by J. S. Lynn
“What can I answer for you?” Cameron asked.
“Tell me,” the interviewer said, turning his voice recorder on. “What is it that drives you in the fight?”
“The desire to win,” Cameron said simply. This was always his answer to this question.
He could never hope to explain that in the heat of the moment, what drove him was revenge against bullies that he no longer saw. He fought against the bullies of the world in his mind. On the outside, of course, he wasn’t fighting a bully. He was simply fighting his opponent. He never went too far that he greatly injured whomever he was fighting. Sure, there had been some illegal blows in the past, but that happened to nearly everyone. His opponents never truly suffered in the way that Cameron wished the bullies did. Cameron didn’t necessarily want them to, anyways.
What mattered at that point, was that he won.
“Fans are saying that you’ve got a soft heart in there,” the interviewer said. “Can you shed some light on that?”
Heat rose in Cameron’s cheeks. “I confess, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said slowly. “They can think that all they want, I suppose. I don’t feel like I have a soft heart on the inside. I just enjoy the fighting. Its good exercise, and a good way to get out stress and aggression.”
“Would you call yourself an aggressive person?” the interviewer said.
Cameron shook his head. “No. But everyone gets aggressive sometimes. Or they get the feelings behind it. What matters is how they let it out. I think I’m being very productive with my aggression by being an MMA fighter.”
The interviewer nodded. “Thank you.”
“That may backfire,” Cameron’s manager told him when they walked away.
Cameron nodded. He already knew. He had messed up the minute he had said the word aggression. But there was no changing that now. He would have to ride this one out, there was no other option.
There was another small wave of paparazzi as they left the building. More crude gestures and words rendered anything they captured unusable. Cameron ducked his head to get into the car and allowed himself to be whisked away. It was time to eat a recovery meal, stretch, and then sleep.
Heather, now frustrated, punched at the punching bag to harden her strikes. She alternated punches one right, one left, one right, one left. Then two right, three left, one right, two left, and four right. She stays light on her feet, bouncing with movement. She lets out little yells with some of the punches.
She should have been enjoying herself. At the very least, she should feel better about herself when she left the gym. Or leave with a sense of self-improvement or desire for it.
But Heather didn’t feel any of these things when she left the gym. She just felt inadequate and useless.
She wasn’t a bad fighter, by any account. She was actually moderately good. She placed frequently, and gave other women in her weight class a run for their money. But Heather found no enjoyment in mixed martial art fighting. She never had and she probably never would.
It was at those times, when she was fighting, that she wasn’t clumsy. She was clumsy the rest of the time, though. So, with that vein of thought, she should enjoy fighting more. But as the months turned into years and she continued to not like what she was doing, she began to think that dropping plates, bowls, and running into doors was perhaps preferable. Granted, she did that anyway.
At least MMA covered up the bruises she got from running into things. At least that is when she even did bruise anymore. Body conditioning and bone hardening had lessened those instances.
For the life of her, she could not remember why she was still doing this. Her father had encouraged it. He had even paid for her to get into it. She even made money doing it…
That was why she was still doing it. She was making money. She hadn’t gone to college. Her father had pushed her into this and her naivety about life had allowed her to follow in the direction he led her. Now, when her father did little more than manage a few things and encourage her, it was Heather who still went to the gym every day to train, regardless of any reminder her father might give her.
She found herself trying to get to the gym before her father’s reminders came in. Out of spite and pride.
But she still hated fighting. She hated everything about it. She no longer saw the point in it. She just beat on people for sport. Other people beat on her for sport. It was just people beating other people up, but because there were rules and regulations, it was sport and not madness.
It was still madness.
She wished she had time to pursue something else. But what else was there for her to pursue? She had a high school diploma and a resume that consisted only of martial arts and some community service. Oh, and a tabletop gaming campaign or two. But no employer would look seriously at that last one.
Then, there was the part of Heather that enjoyed the fact that she could just go home and play video games when she wasn’t training or competing. Her meals were planned out for her—everything about them from the time she ate to the food she ate. She had a normal sleep schedule and knew exactly how many calories she consumed and used up. She could not imagine being healthier.
But it still boiled down to the fact that she still hated the fighting and the culture. But she didn’t resent it or the money enough to leave the business. Yet.
Heather watched as Cameron—Cam the Crusher—came into the gym. She wondered if he liked being here because hardly anyone fawned over him at the gym. They were all body builders and martial arts fighters, you have to prove it just to get a membership to the gym. That was certainly a perk Heather enjoyed. There were no whiny teenagers hogging pieces of equipment because of their perceived ease of use. No one sat there on their phone not working out. The only time Heather looked at her phone was if someone texted her, or if she needed to change the song.
Cam started his workout by going over to one of the mats and limbering up. Heather continued to watch him as she pretended to beat the stuffing out of the bag. She added a few kicks in between her punches to shake things up a little.
She wondered what went through his head. He was so aloof. He had a brutal exterior that was for sure. But Heather hadn’t missed the article released all over the place that morning saying that Cam thought everyone was aggressive on the inside and mixed martial arts was a productive way to release the aggression.
She could agree that mixed martial arts was a good way to release aggression, assuming that it wasn’t the cause of the aggression—as was the case with Heather frequently. But she wondered if that was all he saw in people, or thought he saw in people. Did he truly think that everyone was simply aggressive inside? Or was that the interviewer twisting his words.
Nevertheless, he had won a big championship last night. Heather was almost surprised to see him in the gym.
“Congrats,” she called out. They were all of five people in the gym. She didn’t feel weird speaking out to him.
He looked at her and she thought she saw the faintest traces of a smile on his lips. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. He studied her for a minute, as if trying to see if he remembered her from somewhere. No recognition sparked on his face. Heather sighed. She should not expect anything more from the state champion. He would surely go onto the next competition soon. That was probably why he was back in the gym today.
Cam turned away first, going back to limbering up. Heather aimed a couple more punches at the punching bag and then went over to work on keeping her core built up.
She found herself upset that Cam hadn’t really noticed or recognized her. The logical part of her brain reminded her that he probably saw loads of people in any given day and probably only remembered the names of his immediate family, close friends, and handlers if they stuck around long enough. He probably also had had too many concussions over his career. Heather knew she had sustained a few.
But the less rational part of her brain wished that he would notice her. It might provide some sort of consolation
for staying put in this life path. More than being in the one element where she wasn’t clumsy. More than having a career that didn’t have her sitting sedentary at a desk for eight or more hours a day.
Then, because it was in her nature, she rammed her foot into a piece of large equipment. Her gym shoe only caused her foot to bounce back, and thankfully there wasn’t any pain. It would have been worse to run her shin into something.
She hoisted herself up onto the equipment to do some leg lifts. Those would be followed by sit-ups, then extensions, then trunk-twists, then a five-minute plank. Or more if she could manage it. It was important to have a strong core.
But were the abs worth it? Was beating people up worth it? Were they worth the concussions?
Was quitting worth the argument she would have with her father?
Those were the thoughts that plagued Heather as she worked out. When she finished up, she went home to shower. The gym was re-caulking the showers in the girl’s bathroom, which meant there were less operable showers at the moment. Not that it mattered, Heather didn’t mind driving home sweaty, just so long as she got to shower right when she got home.
She told herself she would sit and do nothing else besides play video games and eat at the requisite times for the rest of the day. Anything to get her mind off of fighting.
She had a regional meet coming up that she really didn’t want to be thinking about.
Cameron received the expected amount of flak from his comment the previous night. He got labeled as someone who assumed everyone was aggressive and there were numerous articles labeling him as cold and unfeeling behind his already brutal exterior.
Cameron wasn’t sure where to begin to correct the misplaced assumptions, if he would bother to correct anything at all. His true fans would not leave him. And everyone else would stay away. Cameron wasn’t out to make enemies.
“Cameron!”
Cameron turned to see the owner of the voice. It was another MMA fighter, Brenton. He was known as Brawler in the ring.
“What’s up, man?” Cameron asked.
“What’s this you talking about everyone being aggressive all the time?” Brenton asked. “I pride myself on being a loving and caring individual and here you are saying that all of us are just aggressive people who fight because of that.”
“That wasn’t what I meant…” Cameron mumbled. What he wanted to continue with was that he meant that martial arts, or other forms of sport fighting were a good way to let out aggression, but there were of course other ways to do it. But he wasn’t sure how he could articulate that in a way that would not further entice Brenton’s anger.
Maybe he didn’t mean that people were aggressive at all. Or that not all people were aggressive. He frowned, not even knowing what he meant about it anymore.
“I don’t even care what you meant anymore,” Brenton said. “The damage is already done thanks to you. Now I have an image to repair. You best be glad I’m a weight class above you otherwise you’d hear my aggression being let out loudly as I beat up your face.”
Cameron’s eyes darkened. That was bully talk. But going up against Brenton wasn’t a smart idea given how much Brenton outweighed Cameron. It would just be another case of big guy picking on the little guy.
There had to be a better way to deal with him.
Brenton wrinkled up his nose at Cameron, spat on the ground, and then went to go work out on his own. Cameron kept his distance.
Maybe he needed to find a new way of fighting the bullies. Or, in the very least, find an additional way to fight them. Cameron might be proving Brenton’s point if he took out his anger at Brenton at some other dude in his own weight class.
Cameron finished his workout and then called his manager on the way home. He described what had gone on with Brenton, and asked if there was anything he could do to fix what he’d said earlier and make the media quiet down about the whole thing.
“Maybe you should pick up a calm hobby,” his manager said. “Like cooking or playing a musical instrument. Something to show that you have a nice side. You could always go the community service route—the press loves that. Go plant trees or pick up trash on the beach or something. Heck, getting a girlfriend would probably help.”
Cameron raised an eyebrow at the last suggestion, even though his manager was unable to see it. Cameron didn’t see how getting a girlfriend would help. Planting trees would surely be easier.
“Thanks, man,” Cameron said. “I’ll try one of those.”
Four hours into playing, Heather was two levels higher and had cleared three areas. She had completed two separate side-quests and was contemplating the idea of a relaxing bath.
She wanted to clear her mind. While the video game was effective in keeping her distracted and allowing her time to decompress, she needed to completely clear it.
Because, at some point, during the day, she had become attached to the idea that she needed Cam the Crusher to notice her. Because if he would just notice her, maybe she would have something going for her in MMA. She needed a better reason to stick with the sport and this just may be it.
Except, at the same time, the whole idea seemed rather pointless. If she wanted to quit so badly, she should just quit. She could get a job waiting tables until she figured it out. She shouldn’t need a man’s approval to keep doing anything, whether it be her father’s approval or Cam the Crusher’s.
But there was something about Cam that intrigued her. Something in that mind of his that she wanted to unlock, to understand. She wanted to know what was underneath that aggressive exterior of his.
Because if he could put on such an aggressive act and fight all the time, embodying everything that Heather hated about what she was currently doing in MMA, if he could do that and be only that, then there was no point for Heather to stay in the sport. But if she could uncover something else underneath, then perhaps she could find the hope to continue on with the sport.
It was decided then. She needed to get Cam to notice her.
That settled, she went to go take a bath, stubbing her toe on a bookshelf on her way there.
***
It took Heather a couple of days to work up courage to go up and talk to Cam. They were working out at similar times at the moment, so it made things slightly easier. He came in about halfway through her workout. Unfortunately, there wasn’t really anything Heather could do in the gym that would be so extraordinary as to draw Cam’s attention.
So she would have to talk to him.
After reconsidering many times, Heather finally made it over to Cam. She didn’t pride herself on being able to talk to people well, so she hoped this didn’t backfire.
“Hey, Cam,” she began, walking up to him where he was lifting weights.
“Hmm?” he asked.
“Do you do anything besides your training for fights?” she asked.
Cam put the weight he was holding down to give Heather his full attention. He had the same look on his face that he had had the other day—confusion as to why she might be talking to him and trying to recognize any reason why he might know her face. Heather did her best to not look disheartened.
“Are you saying I’m in here too much?” Cam asked.
Heather frowned. That wasn’t what she meant at all with her question. “No,” she said. “What I’m trying to ask is if you have any hobbies.”
Understanding washed over Cam’s face. He stood up straighter. “Well,” he said. “I’m trying to take up cooking. My manager says I should take up some sort of community service like picking up trash, but I haven’t done that yet.”
What Heather processed out of that was that he didn’t have very many hobbies. He didn’t do much else than fight. She had been afraid of that.
Perhaps she should try and get him into a hobby. Just because he didn’t have a good one yet, didn’t mean he was incapable of having one.
“Do you play any video games?” she asked, on a thin stretch of hope.
Cam shook his head
. “The fighting ones are never realistic.”
Heather resisted the urge to smack herself in the forehead. Was that really his excuse for not playing video games?
“There are other video games besides fighting ones,” Heather said. “Racing games, RPGs, first-person shooters, and plenty others…”
Cam shrugged. “Look, I’m not interested. I need to pick up a hobby that’s constructive or whatever—something that’s good for my image. I don’t think video games fits that bill.”
Heather frowned. “Does this have anything to do with your comment after the tournament last week?”
Cam flushed. “Maybe a little.”
“So all you’re really into is the fight? You don’t have a life outside of it?” Heather asked.
“I didn’t think I needed one, if I’m being honest,” Cam said. “When you look and fight like I do, I would have thought I had it made. But then some reporter goes and messes it up. I hate the paparazzi.”
Heather shrugged. She wasn’t a good enough fighter to have to worry too much about the publicity.
“Well, good luck with cooking,” Heather said with a sigh. She was about ready to turn on her heel and leave when Cam stopped her.
“Do you have a life outside of the fight?” he asked.
The words seemed too profound coming from him. They hinted at something beyond his rough exterior.
“I wish I did,” Heather said, turning to look away from Cam again. “I’m just trying to find it.”
She walked away after that, no longer wanting to continue the conversation.
***
After the girl left (Cameron wished he had gotten her name, or remembered it, but he didn’t), he started to think about what she might have meant by everything she had gone on about. It almost sounded like she was trying to start a friendship, asking about hobbies and stuff. But at the same time, there was some element of dislike that she had had about her that Cameron had no idea where it came from. What was she getting at?
