Totaled

by Stacey Grice

  I climbed up the stairs into the octagon and circled around, loosening up my legs. I retreated to my “corner” and the commentator introduced my opponent with equal enthusiasm, but added an impressive professional record of sixteen wins and two losses. He entered the ring with even more charisma than he showed at the weigh-in yesterday. Dancing around, punching the air, and hyping up the crowd, inviting them to cheer louder, he looked like he enjoyed the show more than the fight. I was just ready to fight.

  We were both brought to the center from our corners. The referee insisted on a clean fight and reminded us of a few rules. We touched gloves and the bell sounded. I stood back, not timid, but cautious. I wanted him to strike first, needing to feel his power. I needed to see his eyes when his blow stuck to gauge exactly how my attack would be most effective. But he seemed to be doing the same to me. We danced around each other for a few seconds, long enough to illicit booing from the crowd. So I gave him what he wanted. I charged in, punching and easily landing a left jab, right cross combination to the face. He shook his head and smiled at me.

  And then the true fight began. We exchanged punches to the face and the body. He had a lot of one-punch power, but wasted too much energy dancing and skipping around. I felt the power in his blows decreasing as time went on. He was definitely spastic and difficult to read, but I was blocking more than he was landing. And what I landed, he was feeling. The left side of his face was already swollen and he was bleeding above his left eye. I could hear Pat yelling from my corner and knew that I needed to get him to the mat. Just as I was about to charge in for the take down, the bell sounded, ending the round. I made my way back to my corner and sat on the stool. Pat yelled instructions to me as I doused myself with cold water over my head and put an ice pack on the base of my neck.

  “Jesus Christ Almighty, Drew! You’ve got to get him to the fucking mat. You aren’t going to knock this guy out in a boxing match. Show these people what you’ve got. Show them you deserve to be here. Show this showboating cocksucker that he underestimated the wrong fucking guy!” Pat screamed. “Get him to the floor and go for the submission.”

  I stood, energized and empowered, finally letting the noise of the crowd reach my ears. Time to go to work. The bell sounded again and I came out swinging. Stunning him a little with an uppercut to the jaw and a two-punch connection to the body, I kicked and swept his legs out from under him. To the mat we went. He shook off his fog and twisted his body to get into a better position. We tumbled around a little, all the while punching each other in between, exchanging holds and both vying for the advantage. I brought my left leg up higher to try to reverse his hold and better my position. Not being able to see his opposing movement, I in turn got myself right into the worst position possible. He maneuvered and locked me up.

  It wasn’t but split seconds before he had me in the guillotine hold, and it sucked worse than I could possibly imagine. I couldn’t budge from his vice-like grip. My arms and legs flailed erratically, trying to connect with something, anything, to give me leverage. I felt my throat close even tighter in the choke hold, heard the throbbing of my pulse in my head, and then my eyes started to blur. A gray cloud of haze passed in front of me and I was suddenly removed from the fight, looking into the eyes of my father, watching him choke down on me with a sinister expression of hate. I felt the control slipping away and wasn’t about to let him take it away again.

  Fuck. This. Shit.

  I was able to blink his face away, inhale a slight breath of air and point my chin down toward my chest, hard. I slowly brought my right arm over his shoulder and down his back, and with all of my remaining strength, rolled him up onto his shoulder, ridding him of the leverage he previously had. I struggled to loosen his grip and somehow I got loose, probably aided by his exhaustion and the shock of me actually getting out of a near unbreakable hold. I got to my feet before he did and capitalized on that opportunity to get a few punches in.

  He was visibly stunned, and as he shook his head as if to shake off the blow, it turned to pure rage. Now he was pissed off. Taking two steps towards me, with his face unguarded, I tried to anticipate his next move, glancing down at his feet, taking note of the angle of his body, what stance he was in. I stepped to my right, avoiding his sad, half-assed attempt at a kick to my leg, and the bell dinged. I smiled at him and the crowd and walked to my corner.

  Pat squatted down in front of me and started shouting again. “Holy Christ, son! I can’t believe you just got out of that. You’ve got to capitalize on this. You’re in control now.”

  Hands were all over me, drying my sweat and blood to goop more petroleum jelly on my face. I opened my mouth and someone squirted water into it, which I spit out into a bucket after swishing the blood out of my mouth.

  “You’ve got him by the balls,” Pat hissed. “Now neuter the son of a bitch. One more round. You dictate the pace of the fight. The best offense is not defense. Come out striking. Tear this motherfucker apart!”

  We both rose when the bell sounded and moved to the center. Like a great white shark on the hunt for its next meal and suddenly smelling the blood of chummed up waters ahead, I charged towards him, backing him up against the cage. Trapping him against the chain link fencing of the octagon, I wailed on him. I punched, and punched, and punched. When he was blocking my blows to the face, I switched to the body. When he brought his elbows down the guard his ribs, I brought my fists back up to his face. I saw him start to lean and turn to his left, so I spun around, as if to walk away, but shocked him with my left arm, spinning my elbow into his face. And down he went. He fell to the floor, but still had light in his eyes. I mounted over him and hammer-fist punched his face over and over again. Right, right, right, right, and then left, left, left, again and again until the referee physically pulled me off of him and waved his arms that the fight was over.

  I had done it. I had beaten him.

  I was tackled to the ground as Pat and my trainers rushed me in excitement, hugging and slapping my back in congratulations. The officials came to do a once over and make sure I didn’t need immediate medical attention, but I waved them off.

  Once the mania died down and the officials gathered to announce the decision, I stood in the center of the octagon, surrounded by my team. The crowd was going crazy with cheers and I felt on top of the world to feel my hand raised by the referee and hear my name announced as the winner of the match by way of knockout.

  The commentator tried to interview me after the announcement was made, but I couldn’t tell you anything he asked me. It was all just a blur. I could only remember one thing in all of the madness. I heard the announcer, with crystal clarity, say into the camera at the conclusion of his questioning me, “And with a surprising win, the newcomer, Drew Dougherty! This isn’t the last we’ll hear of this name!”

  You’re damn right it isn’t.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  BREE

  As Flip Flops Bar and Grille erupted with cheers, I sat there in shock. Disbelief. Not that I didn’t think he could do it—I knew he could do it—but to actually watch him do it…it was like I couldn’t even blink my eyes, much less move. My boyfriend, Drew Dougherty, had just debuted in his first UFC heavyweight fight and he had won by knockout. He fought an opponent with much more experience and skill, and he beat him. He didn’t leave the decision up to anyone else to interpret or vote on. He did it. And he looked sexy as hell doing it.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off of the jumbo television screen. I watched the medical personnel attend to Purifoy, waving smelling salts in his face and taking his vital signs with their purple latex gloves on. I listened to the commentators talk about Drew like he was a stranger. I guess to everyone else, he was a stranger. I saw my father and Liam inside the octagon next to him as the referee raised Drew’s arm in victory. It was all just so surreal.

  “Can you believe that shit, Bree? He beat the piss out of him! He won!” someone yelled to me over the noise, squeezing my shoulders in congr
atulations.

  I smiled an insincere smile and got up from my barstool. Turning my head to look for Sue, her eyes immediately found mine from across the room. She nodded and excused herself from the group she was talking to, following me outside to the oceanfront deck of the bar.

  “You okay?” Sue asked as she approached me.

  “Yeah, I think so. I just needed some air.” I didn’t know how to feel about all of it and needed a minute to myself to process everything. I was simply unable to fake being happy any longer.

  “What’s wrong? Did you drink too much?” She swept my hair out of my face as the sea breeze blew it in front of me, concerned and doting.

  “No, nothing like that. I guess I’m just still in shock. I can’t believe this is all happening.” I almost felt numb.

  “But this is a good thing, right?” She smiled, trying to be encouraging, but I just couldn’t get out of my own head.

  “Of course! I mean, I’m happy for him. I’m happy for the notoriety that this will bring to the gym, I’m just… Ugh, I guess I’m just being a girl.” In all honesty, a small part of me didn’t want him to win, which I felt an enormous amount of guilt over. I knew he could win, I just didn’t really expect him to against Purifoy. I was sick to my stomach when he was locked up in that guillotine hold. And now standing here trying to figure all of these fucked up emotions out, I felt resentment starting to bubble inside for Sue even introducing more doubtful thoughts into my head.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, her voice and expression showing both her confusion and her concern. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

  “It was. It is. I want Drew to be successful. I want him to be happy. I guess I’m just scared. Everything is going to change now.” My blissful bubble of happy land, the happy I just found, was surely going to be disturbed, understandably so, and I felt possessive and terrified.

  Sue stood there next to me, leaning over the wooden railing of the deck and staring out into the dark ocean. The air calmed me more and more with every wave of wind that hit my face. Seconds went by, minutes. A few deep breaths later, I felt the stress leaving my body little by little.

  Sue put her arm around my shoulders, giving me a side hug. “Everything is going to change, my friend. But I will be right here, by your side, when it does,” she said, trying to reassure me. “It will all be fine. You’ll see. No sweat. Like a walk in the dark.”

  “You mean a walk in the park?”

  “What? You want to go to the park?”

  “No, dingbat. You said walk in the dark. It’s supposed to be walk in the park. Like, no big deal, just an easy walk in the park.”

  “Yeah, whatever. That’s what I meant.”

  I snickered and we turned to go back into the bar. The assault of noise and activity upon entering the main area of the restaurant was enough to knock me over, but I stood my ground, put on a brave face, and joined in on the joy. This truly was a monumentally exciting thing and I needed to put my fears aside and be ecstatic for Drew and my family. They earned this. They deserved my enthusiasm.

  For over an hour, I endured the commotion and frenzy that followed his win. When I had just about reached my limit, the crowd started to dissipate and people filtered out, going home, back to their normal, uneventful lives. I helped Morey and the other bartenders clear dirty plates and pint glasses like I was part of the staff. I just needed to busy my hands so my brain would quiet down.

  “You don’t have to do that, Bree. The busboys will get all that stuff. Go home and get some rest,” Morey ordered as he wiped the table next to me with a wet rag.

  “It’s okay, Morey. I’m just helping. I really appreciate you showing the fight tonight.”

  “Are you kidding me?” he scoffed. “I more than tripled my sales tonight. I think I’ll show every fight from now on. Sue really put on a good pitch, and boy was she right! How exciting. I thought Drew would put a little bit of a hurtin’ on that fella, but I never imagined he would win.”

  “Well, he is very talented.”

  “I’m happy for Pat. Your daddy works so hard and really cares for them boys. It’s going to be nice to see his hard work at the gym hopefully pay off.”

  “Yes, we shall see,” I said, lowering my head to the stack of plates and half-eaten baskets of fries in front of me. “I’m going to take these to the back and head out. Thanks again, for everything.”

  “No problem, sugar. You drive home safe, okay?”

  “Yes, sir, will do.”

  I placed the dirty stack of dishes onto the counter of the big dishwashing station in the back kitchen and washed my hands. I walked out with Sue to my car, admiring the clear summer night sky filled with stars. Giving her a giant hug, I voiced my appreciation again.

  “Thanks for sweet-talking Morey. And thanks for being with me tonight. It means a lot.”

  “Oh, hush. You know I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. And Morey’s harmless. He was seeing the dollar signs the second I suggested it to him. Go home and get some sleep. You’ve had a long day. How did you do on your exam, anyway?”

  “Really well, I think,” I replied. It felt like I’d taken the exam days ago. “Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

  “Okay, you too. Love you, girl!”

  “I love you too.”

  I drove home and pulled up to a dark driveway. No one was there to greet me. No one was there to request that I cook something or ask when their laundry was going to be done. There was no one to take care of but myself. I could do whatever I wanted. I could walk around naked. I could order up a chick flick and not hear one word of grief. I should’ve been over the moon. But I wasn’t. I felt almost lost. Purposeless. I decided to just crawl into bed and try to let the exhaustion take over.

  Reaching into my purse to plug in my phone, I saw that I had a missed call. My mood instantly picked up, thinking that it might have been Drew. I typed in my voicemail password as fast as my thumbs would go and waited to hear.

  “Hey, baby, it’s me. I hope you saw the fight. I did it, Bree. I won. I beat him.” I could hear the fervor in his voice creeping through all of the background noise, the pandemonium that was surely surrounding him. “We’re going out to celebrate. I don’t know if I’ll be able to call you again tonight or not. You’re probably already asleep. I love you, Bree. I love you so much! I can’t wait to see you. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. Bye.”

  It was amazing to hear his voice. It was all I needed. I closed my eyes feeling peaceful and calm and quickly succumbed to the fatigue.

  ***

  DREW

  “Dad, I want to go! I’m not a child. I should be able to go with Drew if I want. I’ll stay with him the whole time,” Liam pleaded with Pat, wanting to go have a celebratory drink with me and the trainers to a bar a few blocks away from our hotel. Pat gave me a knowing look and I understood immediately.

  “It’s fine, Pat. I got him. We won’t be gone long. We’re just going to walk down the street and grab a drink. He’ll be fine.”

  “See? I’ll be fine,” Liam interjected.

  “Okay. But be careful, all of you. And stay out of trouble. I’m going up to my room and crashing. We’ve got an early flight back home tomorrow.” Pat turned to walk away, only to about face and wrap his arms around Liam in a hug, saying something into his ear that I wasn’t meant to hear. He then turned to me, reaching his right arm out to pat my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son. You were great out there tonight.” And he walked away.

  Hearing those four words come out of his mouth were almost better than the win. Better than the fat check that came along with winning. Better than all of the strangers in the audience chanting and screaming my name. Someone was proud of me. Pat was proud of me, and it felt enormous. My heart swelled at the feeling of having someone that you looked up to and respected beyond belief actually finding worth and value in your achievements.

  We walked down the street and over two blocks until we reached a li
ttle dive called Raunchy Rooster. We all chuckled at the name as the bouncer, whom Liam and I towered over, carded us. It was interesting being in another pub, having grown up in one. I couldn’t help but look around the place, observing just how different the setup was. Pool tables scattered in the right back corner, a few foosball tables to the left of us, and a wraparound bar in the center. It was a decent crowd for a Saturday night, but I easily used my size to wiggle in and claim a position on the bar ledge to order drinks for us all. Everyone shouted what they wanted and I waited until a squirrelly guy with dyed black hair and a lip piercing finally meandered towards me and looked up.

  I ordered drinks for the four of us and handed him my card, asking him to start a tab.

  Minutes later, our drinks were ready and I distributed them to everyone, keeping the shot of whiskey for myself. I laughed at the sour face that Liam made at the first taste of his beer and in that moment wondered if I should be letting him drink. How was I supposed to not let him? He was an adult. He wanted a beer. I guessed there was no harm in that.

  “Hey! Aren’t you…yeah, it is you! You’re Drew Dougherty!”

  I turned around to see two scrawny young guys that barely looked old enough to be in a bar, both with cheesy grins painting their faces. One of them was even wearing a Tap Out brand t-shirt.

  “Oh man, I can’t believe this. We just watched you beat the living shit out of Stefan Purifoy! I can’t believe it’s you, here, at the Rooster. Can I, uh, can we get your autograph or something?” He frantically looked around for something to write on.