by Izzy Sweet
My mother has never been in the picture. I was her mistake. To her, I’m living, breathing, walking and talking regret. She dropped me off with my grandmother when I was five years old and never looked back.
And I’m thankful each day that she did. It was probably the only thing in her life she got right.
I love my grandmother. She was already in her mid-sixties when I came into her life, well past the age expected to raise children, but still she took me on. She never made me feel guilty that she did it either. To her I wasn’t a burden, I was her joy. She once confessed to me that I was her second chance at life. Like God had given her another shot to do it all over. She made me feel like her raising me was the best thing to ever happen to her.
I’m grateful that we had so many wonderful days together but I still miss her. She died a year and a half ago. She was all that I had. It was always just her and me against the world. She was retired, living off a small pension. I didn’t even have the money to bury her. Ethan stepped up for me, he took care of it all.
Ethan has been amazing to me. When my grandmother passed, I had to sell off her house to settle her bills. There was nothing left, and I was already scraping by, just keeping my neck above water during my freshman year of college. Not only did Ethan cover my grandmother’s services and her burial, he set me up with a job in his father’s flagship store. Thanks to the job I earn just enough wages now to cover my apartment and other living expenses. Thanks to him I don’t have to worry about being homeless or starving to death while I try to finish college.
So I owe Ethan, big time.
He’s a great friend, and he’s never once asked me to repay him. But in the past few months Ethan has changed a lot.
First, it was the interest in fighting. I thought it would be a phase, perhaps something he would try, decide it wasn’t for him and move on. But he didn’t. If anything, he’s become more and more engrossed with it. Some might say he’s obsessed.
I’ve watched him transform from a lean caterpillar to a butterfly on steroids. Not only has his body grown huge, but his ego seems to have grown right along with it.
I’m not even sure I know who he is anymore.
Ethan has also grown extremely superstitious, hence me being his pretty lucky charm. I agreed to accompany him to his first fight. Being his best friend, even if I didn’t agree with what he was doing, I wanted to give him my support.
Ethan won that first fight so he insisted I attend his next. Then, when he won the next one, I was expected to be at his third. Somewhere along the way, he convinced me that I should dress a little more like the other girls that hang around the fighters. One thing lead to another and now I’m standing next to him in a pair of short shorts, ankle-breaking heels and a top that’s nothing more than a red bra.
So I can understand the leers and the rude whispers, I get it, I totally do. By the way I’m dressed and according to their caveman logic, I’m practically asking for it.
But I’m so done.
I’ve paid my dues, and this is Ethan’s title shot. I’ve supported him along the way, it should be enough. After this fight, I’m not going to play his lucky charm anymore. It’s silly anyway. He’s not winning because I’m here with him. He’s winning because he wants to win and because he’s training for it. This superstitious foolishness has gone on for too long. I need to stop enabling it. I’ll continue to support Ethan as a friend but from afar.
“You can go ahead and find your seat, Avery.” Ethan grins down at me, pulling me from my thoughts. “The officials are here. Want to give me a kiss for good luck?”
I blink up at Ethan. Did I hear him right? He wants me to give him a kiss? This is a first. I mean he’s not a bad looking guy, I’m sure any other girl would be happy to kiss him.
Just not this girl.
Even with his head shaved I can look at Ethan and admit that aesthetically he meets all the standards for being hot. He has high cheekbones, soft pink lips and gorgeous baby blue eyes. Honestly, I don’t know why I’ve never looked at him like he’s kissable. Our relationship is strictly platonic, well, at least it had been until now.
Maybe I’m reading too much into this...
But no, his face is coming down to me. Shit, he’s totally coming in for the kiss. I should probably do something.
I panic.
I turn my face and instead of giving Ethan a good luck kiss those soft lips of his brush across my cheek instead.
He pulls back and for a moment his eyes flash. He looks pissed. Then he looks away from me and that dazzling smile of his returns for the crowd.
“Go, Avery,” Ethan hisses.
Well, that leaves no doubt, I totally pissed him off.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I was just…”
Ethan doesn’t let me finish, he quickly cuts me off. “Go,” he says loudly, loudly enough for the guys standing next to him to hear.
He turns away from me and for some reason it hurts.
Why, I wonder as I walk out of the room, do I feel like I’ve done something wrong?
Chase
This is my favorite part right now. The bell is about to ring any second and I get to do my job. I get to do what I am paid a very hefty sum to do. I get to punch someone, and not only is it legal but I am fully encouraged to hurt him as much as possible.
God, I fucking love my job.
“Fight!” Harry yells to us as his hand comes down to signal it’s time for the festivities to begin.
This is when the boys get separated from the men.
I have watched every taped fight Ethan has ever had. He loves to charge in headlong with fists flying. More than likely he does it to throw a fighter off his game and put him on the defense. I've done that myself a time or two. I will stand up against a guy who loves to bang it out or I will grapple a guy down to the mat when he is supposed to be one of the best. I like this style of fighting the most. Ethan has hard hands and has won most of his fights from quick knockouts or submissions. He hasn't had a fight last past the first round.
Ethan punches straight at me with what has to be in his mind knockout punches. He’s swinging for the fences here.
I dodge, take one on the arm and then just wrap myself around him. I use my weight as a counterbalance and pull him down fast with him getting partially on top of me.
It's usually not the best place for someone to be but I don't mind. My ground game, in my opinion, is far superior to his and I prove as much by throwing a couple of quick jabs to his face then I grab for his neck.
I'm not able to clench in tight enough before he pulls back and stands up. I’m much more exposed this way, lying like a turtle on my back. He kicks at the sides of my legs but doesn’t go for my head. That's a no-no, a big way to end the fight early with a disqualification.
After a little time passes where neither of us lands anything promising, Ethan takes a large quick step back and motions for me to get up.
The crowd howls with what sounds like bloodlust.
He paces just a bit, waiting for me to make up my mind. I jump up quickly and take a large step back. Slowly I work myself around the cage from him.
We’re nearing a minute on the clock.
I lunge in fast at him swinging with my left fist as I try to land a good punch on his chin. The punch grazes the side of his shoulder and hits him around the head and arm as he blocks himself.
I throw a right at the side of his body and hear an oomph that leads into another body shot.
I know this fight isn't going to be a fast one so I use the clock to my advantage. I like to make sure I can at least win the round by blows landed so I throw as many punches that I can.
Wrapping myself again around Ethan, I pull him over onto his back. With my body on top of his, I try to punch my way around and through his arms. By the sudden redness of his right eye, I can see the last one has landed. He also has a look on his face I have come to recognize from experience. It's awareness, a sudden dawning on him that this isn't
going to be an easy win.
I lift up quickly and try to drop my weight on his stomach as I throw a hard punch. It’s not doing much but it can’t be easy to breathe either. Two hundred and sixty-five is a hard weight to just shove off.
The rest of the round goes by in a flash as I try to punish him as much as possible. If I’m not punching him I’m making him work hard to keep me from pushing him to tap out.
At the end of the round, I hear the bell loud and clear and pull myself off of Ethan.
Harry pulls me up and right then Ethan throws a kick to my crotch.
It barely misses my cup protected groin as I dodge quickly back. It’s a very low blow, and after the bell to boot. My inner beast roars inside of his cage and I lunge towards the dirty fighting ass.
But Harry the ref isn't a lightweight by any means. I may be a heavyweight fighter but he restrains me and pushes me away from Ethan.
I walk back to my corner with a slight hitch in my gait then lean up against the steel cage around us. Dale walks quickly from the gate that opens up to let the coaches in. He turns me around to face the middle of the ring and sits me down on the bench.
“You alright, Chase?” Dale asks as he rubs up against my eyebrows and cheeks with a strip of metal with a handle on it. It’s ice cold and helps keep my eyes from swelling from where Ethan’s punches landed.
Looking out across the ring I see Harry walking over to Ethan’s side. He gives him a sharp warning then deducts one point from the score card. Harry is a true professional though. We may know each other and be on good terms but he is doing his job right now. He turns to me and comes over, warning me as well for late hits.
“I'm going to end it right now Dale,” I say as I look across from him. I stare past Ethan, my eyes connecting with the hot raven-haired hottie sitting on his side. The one he’s been parading around here. I give just the smallest grin as she looks back at me and I wink towards her.
“Fuck the game plan, Dale. That was fucking bullshit to try and nut shot me. He won't get past the first minute of this round.”
Round two is pretty much the same for us except for one difference, I’m the one who takes off across the ring at the start. I throw as many punches and kicks as fast as I can at Ethan.
Now it’s my turn to take him out of his comfort zone.
I wrap myself around him and throw him to the floor, using my shoulder to drive him as hard as I can through the mat. I know better than to fight with my emotions though and soon feel him wrapping himself along my back, attempting to get my arm between his legs.
I let him though as I start to slowly pull myself back up to a standing position with him curled up around my right shoulder.
“Ah, fuck.” I hear Ethan mutter as he knows what’s coming next.
I lift Ethan up and ensure he is unable to slip down as I partially stand.
I'm 6'4 and weigh two hundred and sixty-five pounds. This is not the first time I have used my conditioning and strength to overpower someone. So I do what other fighters absolutely hate to have happen, I slam him back down and into the mat as hard as I can. It’s not an easy move to do, but with the anger I have in me it isn't going to feel good for him one fucking bit.
He unfolds slightly on the downward fall which protects him a little from the hard landing but not much. I drop down on him and start punching him as hard and as fucking fast as I can. Soon I feel Harry diving into me but I continue to land blows on Ethan's unprotected face.
I know I opened up a couple of spots on Ethan’s face before I allow Harry to pull me off of him.
A loud bell is ringing off to the side of the ring and I stand up, raising my hands triumphantly into the air.
Slamming my right hand across my chest, over my heart, I roar. The sound is drowned out though as the crowd howls and cheers for the win.
I walk over towards Ethan as the cage door opens and trainers and medical staff come rushing in to attend to us both. I lean over Harry's shoulder and smile down at Ethan. Ethan is now leaning back against the cage as Harry helps him reorient himself.
“Good fight, brother,” I say and reach a hand down to pat him on the shoulder. He may be an asshole but I try to show no hard feelings from all the pre-fight crap that has been said. In my experience, it’s always best to end a fight on a good note.
“Fuck off, asshole!” Ethan yells as he pushes my hand away.
Shrugging, I turn away from him. He's not the first person to respond badly to losing. I try to always be at least humble in winning, but fuck him then. I raise my hands into the air and cheer as I walk away.
With what only feels like seconds, Harry has us both standing up. He latches on to us by our wrists as the announcer belts out, “The winner by referee stoppage at forty-five seconds in the second round, the still reigning champion, Chase Winters!”
I let Harry raise my arm in triumph and try one more time to get Ethan to acknowledge that it was a good fight, but he turns away from me and marches out of the cage.
I follow him more slowly, watching him stomp past the beauty I winked at earlier. Man, she is hot yet totally not my type at all. I tend to prefer the blonde bimbo with big tits type. But for some reason right now, Ethan’s girl is completely hot. And from the look of horror on her face as I grin at her, she really does not like me at all.
Dale pushes me lightly on the shoulder and escorts me past her. My fans stand and cheer at me, yelling for my attention. Smiling, I head right for them.
Avery
Ethan just lost. I can’t fucking believe it. I think I’m in shock.
He storms out of the octagon without even looking at me. He looks rough, parts of his face are swollen and he’s bleeding in several places. I’ve never seen him so beat up.
It makes me feel sick, seeing him like this. It’s heartbreaking watching your best friend get pounded on. I wouldn’t wish this feeling on anyone.
It was bloody, and it was horrifying. It was the most brutal thing I’ve ever forced myself to watch. Ethan won’t be able to pay me to attend another one of his matches. I’m done, I’m so done. I guess I’m just not strong enough to watch the people I care about get brutally beat up.
To me, watching the fight was like watching the perfect storm form. I could see from the very beginning that they weren’t very well matched. Reaper just seemed so much more comfortable, so much more in his element. He oozed experience, but somehow I still thought Ethan might still have a chance. He’s always had incredible luck.
Ethan started strong but showed his hand early on. Then from there, things just seemed to spiral downward, going from bad to worse. The cheap nut shot to Reaper was obviously the final straw.
There was nothing I could do to stop it. I was powerless, useless. I had to sit on my hands and bite my lip. And still, knowing that Reaper was the better opponent, I hopelessly hoped that somehow Ethan would pull out a win. I still rooted for him. Even knowing logically what was probably going to happen, I didn’t give up. Best friends never give up.
When Reaper lifted Ethan into the air as if he weighed nothing and slammed him down, I wanted to scream. It was straight up crazy. It felt as if the entire arena shook as Ethan hit the mat. Then Reaper fell upon Ethan, throwing punches like a man possessed… When someone had to pull him off Ethan, I was afraid he had gone too far.
I almost cried in relief when Ethan peeled himself off the mat.
He was alive and he was still breathing, thank God.
But now that it’s over, it’s the worst outcome possible. It’s Ethan’s very first loss.
He must be pissed. No doubt his pride probably stings the worse. Now that it’s done though I’m just glad Ethan survived that fight without breaking anything or worse, ending up in the hospital. He walked out of the octagon on his own, without any assistance. He was so mad he didn’t even look at me.
I’m getting ready to stand up and head back to Ethan’s room to help soothe the sting of the loss when Reaper walks out. Reaper grins at me and it
feels like he just punched me in the gut.
What. The. Fuck.
The air goes out of me and my heart starts racing. I’m not sure what’s going on. There’s just something about that grin, even swollen and lopsided, that does something funny to my insides. I feel like he found my dial and cranked my temperature all the way up.
I felt this or something like this when I first passed him in the hall. His eyes fell upon me and when they met mine it was like there was a jolt. It was some kind of weird electrical shock. I shook it off then, thinking perhaps it was my imagination running wild. But now, I’m not so sure…
Reaper walks past me, tall and triumphant. Fans in the crowd congratulate him on his win and thank him for such an entertaining match.
My knees feel weak as I stand up. I turn and watch Reaper walk out. He talks and takes some time to interact with his fans. I watch him, waiting for him to leave, and while I’m waiting, my eyes start to wander down. For such a brute, his ass ain’t half bad.
Fuck. I so did not just do that. I so did not just check Reaper out.
It feels like forever that I wait, waiting for him to leave so I can walk out myself. And the entire time my eyes keeps betraying me, they keep sneaking peeks. They keep checking Reaper out.
Maybe it’s just pheromones I try to reason, I try to justify to myself. Maybe it’s all the testosterone in this arena. It must be a chemical reaction, a product of all the brutality I just witnessed. He just proved he’s the alpha male. This must be why there're so many other half-dressed girls hanging around. There must be a perfectly logical, perfectly scientific reason to explain why we’re all looking at him and I'm practically drooling all over myself.