Fight Like A Girl

by A. D. Herrick

  I should have drunk more water and taken the time for a cool down, only I didn’t. There were so many should have, could have, and would haves. Hindsight was twenty-twenty. Instead of doing what I knew I should have done, I followed Chaos into his office like a lovesick puppy and confessed all my deepest darkest desires.

  Okay, so that part only happened in my head. But, what I did confess was the fact that my brother, Marco, was getting into some shady shit. Shit, I wanted no part of. And it scared me. It really and truly scared me. Marco had always been reckless but lately, he had taken it to a whole new level. A level that was not only terrifying but invoked the feeling of déjà vu.

  Slumping against the dark wood of the front door I inhaled deeply through my nose begging my muscles to comply. “Just a little further.” I urged trying to pull myself back up on my feet.

  Suddenly the front door fell open. My arms wheeled out like a windmill in attempt to catch myself, my feet flew out in front of me, in an attempt to escape.

  “Whoa there Ging. Where ya going, sis?” Marco chuckled, wrapping his arms around my waist, catching me with ease in his iron grip before I plummeted to the ground.

  “My body feels like jelly.” I groaned allowing him to take the full brunt of my weight. Not caring about the strain I was putting on him. He was a big boy, he could handle it.

  Marco’s arms held me up with ease. My small frame dwarfed by his large lumbering stature. Draping one of my arms around his waist I held on as he helped me into the house, kicking the door shut behind him.

  “Long day at the gym?” Marco chuckled easing me onto the couch.

  “You have no idea.”

  Arching a perfectly sculpted brow in my direction he smirked. “Oh, I have a pretty good idea, judging by the fact you couldn’t make it in the house by yourself. How did you get this way anyway? Battling it out in the ring?”

  “Shank taught me a new stance,” I growled flopping my hands into my lap like a disgruntled child. The movement sent another round of groans from my lips.

  Marco’s face lit up with laughter taking years off his age. “So what you’re saying is that you let a boy kick your ass?” He goaded.

  “He didn’t kick my butt, the bag did. He just made me stand funny and watched with glee as I hurt myself. Repeatedly.” My admission caused Marco to laugh harder.

  Wrinkling up my nose I stuck my tongue out at him like a child. Even that hurt.

  Holding his hands up in a defensive stance he stepped back mocking me. “Hey, you’re the one that let a bag beat you up.” He smiled down at me warmly.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I whined shooting him a wink, letting him know I was okay.

  “Did you eat?” Marco asked his eyes now studying me with concern.

  Stillness came over me. Gently shaking my head I replied. “No, I barely made it home.”

  Marco’s sudden concern was making me uncomfortable. Over the past six years, I could count on one hand just how many times my brother had shown concern for my well-being. Just this once.

  When people talk about once in a lifetime experiences I'd always imagined something like winning the lotto, not Marco being nice. The two words, Marco and nice, didn't exist in the same sentence, but here he was and it was happening. Hell hath frozen over.

  A slow smile spread across Marco’s face gently easing the tension building in my chest. “How about pizza? I’ll even add pineapples to it just for you.”

  “Really?” I asked in genuine surprise.

  “Really.” He confirmed rubbing his hands together excitedly.

  I smiled brightly up at him ignoring the pain it caused throughout my body. Who knew that just smiling at someone could hurt so much? My heart swelling with love and affection for the man before me. Hawaiian pizza was my favorite. If there was one way into my heart food was it.

  “Did I ever tell you that you’re the most amazing brother ever?” I praised. My stomach chose that moment to growl in agreement.

  Marco chuckled, his cheeks taking on a pink hue as he hung his head bashfully. This was definitely a new look. It was like watching aliens land on planet earth. I had seen my brother angry, happy, drunk, high, and horny, but never bashful. Tonight had definitely been an odd night. First the heated look and comment from Chaos and now this. I felt as though I had stepped into the twilight zone.

  “No, I’ve never been called amazing, but I’ll accept that title now that you’ve given it.” He left me with a wink as he walked off with his phone in hand to order pizza. My mind was spinning with curiosity. Who was this creature in front of me? What happened to my brother? Did alien abductions really exist?

  A wave of guilt washed over me, caused by Marcos sudden change in demeanor, nearly bowling me over. It had been so long since my brother and I had shared a laugh, let alone a meal. I instantly felt bad for telling Chaos about Marco. Clearly, I had been wrong. Whatever I thought Marco was getting into must not have been as bad as I thought. I had jumped to conclusions making poor assumptions, labeling my brother as a monster, prejudging him before giving him the opportunity to redeem himself.

  My guilt was made even worse when Marco came back in the living room carrying a cold bottle of water and an ice cold glass of sweet tea.

  “I wasn’t sure which you would prefer. I know you need the water because of your workouts but I also know you have an undeniable love of sweet tea.” The pink hue was still on his cheeks giving him a boyish look. It was sweet and endearing. Foreign but still adorable. He reminded me so much of the boy from our childhood. I smiled warmly up at him accepting both drinks.

  Gently I tipped the glass of tea back swallowing a large mouth full. It was crisp and sweet and tasted like heaven as it went down. Greedily I gulped down the entire cup, setting the empty glass down on the side table with a thud along with the full bottle of water.

  “Thanks, Marc. Honestly, that was seriously the best tea ever.”

  “Glad you liked it. I made a pitcher just for you.” He smiled broadly clearly proud of himself. Marco making tea was another first. Which was astonishing considering I didn't even know my brother was capable of boiling water, let alone making tea. It was hard enough to get him to put his dirty dishes in the sink, but making a pitcher of tea? Where is my brother? Who is this imposter?

  “I’ll run and pick up dinner, don’t move. I shouldn’t be long.” Pointing both of his index fingers at me he clicked his tongue like he was in an old western drawl and winked. I was still laughing, clutching my stomach in agony of the movement when the door clicked shut.

  Straining forward I reached for the remote, my fingers grazed across the cold hard plastic. With a painful grunt, I was finally able to reach it, catching it between my two fingers.

  With a huff of triumph, I settled into the sofa and flicked through the channels, hoping to find something mind-numbing enough to take my mind off the guilt that sat heavily in my stomach.

  Marco was acting like his old self. He was acting like the Marco I had grown up with. The one I told all my secrets to and the one that used to hide away with me when things got rough at home.

  This wasn’t the Marco I had come to know over the past couple of years. This wasn’t the Marco that stayed coked up and drunk, staggering around the house in only his underwear while hunting for his hidden stash of dope.

  This wasn’t the Marco that had been dragging random groups of men through our house while making a backdoor deal under the cover of night.

  Guilt-ridden thoughts weaved through my mind as my eyes grew heavy. The images on the screen flickered by not catching my interest.

  My blinks became longer and closer together as I tried to force myself to be interested in the woman on the TV touting her many home repairs on a budget. The sound was muted as the images floated across the big screen TV.

  Each blink brought me closer and closer to sleep. Exhaustion cloaked me, tugging me down. My head lulled back against the couch cushion, my limbs becoming heavy as I sank into the plush sofa. Givi
ng in, I allowed myself to be swept under by the Sandman.

  I awoke to the sound of the front door slamming shut with a loud thud that shook the walls. Through heavy lashes, I glanced in the direction of the sound. I watched as Marco strode in with three pies in his hands. It felt like he had been gone for hours but it couldn’t have been because the pizza in his hands was still hot, its scent wood-fired rich and alluring rousing me from my weakened state, luring me in like a drug. My body began to wake, my heavy limbs lurched forward desperate for a slice.

  “Down girl,” Marco teased. “I’ll refill your drinks and grab some plates.” Setting the pies down on the coffee table he headed into the kitchen.

  I sat on the couch, leaned forward hunched over the cardboard boxes of heaven, inhaling the rich tangy scent of melted cheese, sweet marinara, and greasy meats. My stomach growled, threatening to eat my liver if I didn’t eat soon.

  “Here ya go.” Marco handed me a fresh bottle of water and refilled my glass of tea. With wobbly hands I took them, setting them down with a thump on the table beside me.

  “Sit back and relax. I’ll take care of ya.” Marco smiled in my direction as he loaded a plate with the Hawaiian style pizza.

  “Did you know that you’re my hero?” I crooned in a poor rendition of Bette Midler’s Wind beneath my wings.

  Marco just shook his head laughing under his breath as he loaded his own plate with slices from his meat lover’s pie.

  “Eat up.” Kissing a slice of his pizza to mine in salute we began to eat.

  I couldn’t fight back the moan that escaped my lips at the first bite. So many fond memories in my life were associated to the scent and taste of pizza. Marco and I used to scrounge change together and buy a small pie to share while we huddled away in our favorite hiding place, an old abandoned building on the other side of town. It was our little secret. Something only he and I shared.

  “Easy there killer, you’re supposed to eat the pizza, not make love to it.” I cut my eyes in his direction as I took a healthy bite of the slice in my hand. To be extra annoying I moaned louder.

  Marco rolled his eyes. Taking a bite of his pie he tormented me with his own moans of delight. Where I imagined my sounds came out sounding soft like a kittens purr Marco sounded like a starved lion devouring his prey.

  It was like we were kids again, each of us trying to outdo the other in annoyance, giggling like school children as we went. It felt good.

  I took the time to study my brother, really study him. Marco was a good looking guy, reminding me of our father. He was tall and had the same thick dark locks and light brown eyes, the color of whiskey.

  His face was smattered with light stubble giving him a rugged yet handsome look that suited him. Though I had never seen him at Destruction, I knew that he worked out. His body was fit, his arms thick and wide like tree branches.

  He was the complete opposite of me. Where he was a carbon copy of our father, I was a combination of our mother and father, petite, long dark hair and large blue eyes.

  If he noticed me staring he didn’t let on. Instead, Marco’s gaze was trained on the screen in front of him while he shoved his pizza into his mouth almost without tasting it. At some point, the television program had changed from home repairs to sports. I didn't remember changing it but it must have happened when I had started to doze off. Perhaps it was just my fatigue toying with my mind.

  With half our pies devoured and the TV forgotten, we eased into a light conversation. It was nice. Definitely, something I could get used to.

  I knew my brother as a kid, but not as an adult. Sure, we lived together, but that was it. We never really talked. Our conversations were more of the demand and command types of conversations. “Pick up toilet paper.” “Take out the trash.” “Quit bringing whores home.” But never just the casual conversation we were having now. It felt good. Really good.

  “Are you still painting?” My lips kicked up at Marco’s sudden interest in my work, thrilled he even noticed at all.

  “Yeah. I have a few pieces out at the local gallery. They’ve been selling pretty decent.” I ducked my head at the admission, suddenly feeling embarrassed by the fact that my artwork has taken off and was now in demand. It was a piece of myself I kept hidden. A fact no one but me knew. Well, me and now Marco. Chaos knew I painted, he had allowed me access to the roof of the gym many times to complete a piece. But as far as he knew it was for fun, not something I was actively pursuing.

  The fact that I was an artist was something not many knew about me. Being an artist and living in the Folds was unheard of and often met with ridicule.

  No one around here could understand the value of art. In the Folds, it was all about who you know, what you dealt and which MC you belonged to. There was no room for anything else. Dreams had no place in our world, ambitions were quickly doused and lessons in surviving the streets handed out like Pez candy.

  “That’s great, Ginger. I’m really proud of you.” I preened under his praise, suddenly desperate his approval. With both of our parents deceased, Marco’s approval meant more to me than anything.

  “Thank you.” I blushed furiously.

  “What about you? What have you been up to?” Marco’s eyes narrowed and darkened in my direction. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough to let me know that it was there.

  This Marco may be acting like the old Marco, the Marco from my childhood. But the new Marco wasn’t far away. He was still there, hovering just below the surface, lying in wait.

  “Oh you know, same old same. I have a few deals here and there. I got one that’s really taking off.” He leered at me. The look caused my skin to crawl and a shiver of fear to creep down my spine.

  Ducking my head, I cowered. “That’s good to hear.” I tried to sound sincere, allowing the conversation to drop.

  “Hey, but at least you’re doing well. That’s good news, Ginger. Really, it is.” His thick paw landed on my knee giving it a tight squeeze. I fought the urge to squirm away, biting back the yelp of pain that sat on the tip of my tongue. I refused to make a sound. I refused to appear weak, even to my brother.

  When I looked up Marco was smiling down at me, his eyes light and happy.

  Confusion clouded my mind making me feel lost and insecure. “I’ve really missed you,” I admitted, meaning the Marco of now, not the brother I had grown to know, hoping to keep the lightness of the night alive.

  I wasn’t ready for it to end. I wasn’t ready to lose this side of my brother, not yet. I had just got a taste of how good thing could have been between us. I wasn’t ready to let it go. But already I could see the traces of the old Marco immerging. Like a light flickering Marco seemed to waver between being the brother he was tonight and the brother of yesterday.

  “I missed you too, kid.” Marco grabbed me in his arms giving me a firm embrace. I wrapped my arms around him, inhaling his comforting scent. He smelled like clean laundry and soap. He smelled like home.

  Every muscle in my body protested against the movement, still sore from today’s workout. I swallowed down the cry of pain that threatened to spill from my lips. I refused to ruin this tender moment. I refused to give up this side of Marco I had been missing for so long. I clung to him like a barnacle on the hull of a ship. Terrified of being lost at sea.

  Marco released me, gently pulling away as though the moment had been too much for him to take. “Why don’t you head up to bed and I’ll clean up down here? I have somewhere to go but I’ll be back by morning.” Though he posed it as a question the glint in his eyes told me it was anything but. Bowing my head I conceded. I didn’t want to fight. Not tonight. I wanted to ride this Marco high for the rest of the evening.

  Offering him a wide smile in agreement, my heart sank in my chest. “Thanks, Marc.”

  Marco smiled back ruffling my hair.

  Rising from the sofa he helped me up and guided me to the stairs.

  “I love you.” He murmured in my hair giving me one final quick hug be
fore shooing me upstairs. It had been so long since I heard those three little words. So long.

  My eyes misted with tears.

  “I love you, too.”

  Before I had reached the top of the stairs the living room door slammed shut. The finality of the sound rang through the empty house.

  Closing my eyes I prayed it wasn’t a sign. I prayed that tonight wasn’t a glitch and that Marco really had come to his senses. I hoped I would be greeted by the same man I saw tonight the following morning. Though I had napped on the couch I could feel the exhaustion of the day wearing on me. Lifting the back of my hand to my mouth I stifled a yawn. I was just so tired.

  Curling up in my bed I gave into the sleep gnawing at my heels. My eyes drifted closed the moment my head hit the pillow.

  Chapter Four

  Chaos

  Walking onto the turf of the Grim Howlers I expected to see resistance. I expected some sort of hostility, anything. What I didn’t expect was to be greeted warmly, like a brother coming home after the war, the men calling out to me by name.

  I didn’t know these guys and they didn’t know me. Their easy openness and welcoming smiles put me on edge. If this was their true face they would be swallowed up in no time. There was no place for weakness in the Folds. And that’s what these boys reeked of – weakness. It was almost disturbing.

  “Chaos, so good to meet you, Brother.” A paunch older man approached, his right hand extended in greeting.

  I cast a sidelong glance around me, keeping vigilant. Extending my hand I accepted his firm shake.

  “The names Trucker.” He introduced.

  Giving the man a once over I could see why. He looked exactly that, like a trucker. His face was scruffy with a scraggly beard, his pants riding tight around the middle allowing his gut to hang over. I choked back a laugh at the old black and white stained up trucker hat he wore that proudly stated his name in faded black block letters. His old leather cut was well worn, fraying at the hems, a symbol of its age.