The Hard To Love series

by T A. McKay

  I feel my headphones being put back onto my ears and my nose is filled with sickly sweet perfume, alerting me to the fact that Asha has arrived. I was so intent with my glaring at Ethan, that I didn’t even notice her arrival. I close my eyes, determined to block everything out until my fight is called. I start to take deep breaths, letting the hard beat of the music thrum through my blood.

  I jump slightly when I feel strong hands on my shoulder and I realize it’s time. I remove my headphones and hear the beat of the music from the main arena. I stand and stretch my back, feeling my spine crack as I move. I bounce lightly on my feet as adrenaline floods my body. I punch out in front of me a few times, letting my breath whoosh out as I spar with the air. I need to get into the cage. I need to hit someone. I hear Coach talking to me but he sounds distant. I know I should listen to his pep talk, but my head is filled with everything that’s going on around us. The intro music is playing and the shouting from the spectators is almost deafening.

  “Don’t take him down in the first round, you need to give everyone the show they came for. Keep that shoulder up and don’t let him get a shot in. Control the fight. You got this one in the bag.”

  I nod as I make my way down the dark tunnel towards the bright lights of the arena. I hear the announcer over the loud speaker and look at the opposite tunnel. Behind those doors is the guy I need to beat, the one I'm going to pummel into the ground tonight.

  “Up first … let me hear some noise for the only man brave enough to go up against the man mountain that is defending his title. Unbeaten in all his fights this year … the guy who knows how to please the ladies.”

  I hear women screaming and a smile flickers over my lips. This is where I belong, this is the life I want. I hear the first few beats of my entrance song, P.O.Ds ‘Boom’.

  “The storm that comes to rain down the blows onto his opponents. Watch as tonight he brings that storm to our cage … it’s Zeke ‘The Storm’ Raaaaaaiiiiiinnnnnnneeeeeee.”

  The place explodes with cheers and the sound of the audience’s stomping feet echoes through the arena like thunder. I think it was after my fourth win that this started. It’s how I got my nickname, The Storm, and soon the roar of thunder started following me around every fight. I walk down the aisle, not looking at the screaming crowd around me. All my attention is on the cage in front of me. I can feel the hands of fans all over my body, rubbing over my arms and shoulders, but I don’t let it distract me from my goal. I reach the cage and bounce up onto the edge around the net, ignoring the steps completely. I pace around the canvas, my energy levels rising as I focus on the door my opponent will come through.

  “Let me introduce to you to the fighter who’s here to defend his title of the best fighter at Rage ... let me hear some noise. Unbeaten in his last fourteen fights, he’s the man you don’t want to go up against unless you want chewed up and spat out. Let me hear it foooooor … Dwayne ‘The Man-eater’ Wyatt.”

  The arena erupts into a barrage of shouts and hollering. I can feel the floor vibrate under my feet and excitement hits me square in the chest. I watch as the spotlight finds Dwayne exiting his tunnel. He holds his hands up in victory like he's already won as he stalks towards the ring. I feel my anger rising just from looking at him. I need to wipe that smug smile off his face. We haven’t met in the ring before but he’s been sending me messages at the end of his previous fights, telling me that I’ve no chance in beating him and that he will break me. I don’t do trash talk, I let my skill do the talking for me, and my unbeaten record is there for everyone to see. I’ve won more fights this season than Dwayne, and I think that pisses him off. When I walk away from here today wearing the championship belt, he will see who’s the best.

  I watch as Dwayne gets closer, and the urge to lash out as soon as he enters through the open side is the only thing I can think of. The clang of the door behind him makes my heart thump in my chest and the rest of the arena disappears. My eyes are only focused on one thing, ‘The Man-eater’. I’ve been waiting for this day for months, praying he would win all his bouts so I could finally get here and finish him. From the moment he won his third round he’s been talking shit about me, telling the world that he’s going to put me in the ground. But I'm going to create a different ending for his story today, and I'm going to love every second of it.

  The referee calls us together, giving us the usual rules and I only half listen to him as I size up the man in front of me.

  “Let’s keep this fight clean boys, give them a good show. I will let a lot go between you since it’s the final, but the usual rules apply. No groin attacks, no strikes to the back of the head or the spine, no head butts. Stay away from the eyes and no fish hooking. No biting. No hair pulling, and no strikes or grabbing of the throat. Stay off the side of the cage. As I say … keep it clean.” It’s the usual speech and I know that Dwayne won’t be listening, the guy is a dirty fighter and I need to play by his rules today. I look at him standing in front of me, flexing his muscles like he's ready to pounce any second. His body is bigger than mine and the muscles would be intimidating to most people, but not to me. I’m faster on my feet and have height on my side. My body isn’t overly built but my muscles are lean and full of power. I think this is why I’ve won so many matches, people underestimate my strength since I’m smaller than the usual fighters.

  “Right let’s shake before we begin.” The referee puts his hand up in front of us, expecting us to shake or at least fist bump to start the fight, but Dwayne just laughs and walks away to his side of the cage. Come on then fucker, the sooner we start, the sooner I end you. I don’t go to my corner, choosing to stay in the center of the ring to wait for the bell. I’ve been told that I need to make the fight last at least two rounds but I want this over as quickly as possible. I want to knock him on his ass within the first round.

  The bell rings to signal the start of the fight and I bounce on my feet as my opponent stalks towards me. His guard is down and he has a relaxed expression like he doesn’t have anything to worry about. I take the chance to get a roundhouse kick to connect with his ribs, knocking him slightly off balance. Most fighters and coaches would argue against making the first move but it’s my way of finding out how solid and balanced his body is. Since the kick barely shifted him I know it’s going to take more than just my strength to win.

  The one thing the kick does is make him put his guard up, covering his face as he moves closer to me. I need to attack quickly and get in as many hits as possible before he can adjust his large body. I start with my feet, keeping my hands up for protection in case he manages to connect with my body. I continue to kick, trying to make contact anywhere I can. I know he’s thinking that I'm going to tire myself out soon but that where he's wrong, my stamina is unrivaled and I could do this for hours. The first beads of sweat drip down my face and back, igniting my body, and adrenaline rushes through me as I land each blow. I dance around the cage, bouncing from foot to foot as I alternate kicks against his mid section. He starts to back up across the canvas, his body folded over in an attempt to block my lightening feet. I follow him and carry on my assault, not giving him a second to recover. He doubles over when my shin connects with his side. I smile as I hear his breath forced from his body from my kick.

  This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, his defenses are down and I can finish this loud mouth once and for all. I throw my first punch and I'm shocked when I feel a twinge in my hand. I didn’t hit him that hard, I shouldn’t be feeling any pain after my first punch. I open my fingers and quickly close them, convincing myself that I just caught him incorrectly in my excitement. I'm not willing to lose the upper hand so I re-adjust my body, getting myself into a better position and punch again. My fist connects with his cheekbone and a ripping pain bursts in my hand, causing me to pull back in shock. I take a step backwards as the pain pulsates throughout my hand. One punch, one shooting pain, one moment of distraction is all it took to change my entire life. I'm so busy concentra
ting on my hand that I forget to guard myself against the huge guy in front of me, I realize my mistake quickly when a huge fist lands on my temple. My head flies to the side, and I swear I can see stars.

  I take a few steps back, shaking my head trying to clear the fuzziness that’s trying to invade my vision. A fist to the head will cause even the best fighter to falter, especially when that fist is connected to a big fucker like Dwayne. I just need a minute to recover, but I don’t get a chance. Another hit followed by a kick has me losing my breath and my ribs scream out in pain, the combination making me fall to the ground. I land on one knee and try to take a second to compose myself. Stand up you idiot, don’t give him any ground. With my injured hand wrapped around my now battered ribs I push myself up to my feet, but my victory is short lived. I’m barely on my feet when another punch is delivered to my face, my lip bursting open and spraying blood all over the canvas.

  My knees give out and I collapse to the canvas. Shit. Get up, get up now! I repeat the words in my head but I can’t get my body to comply. I feel the impact of his body on mine, winding me with his weight, my ribs crunching as he lands. I cry out, the pain too much to hold inside. Punches rain down on me and I try to hide as much of my body as I can by curling up into a ball. When that doesn’t work I try to throw him from me, anything to get the upper hand again. I'm losing this fight and I can’t let that happen, not when I’ve come so far. Working through the pain I twist, working my way onto my stomach. My plan is to use my body to throw him off me and get to my feet. I lie flat out on my front and, ignoring the punches, I start to push up with my hands. The only problem with that idea is that I forgot about my injury. I scream out again as I collapse back to the ground, pain working through my entire hand. I’ve never had a pain like this in my life and I start to panic.

  I don’t have more than a few seconds to worry about what the pain means before I'm grabbed from behind in a rear naked choke. With my uninjured hand I try to pull the arm away from my neck but it’s no use, he’s just too strong. I look over to Coach and see a look of worry in his face, he's trying to tell me to tap out but I hold up my hand, showing him that’s not going to happen. If I'm going to lose this fight it won’t be through giving up. As long as I have some fight left in me I'm going carry on. Darkness starts to invade my vision as the pressure around my throat tightens. Every attempt to get Dwayne off me fails and my strength starts to weaken as the lack of oxygen makes my body shut down. My lungs are screaming out for me to breathe but the grip on my neck is too much.

  I’ve just wasted my one chance at the title I’ve been training my entire life for. This was my moment and I’ve thrown it all away. Those are my last thoughts as I start to lose consciousness. Before I pass out I hear the bell ring and people shouting before the pressure on my throat disappears. I collapse onto the canvas and take in a deep breath of precious oxygen. I close my eyes and try to fill my lungs. I feel hands all over my body and they cause me to moan with pain. If I could talk I would tell them to leave me here, my career is probably over so there is no point panicking over me. I can’t get any words out so I drift off into a pain-induced sleep, my mind going blissfully blank.

  I’m sitting on the floor of the shower, letting the hot water fall over me as I cradle my hand. I woke up not long ago in the locker room after being carried in on a stretcher. Coach has been trying to get me to go to the hospital for my hand but I'm putting off the inevitable. I know there’s something seriously wrong with it, something that’s possibly career ending, and finding out for certain isn’t high on my ‘must do’ list right now. I hear footsteps on the tile floor but I don’t have the energy to even raise my head to see who it is. Let them see me at my lowest point. I don’t care

  “Boy, we really need to get you to the hospital. You need your hand and ribs x-rayed, and your neck checked. You took a good beating out there. There may be some serious damage.”

  I feel anger rising in me at Coach’s observation. I know I fucking lost, I'm just thankful I was passed out when Dwayne lifted the belt.

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” The water above me shuts off and I finally look up just in time to catch a towel that’s thrown in my direction.

  “Get your ass up off that floor and stop with the pity party. So you lost a fight, there’ll be plenty more in your career that you’ll win.” Coach doesn’t even wait for a response as he turns around, leaving me alone in the shower room.

  I stand and awkwardly wrap the towel around my waist with my good hand before making my way out to the main room, praying that no one will try to talk to me out there. I grab my boxers from the shelf in my locker and struggle to get them on. In my attempt my towel falls to the floor, thankfully I'm not embarrassed about people seeing me naked. I grab my t-shirt and after another struggle I pull it down my body. The locker room is quiet, like everyone is scared to talk and I don’t blame them. I'm on the verge of losing my shit, I can feel it. I have so many emotions running through me that I don’t know which one to concentrate on. I'm worried, actually I'm petrified, that I’ve done some serious and permanent damage to my hand that will stop me fighting. I'm fucking pissed that the injury’s happened, and for the first time since it happened I stop and wonder why it did. My form was perfect, my hand connecting to his jaw at a perfect angle. I’ve also hit bigger guys than Dwayne, so his size wasn’t a factor. I stop dead, my hand hovering over the shoes I was about to grab, the obvious answer finally clicking in my head. I turn slowly and look directly at the reason for all of this. Immediately I feel myself moving, walking across the room until I'm standing in front of him with nothing but a bench in between us. He looks up from the bag he's packing and a look of fear crosses his face. He knows he did this, he knows he’s the reason that I may have to abandon my dream.

  “Um… hi, Zeke. Are you… um… ready for the hospital?” His stuttering pisses me off even more, he fucked everything up and he has the nerve to panic. I move around the bench that’s between us, crowding into his body as he moves backwards.

  “You did this to me. You fucked my career up.” My voice comes out calmer than I thought it would, but it’s obviously louder than I think because Coach quickly tries to get in between me and Ethan.

  “Come on, Zeke. Let’s not do this.”

  My glare doesn’t move from Ethan and I see him cower. I point at him, my arm reaching over Coach’s shoulder, getting closer to Ethan’s face.

  “He fucking did this, Coach. I didn’t want the fucker in the first place and now he's screwed up my hand.” I can feel the anger building inside. There’s nothing that I want more than to kill him.

  I feel Coach push against me, using his body weight to push me away from Ethan as he talks. “Everyone makes mistakes. Let’s just get you to the hospital and take it from there.” If I didn’t respect him as much I wouldn’t listen to him, I would take all my fury out on the quivering figure in front of me but I can’t. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting Coach move me further away from Ethan. I'm just about to turn away from him, get my shit together and leave when the stupid idiot has to make a comment.

  He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut for a few more minutes. “There’s always next year, I'm sure you’ll win the …” He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence when I turn and attack him. I grab the front of his shirt and push him back against the lockers behind him. I manage to connect a few good punches to his face, despite the pain shooting through my hand and up my wrist, before I'm dragged away from him. I watch with satisfaction as he crumbles to the ground with blood pouring from his face. I try to break free from the hands that are keeping me away, I want to keep going until he isn’t breathing.

  “Come on, son. That’s not gonna help your hand.”

  I don’t even care how much damage it does, I just need him to suffer the way I am. I want to see him in pain. I watch as two other fighters pull Ethan from the floor, helping him from the room and out of my sight. It’s safer for him that I can’t
see him anymore.

  “He’s fired, Coach.”

  I hear Coach’s deep laugh in my ear before he replies. “Yeah, son. I worked that one out.”

  Chapter 2

  I clench my hand and feel the tightness in the muscles start to relax a little. My cast was taken off nineteen days ago, and after six fucking long weeks I was ecstatic. I’ve been working flat out to improve the mobility since it was removed, and the hand may be getting better but my anger towards the injury hasn’t. When I went to the hospital after the disastrous fight, the x-ray showed that I’d fractured three bones, which had proved my claim that my tapes were nowhere near tight enough. I pick up the tension ball again and squeeze it with all the power I can manage, imagining that it’s Ethan’s head in between my fingers. It worried me initially how weak my hand was, I couldn’t believe I’d gone from being able to punch a bag for hours at a time to barely being able to last five minutes with this silly little ball. I'm starting to feel more confident now that I can actually feel my strength coming back and I’ve even managed to take a few punches at the bag, not that I've told Coach that. Even with the progress I'm making, I still need to make sure that with every day that passes I don’t give in to the sense of dread that festers in my stomach. I shake my head at my own dramatics. I swear if the guys around could hear my inner thoughts, they would tie me to the punch bag and use me for boxing practice.