Struggle

by P. A. Jones

  I woke up in pain. My jaw was hurting like someone hit me with an iron rod. For a moment, I couldn't remember why it was hurting, but then I remembered last night. Fucking Peter. I remembered the match I was scheduled to have with him. Shit, this is going to be hardcore now. That fuck is already a pro, and I am not on his level.

  I didn't have any choice other than facing him. I cursed myself for getting into all this trouble. Then I remembered about my meeting with Mr. Shui tonight. This is going to be a real pain in the ass, I thoughts as I rolled out of bed.

  ***

  A few hours later, I was sitting in a jacket and shorts in front of my computer, waiting for Mr. Shui to sign in to Skype. At last, he signed in and I initiated the conference call.

  "Hello, Mr. Shui. How are you today?" I bowed my head.

  "I am fine, Mr. Brown. I hope you are doing good, as well." He bowed in response.

  “I am well, thank you.” I tried to hide the bruise on my left cheek. "I sent you the proposal yesterday. I hope you liked it.”

  "The budget concerns me, Mr. Brown"

  My stomach started to twitch. The way he answered didn't indicate that the meeting was going smoothly. "If you liked the proposal, maybe we can negotiate on the budget later.”

  “No, no, Mr. Brown. You have to work on the budget first. Fifty thousand dollars is too much for my other partners. I would say that the maximum that we can give you is fifteen thousand. So work on it first, then we will see."

  I had no choice but to ask for some time. I was soon sitting on my computer and climbing the budget ladder, cursing the Japanese.

  The thought of my upcoming fight was invading my head again and again so I got up from my computer and put on my boxing gloves.

  ***

  I exhaled as I punched the bag, hard. Sweat was dripping from all over my body. My shorts were already wet. I wiped my forehead with the wrist band. I looked back at the clock. It was already past three. I couldn’t afford to lose the match. If only that bitch mentioned that she was Peter’s fiancé, I wouldn’t have put my hands on her. But the past was the past. I was concentrating on the task in hand.

  Another half-hour, and I landed my last kick on the bag. I had practiced double my usual time.

  I woke up to the song I Walk A Lonely Road by Green Day. The moment I woke up, I wanted to practice so I finished my breakfast, did some stretching, and started practicing. I had no time to waste.

  After almost three hours of practice, I decided to meet James in the grocery store. I had to pick up some vegetables for dinner. On match days, I always kept myself away from the meat and alcohol. It helped me focus.

  "Hey, dude, how's practice going?” James met me in front of Spenser’s.

  "It's shit, man. I feel guilty for picking up his girl. I wouldn't have liked it if the roles were reversed.” I thought about that night. I wasn't a saint. I picked up many girls, but there was a line that you didn’t cross. I never picked up the girl of somebody I knew.

  "It's okay. You will do good in the match. You didn't know who she was. I heard she is still with him. I think that she’s a bitch, anyway.” He smiled.

  "Thanks, James." I smiled, but guilt tickled inside me.

  ***

  I was standing next to Peter in the ring. When the referee asked us to shake hands, Peter refused. When he finally did, he crushed my hand with all his might. A smile came crossed my face. The battle was heating up.

  I looked at his face, his jaws visible in his head gear. In practice matches, they asked the contenders to wear the head protection. The judges didn't want anyone to get hurt in practice. He stretched out his neck and came forward. I looked in his dark gray eyes, and saw my death. He was 6’3”, two inches taller than me.

  He came closer to my face. "I am going to fuck you up, dickhead,” he spat.

  "C'mon, guys! Get back to your corners!” the referee yelled.

  When I was sitting in my corner, my coach said, "Look, Nathan, I don't know why, but he has been telling people that he is going to kick you hard today. I don't want you to get hurt. This is not the match that you want to end badly. If you think he is being too offensive, just call it a day and get out of there. A lost match is better than losing your ribs or, worse, your career.”

  I nodded to him, but I knew that I wouldn't give up. Hell, it’s okay if he breaks my bones. I am going to fight like an animal and kick his butt. I looked around. The ring was surrounded by all the members of the gym. They knew that the match was going to be brutal and they didn’t want to miss it, especially Mason. He must be intrigued by the possibility of seeing me lose. A dark line of hatred consumed my mind when I saw him, but now wasn’t the time.

  The bell rang for the first round. We stood and the referee signaled us to fight. Peter moved back a bit, throwing his right hand up into the jab position. I was quick to counter with my left hand but, to my surprise, he was in the air. In quick succession, he hit my oblique with his left leg in a semi-circular kick. I was forced to my right. I didn't have time to think because he was on me in a fraction of seconds. He threw a cross to my face, and I landed on the ground. All this happened within a half-minute.

  The referee stopped the fight and walked over to me. I pushed up onto my hands and jumped to my feet, but the damage was done. The crowd was cheering for that bastard.

  I took my stance. The rage overpowered my mind, and it was a now or never situation for me. I threw a punch. He went on the defensive and saved it with both hands. I hit him with a front kick, targeting his chest, but he blocked it. I was about to hit him with a cross, but the bell rang, signaling the end of the round. Damn, he must have won this round because he put me on the ground.

  My coach gave me a bottle of water. I spit out the mouth guard and drank. “Nathan, he is too fast for you. He competes for the country, and you have to think smart and back out, if needed. Just go easy on yourself." I nodded, but there was no way that I would have backed out from the fight.

  The next round, the second of the six planned, started and went well. I defended his attacks and countered a few so I would say that it was a tie. He was aggressive and hitting me with various kicks, but I kept defending myself.

  The third round started and, for the first time, I felt my chest throbbing. His punches were doing the job. That was a wakeup call for me. No more open exploited areas; otherwise, he will break my bones.

  He danced around me, like he was trying to amuse the audience. He kept throwing punches, hooks, jabs, sometimes a cross, kicks. However, at the end of the round, he became a bit careless. He thought that I would go on the defensive for the complete match. He came at me and I ducked, letting him go behind me. I moved my leg to do a hook kick and, in a split second, I turned on my other leg and hit him with an upper cut from my left hand.

  He was caught off guard and I scored my first point in that round. His eyes widened when he recovered. He was definitely surprised, and so was the crowd. They gave a big cheer as the bell indicated the end of round three.

  My coach came over to me when I sat down. "That was a good trick you did there." He tightened my head gear, but it didn’t fit right. The clip was giving me some issues. I decided to ignore it because, in a practice match, the opponent wouldn't directly hit your face.

  The next round started. This time, Peter was looking calm, and his punches were accurate. He was using the experience that he gained in his career, and that was trouble for me. He was targeting my face with cross and upper cuts. After a minute, he hit me hard on my cheek. The next punch landed on the same spot and my head gear flew off. I was shocked and waved my hand to signal the referee, but my attention on Peter was averted. His next punch hit me on my left cheekbone, and I landed hard.

  The pain was incredible. I could feel the taste of my own blood because my lower lip was bleeding. I glanced up and saw that giant bastard delivering an axe kick to my chest. I rolled onto my shoulder, but he hit me on my ribs. Pain spiked from my spine out to the rest of my body. The
last thing I saw was the referee pushing him back.

  Chapter 6

  Eva

  Somewhere, a loud Summer of ’69 by Bryan Adams was playing. I looked at my watch. It was just 5 AM. "Chloe, can you make it silent!” I yelled.

  "It's your alarm, sweetheart!"

  That’s right. I am supposed to start my running practice today. Damn, I need to get up and get going. I jumped up from my bed, turning off the damn alarm, then ran towards my bathroom, avoiding the pink laundry bag that Chloe had put in the hall and jumping over the laptop that she placed on the ground. If I want to get a good practice in, I should be running in 15 minutes. My practice sessions were finally starting and I was feeling good.

  In fifteen minutes, I was on the porch of our building feeling a cold breeze. It was summer in New York, and my suburb was surrounded by a lot of trees and gardens. Chloe and I both liked the calm. That’s why we got this place. It was a little bit away from the city, but we were comfy.

  I took a deep breath, allowing the tiny particles of oxygen to fill my lungs with energy, then I started running. It was the best thing in the world and I fully enjoyed it. For me, running wasn't just an exercise, but an enjoyment and my path to freedom. I started at a jog. I completed two rounds of the garden, then started running faster.

  The sun was coming up, and an old couple with their granddaughter was playing in the park. The little girl was running and her grandpa was chasing her. I remembered days like that with my grandpa. Those were beautiful days, and I didn’t have a care in the world. I smiled and increased my speed. I soon completed my eighth round, and decided to take a break for a sip of water. I drank slowly, enjoying the sensation of it sliding down into my stomach. I always loved the feelings in my body that I got after each run.

  I started running again, fast. My muscles were warm and responding well to my movements. When I passed the little girl again, I saw that she was on her grandpa’s shoulder and picking something off of her grandma's hair. She was a cute little child…

  Sudden pain grabbed me in my left leg. It weakened and I fell to the ground.

  A bicycle slammed into my left shin. I fell down on the ground, twisting my ankle, pain shooting up my leg. I looked around and saw a young boy, around 13 or 14, holding his bicycle up and looking towards me. I could sense the fear in his blue eyes.

  "I am sorry, ma’am, but I was coming fast. I tried to call out to you, but you were looking somewhere else and we collided. It wasn’t my fault.” His voice was shaking.

  I thought he would cry if I yelled at him. Anyway, the mistake was mine. I was running fast and I didn't expect anyone to be riding a bicycle this early in the morning. "It's okay, kid.”

  "Do you need my help?” He put down his bicycle and put his hand out.

  I really needed it because I didn't want to put any pressure on my left leg. I grabbed his hand to try and rise slowly, but sharp pain from my left leg hit me again. I sat down, hard. "I think I’ll sit here for a while. You go. I’m fine."

  I sat there for few more minutes. Realizing that I had to move eventually, I placed my hands onto the ground and pushed. I forced my right leg under me and got up without using the left. I hobbled over to the bench that was placed on the side of the path. I rubbed my left leg and took off my shoe. Thankfully, it hadn't swollen. I slipped my shoe back on, not bothering to tie it, took a deep breath, and put my foot down. It hurt a bit, but I was able to walk home.

  ***

  I wanted to take the day off from school, but Mrs. Cooper called me on my cell and said that she had something important to discuss with me. I put on my fitted blue jeans and a black top, and took a cab to the university. Mrs. Cooper was my art teacher who had high hopes for me. Actually, she was a friend of my mother, and she enjoyed talking to her about me. That made me go crazy, but she was my teacher and my grades were in her hands so I always kept calm in front of her.

  I knocked on her door and went straight in. She was reading something. Without taking her eyes out of the book, she said, “Sit down, Eva. I am reading about art of the 18th century. I will be with you in a minute." She continued reading.

  Her one minute turned into fifteen. She liked to keep me under pressure, and I didn’t enjoy it at all. At last, she looked up and smiled. “I am sorry, Eva. Did you get bored?"

  "Why did you call me, Mrs. Cooper? I was thinking of taking a day off." My voice broke a bit.

  “Well, I have an assignment for you."

  "What do I have to do now?" I tried to hide the anger in my voice.

  “I want you to meet one or two ERP management firms. We want to get our internal ERP developed, and also do the facebook thing with it."

  "What thing?" I couldn't understand what she was thinking.

  "That thing where you attach facebook to our website." She was struggling with all the technical stuff.

  "You mean ‘integration’?"

  "Yes! Thank you. I got two addresses of local firms for you so you can contact them and get a quote for the work. Take this report with you. It has all the details." She handed me a thick diary and started reading her book again.

  My face was red when I got out of her office. First the accident and aching foot, and now this.

  Chloe was coming back from her class when she spotted me standing outside of Mrs. Cooper's office. “Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing here, and why is your face so red? What has she given my baby doll to do this time?"

  "I have to find a web designer and get the ERP done." My voice was loud enough to tell her how angry I was. "And my leg is hurting more and more.”

  "Don't worry, Eva. Everything will be all right. Let's just get you back to the room."

  Chapter 7

  Nathan

  I woke up in pain, the complete scene of me getting beaten by Peter flashing before my eyes. First the Japanese, and now Peter. My life sucks…sucks big time. I couldn't do anything about it, though.

  Only one thing came to my mind…booze and a pussy. That bastard Peter already stole a hot girl that night, then beat me in the match. I wasn't feeling any guilt because he won with an unethical move so I figured we were even. My coach kept saying that I fought well, but that he just beat me. It doesn't matter that he beat me when I wasn't looking, or that my head gear was thrown away. What if I was in a tournament where I wouldn't be wearing the helmet? By experience or mistake, a beating is a beating. I am a loser, after all. The bastard, Mason, was also there. He must have laughed when I fell down. I needed something strong. I found some Jack Daniels in the refrigerator, and I keep drinking until I passed out.

  ****

  When I woke up, I didn't know what time it was, or what I was doing on the couch. Somebody was ringing a bell again and again. "Shit, what the fuck?!” I checked my mobile…nine missed calls from James. I forgot that we were going out tonight.

  I felt like shit. I completely messed up. Holding onto the couch, I stood up. The room started spinning fast and I fell down. My doorbell rang over and over again. James must be standing outside.

  "Where the hell have you been, dude?!" James was pissed. “I have been trying your mobile and your bell for the last half-hour.”

  "Sorry, dude. I was passed out." I needed more alcohol so I got a shot from the refrigerator. That made me feel better.

  "Let's go. We’ll go to another lounge today. Because of your fight, we can’t go back there.” I changed my clothes and we walked out the door.

  "Your Mustang looks awesome, dude.” James was fond of cars, especially old models.

  I knew the girls would love it so we took it. I parked it outside of the Claus' Club. I calmed myself in the car, sprayed some cologne around my neck, pulled up the sleeves of my t-shirt a bit so my muscles would be visible, then I got out and looked around. The club was in a calm suburb and surrounded by trees. At night, it was one of the happening places. I enjoyed it because of the variety of girls I’ve seen there. "Come on, James. Let’s go.”

  The lounge was busy. A few gi
rls were in their early twenties, and James loved them. He thinks they are an easy target. I looked around and went inside. The club was small. There were only a few tables around the dance floor. Two hot girls were dancing with each other, and the crowd was cheering them on. The bartender was playing with two glasses, throwing them in the air and catching them, one on other. I headed to the bar and ordered a shot. A girl with perky tits wearing a tank top came up to me. She made my cock hard, but today wasn't her day.

  One couple was sitting next to me. The boy was a young adult, and the girl probably just had her eighteenth birthday. She looked mature in her yellow top and pink shorts, though. His hands were waving in the air and she was biting her upper lip. He was a college-aged boy with a stripped t-shirt and black jeans. He slammed his beer glass down and raised his left hand. I knew he was going to hit the girl so I quickly extended my left hand and caught his. In fear, she covered her face with her hands.

  I raised my eyebrow. "No, brother. No violence here."

  "Who the fuck are you?" He turned back to face me, but I squeezed his hand. He grimaced and looked back at me. "I wasn't going to hit her. I was just raising my hand to scratch my neck."

  "Then scratch with your dick, not with your hands." I released him and turned back to the bartender. “One more shot, please.”

  "That's a good show you put on. You might have even won her,” the bartender said while serving up my drink. "Hi, there. I am Amelia." I turned back to face her.

  "What?" I couldn't believe what she just said.

  "I said I am Amelia. It isn't an unusual name." Her lips moved to the side when she smiled, giving her face a sexy look.

  "No, it just reminded me of someone." My hand went to my chin, fingering a cut that I had there from the fight.

  "That's a big cut.”

  "I got it in my last kickboxing match." I didn't want her to know why. I smiled, slightly. “That’s a discussion for another time.”

  She looked at my face, then looked at my biceps. "That explains your strong grip on my boyfriend’s hand."