I want you to up the pace, rattle them in and rattle the pads. Use your emotional anchor point to link each strike with the feeling needed to cause more damage, do it a split second before they hit. They might not be as accurate, but I’ll feel them more.”
Sara nodded, I got set again and she delivered the combination. “That okay?” she asked as we reset.
“Yeah, I could really feel those through the pads, just be careful of your balance. You looked kinda wobbly. Don’t be tempted to throw your arms out though. You do that and you’re gonna get a punch in the face from an opponent. You need that guard high and tight.”
She assaulted the pads again. The echo on each hit seemed to punch at my brain. That’s what happens when you decide to teach with a hangover. Plus there was the small matter of the fight I’d had.
I’d gone for a few drinks at Jimmy-Joe’s Bar the night before. I’d had three private students that day, so I had the cash to spend. Maybe I could have put it to better use, but when the world feels like it’s falling down on you, being drunk can soften the impact when it hits.
I was pretty drunk when it happened. A guy knocked my drink out of my hand. He’d said sorry, and it did seem like an accident. I didn’t let it go though. He offered to buy me another drink. I told him I didn’t want another one. I wanted the one that was now soaking into my jeans. I called him a dick.
That’s when things got heated. He said some shit about it being an accident and that he’d said he was sorry, that he’d tried to be nice, that I was the one who was being a dick. I didn’t take too kindly to that.
He’d turned to head back toward his friends, who were sitting at a table a little ways from us. I tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned I powered my fist into his jaw. He was unconscious before he even hit the floor. His friends stood at that moment.
I didn’t even give them a chance to come over to me. I walked to them, flipped the table they were sitting at. I was able to comatose one of them with an elbow to the face before I was dragged from the premises.
When I got home, I cried. I held my head in my hands, and cried. It was my new all-time low. I’d become what I’d been teaching people for years to defend against, what I’d been warning them to not become.
I was a failure. I’d failed at marriage, at being a dad, at being a businessman, and worst of all, being a martial artist.
My ex hated me, which is fine, but she’d hated me when she wasn’t an ex. My kid was embarrassed of me. He’d called me a loser and said he didn’t want to see me ever again. And he hadn’t, for years. That was fine too; I wouldn’t have wanted me as a dad either. The business failure was to be expected. When you gambled as much as I did, how could you manage money?
The martial arts failure wasn’t acceptable. Everything had been in place for me to be set for life. All I had to do was win a belt, get a title, place that belt on a wall in my gym, and people would flock to have a champion train them. It was all I knew, all I’d ever wanted to be, and it was me that undid everything I’d spent my life building toward.
I’d lost a marriage and a kid because of my dedication to training, and as soon as the promise of a large sum of money to take a dive … a few dives … more than a few, came along I’d jumped at the disgraceful opportunities. Now I was beating up people in bar fights. I hadn’t trained for that.
FAILURE!
Sara blasted out another combination. “You okay?” she asked, as she got ready for another go at it. “It looked like I lost you there for a moment.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, while she hit the pads again. “I had a rough night … Once more through the combo and then we’ll have a little rest before we work the other side. I want this one to be the best yet.”
The roundhouse was good, solid, I felt it through the pads. The right cross had speed on its side, she remembered to snap the hand back to keep her guard up too. The left hook was quick to follow. Too quick. I was lost in my own thoughts again and hadn’t turned the pad. The punch connected with my face.
I stumbled back, my legs going like jelly. I was lucky I didn’t fall. Sara pulled at the Velcro straps of her gloves with her teeth and ripped them from her hands as she dashed to me, repeatedly saying, “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“It’s okay, it’s my fault.” She helped me remove the pads. I went and sat on the side of the ring. “It was a good shot.” I forced a smile, my jaw aching as I did.
She sat down on the side of the ring with me, “I’m so sorry. I feel so embarrassed.”
“I should feel embarrassed. I’ll throw you a lesson for free, my head’s not been in the game today.” I shook my head and tried to clear it. It didn’t work. I wasn’t sure if it was the shot I’d taken or the whiskey that was hammering my skull.
“You don’t need to do that.” She placed her hand on my leg. I swallowed as I looked at it. It was the first time a woman had touched me like that in a long time. Now women mainly hit me. Ones I was teaching and the ones I wasn’t.
“I do.” I coughed and cracked my neck. “That really was a good shot.”
“Sorry.”
“You sure you don’t want a free lesson? It’s the least I can do.”
“I’m sure. You need all the paying students you can get.”
“Do I look that desperate?”
“No, don’t be silly.” She squeezed my leg tighter. “I do have something to tell you that might cheer you up.”
“Do I also look that miserable?” I couldn’t look at her. I didn’t realize I was so transparent. She punched me in the arm with her other hand. “Ouch! Please enough. I can’t take much more.”
She laughed. “Then stop being an idiot.”
“You sound like my wife, well, ex-wife.”
“Is that what’s bothering you, are you having trouble with her again? Do you want me to punch her for you? Apparently, I have a mean left hook.”
I laughed then. “You do, I can testify to that, but no, it’s nothing to do with her, well not directly. Having said that, if you do happen to bump into her, a punch would be nice.”
“Noted.”
I bent the top half of myself under the bottom rope and lay my back on the inside of the ring. Sara did the same. She removed her hand from my leg as she did. I instantly wished I hadn’t changed position.
“So, what’s the problem?” Before I could answer she added, “Man, the canvas is cold on my legs. I think I need to start wearing something other than the Thai shorts and a vest, until you fix all the holes in the building, anyway.” She nudged me with her elbow.
“That won’t be happening any time soon.” Some water dripped on my face. I squinted my eyes to try and find the spot in the roof it had fallen from. “Great, now I have to stand a bucket in the ring.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“The roof?”
“Money.”
“Yeah, that’s a big problem. Another is how at home I feel on my back in the ring. I think I spent most of my professional career in this position.” I waited for a laugh. I didn’t get one. “That was a joke.”
“I know it was a joke. I chose not to laugh. I’ve had enough of the pity party.”
“It was just a joke.”
“I don’t care. I’m drawing a line through this way of thinking. You’re a great teacher, you’re a great guy, and things will turn around for you, if you let it.”
“If only it was that easy.”
“I’ve been talking to some of the girls at work. I convinced four of them they need your expertise. That’s what I wanted to cheer you up with.”
I turned my head to face her. “Thank you.”
“Get the holes fixed, Brad. Someone is liable to pull a muscle it’s so col
d in here.” She turned to face me. “I’ll help out anyway I can, you know? I know a graphic designer that could do flyers for you, cheap too.”
“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?” I hadn’t had any help for just about as long as it had been since a woman had touched me without trying to either intentionally, or accidently, hurt me.
“Because I’m freezing. Fix the damn holes.” She looked back at the roof and nodded at one of the problems.
“I’m afraid I have more important stuff to spend the money on.” I bit my lower lip and breathed out a slow breath.
“Like what?”
“I owe some people … the wrong kind of people.” I didn’t know if I should tell her or not, but I needed to talk to someone about it. I needed to unload.
She turned back to me, a anxious expression on her face. “Who?”
“Me!”
I bolted upright and climbed out of the ring. I could hear Sara behind me, climbing down too. “Bobby, how are you?”
Bobby was standing in the doorway to the gym. He was massive. He must have been almost double my size. He was wearing a large jacket and had his hands in his pockets. I didn’t like that. He could have had anything in them.
“I didn’t come here to share spit.” He took a step forward. “You need to keep this place warmer, Brad.” He faked a shudder. “You have a cash flow problem or something?”
“Could you come back later, Mister, I’m in the middle of my lesson.” Sara was at my side. I shut my eyes for a moment and prayed she wouldn’t say anything else.
“Aren't you a sexy one? It’s good work if you can get it, isn’t it, Brad? Having a cute, little lady like that running around in shorts. I bet you get her to do heaps of jumping exercises, to see her bounce.” He moved a few steps closer.
“Excuse me,” that was from Sara. “I don’t like you talking about me like that.” She went to walk to him. I held my arm out to my side and she stopped when she hit it. She looked at me, I could see her in the corner of my eye, but I didn’t break my stare from Bobby.
“I don’t give a fuck what you like. What I do give a fuck about is the amount of money this drunk owes me.” He spat on the floor and snorted as he took a few more steps.
“I think we all need to stay calm,” I said as I tried desperately to think of what to say or do next.
“I think you need to pay up.” Bobby stood in front of us both, sucking through his teeth.
“I will. I don’t have it here … yet. I’ll have it tomorrow. Come back then and we’ll sort it all out.” My arm was still in front of Sara. I hooked my hand so it was on her hip, hoping she’d understand it meant to not move or speak.
“That’s not good enough. You’ve had chance after chance. No more.” He spat again, this time toward Sara’s feet.
“You pig,” she said. “Watch where you’re doing that.”
He looked at her. “You need to shut this bitch up, Brad.”
“Hey, watch your mouth.” I knew as soon as I said it that it was a big mistake. The story of my life, really.
Bobby slowly turned his head back to me, his mouth slightly open, his tongue licking his teeth. “What did you just say? You’ve got to be the dumbest motherfucker I’ve dealt with, and that’s saying something. In my line of work I deal with dumb motherfuckers every minute of every day.”
Sara tried to move my hand from her; I fought against the action the best I could. “I think you need to leave now, or I’m calling the police.”
“Ha, okay, sweetie, you do that.” He didn’t move his eyes from mine. “The police won’t come here. Even if they were stupid enough to do that, I have enough money to pay them off. I already own most of those sorry bastards anyway.”
“I have some money in my bag, it isn’t much, but you can have it,” I said.
“That’s not good enough. I need it all, today, not tomorrow. I have a reputation to uphold. If I’m soft on you, some other loser will think he can get the same treatment, and that just causes me a heap of headaches. I don’t need any more of those. My doctor told me I need to de-stress.”
“I don’t have it though. If I did, I’d give it to you.”
He smiled. “Then you’re fucked … unless … unless this whore has some cash I can take. If not, maybe I could take her. I’m sure she’d be worth a lot to someone, tits like that and all.”
Sara managed to break free. She lunged at him. He pulled a Glock from his pocket. He whacked her in the face with it. She fell to the floor. I moved toward him. He whipped the weapon in my direction. I stopped and raised my hands.
He just stared at me; his teeth closed tight, the bottom and top row grinding over each other. I looked to Sara. She was on her side, holding her head, crying. I turned back to Bobby. My chest started to rise and fall. My body started to shake.
“That was a mistake,” I said as I grabbed the wrist of his gun hand. I twisted it so the gun was pointed at him then pushed his hand toward the floor. I heard the wrist crack, him scream, and saw the Glock fall from his grasp.
I stepped into him, placed my hip as close to his body as possible, and flipped him over. He landed on his side, his wrist still in my hands. I stomped my foot down into his face. The crunch was gut wrenching. It wasn’t enough to stop me.
I stomped down again. His nose got spread over his face. Blood was running freely. I stomped again. His neck bent at an angle it shouldn’t. I stomped again. There was another crunch.
Rage was surging through me. I was animalistic. I could feel hate pumping through my veins. My heart was beating like a war drum. My teeth were clamped shut. My eyes, wide. I wish I could say it felt horrible, that it disgusted me, but that wasn’t the case at that moment.
Sara grabbed me from behind and pulled me from him. I tried to fight from her grip. When I saw his sunken face I stopped. I dropped to my knees. “I’m … I’m … sorry.” I was. Not about what I’d done, yet. But I was sorry Sara had to see it.
Sara knelt next to me and placed her arm around my waist. She pulled me into her chest with her other hand. “That was so … so … romantic.”
ZACK
I placed my backpack in the corner of the room with the other students’ belongings, coats, books, and anything else that wasn’t needed for the drama class. I wasn’t studying drama; it was an after hour’s course at the college I was attending.
I was studying business, but I was very shy, and my parents thought those types of societies, as they called them, would help to bring me out of my shell, which I was told I very much needed to do if I was ever to survive in the cutthroat world of business.
There were only two boys in the course, one gay and one black. I was the black one. The rest were girls. All white. The college was pretty much a Caucasian dominated zone, but every once in awhile I’d pass someone else who wasn’t white, while I was walking from building to building. We’d almost always share a nod, just to let the other know they weren’t alone.
Being one of only two guys in the class, and being black, made me feel even more of a minority than usual. The gay fella was less conspicuous than I was, and he was the most flamboyant person I’d ever met. Inside the walls surrounding a drama club though, he was merely part of the furniture.
There were two groups of girls that always hung out together, during and after the class. In one corner of the room were the geeks, the girls that loved the plays, and playwrights, of days long gone by. They’d sit around all day reenacting their favorite scenes if time would have allowed them; in fact they were reading a scene from an Oscar Wilde play on that very day.
The other group was the look-at-me type, drama just another way to be center stage. Every one of them had perfect hair and make-up. They only wore the latest in expensive fashion, many of them accessorized with the most sought after jewelry.
They were all daddies’ girls; able to twist their father around their fingers just as easily as they could do with the guys in college. They’d most likely never had to buy
anything for themselves their entire life, education was just a fun way to fill a few years of their existence before they got to spend their millions.
That’s not to say my family wasn’t wealthy, they were. In fact, they were millionaires at that time, on their way to becoming billionaires. It was the same for most of the students, even the geeks reading Dorian Grey, they might have been wearing baggy and ripped jumpers with tatty-looking jeans, but it would have been a mistake to let that fool you, their parents were just as rich as the rest of ours.
Like me though, they seemed to come from families that made you work your ass off in order to acquire your share of wealth, whether that wealth was family owned or acquired by yourself.
The look-at-me group would never have to work. Most, if not all, already had a millionaire boyfriend. They would just go from millionaire father to millionaire husband like their mothers had, living a life of luxury, dining out, and dressing up a body that had been paid for by bitchy hissy fits.
I said, “Hi,” to the gay fella and went and stood next to the geeks. I wasn’t part of their group, but they always smiled at me and didn’t seem to mind working along side me in whatever the class was tasked with performing. The look-at-me group was not as accommodating.
Even at that moment, standing across the room from them, a few of them gave me evil stares, looking up from their compacts or cells for the first time since I’d entered the room. If they’d managed to tear their eyes from those, I was either highly honored or highly despised. I think it was a combination of both.
Now, as much as I hated them, and I did, with a passion, it has to be said that there were some very beautiful girls among them. That was part of what made it great when we put on shows and all of what made me thankful for taking the class.
We all shared a massive changing room, and they’d just get dressed into their costumes in front of me, without a care in the world, no covering up, or hiding the nice bits.
I’ve lost count of the amount of erections I had to hide in those situations. I couldn’t control the arousal though. They all had killer bodies; I guess everyone does when you have the money to pay for a personal trainer and the most beautiful of fitted underwear.
ALIEN INVASION Page 5
