Scrapper: MMA Badboy Romance

by Chloe Ellison

  The show must go on. TFC announced that the vacant middleweight title would be up for grabs at the same event that Cage had been set to defend it. Jet Westerson versus Forrest Arnold. I flashed back to Cage saying how he didn't want Westerson to get any shine at all, and wondered how he would do against Arnold. It was an awesome match up, but not the fight the world most wanted to see.

  I hated that he was on my mind, that I still wanted him. There was still a lot of work to be done, as well as a story to be written. He may have been in jail, and no longer a licensed professional fighter, but there was a story to be written about him, even if it was a cautionary one. Cage Edwards is not the topic that I found most conducive to my getting him off my mind, but the site was on the edge of a major breakthrough, and I knew my story could well be it.

  Things continued to move quickly for me as a journalist. It helped me to avoid the thought of Cage, and give me something to demonically focus on and pursue. I sent out hundreds of interview requests to fighters, and cranked up my pace to a level I knew I couldn't sustain. The site grew, it was working. It took me a couple weeks to get the feature done right. As a fight fan with a special interest in Cage, I drew the comparison to Tyson.

  There was once a young heavyweight champion in boxing, one of the most dynamic punchers to ever grace the ring. He was ballet that hurt, coordinated body mechanics and rare physical ability that allowed for power out of this world. He was a super hero, unstoppable. Every man he fought fell hard, and fell quickly. He toppled when he began losing the fight against the toughest opponent he knew, himself. Will Cage Edwards' future tell a similar tale?

  It felt good to turn in the finished story. Whatever happened, it was done. Over. I could move onto other things, without being forced constantly to face the visions of him and I together, writhing under sheets or laughing our asses off for no reason at all. Other guys flirted, but I was straight defense. I told myself it wasn't because of Cage, that it was because I needed to focus on my job. Sometimes yourself can be the easiest person to lie to, but it always catches up.

  It had been three weeks since his day in court when I hit a wall of exhaustion. I canceled the only interview I had planned for the day and fell into a deep sleep on my couch. I woke up twelve hours later, still fatigued. My guard was down, and I was alone with my thoughts. There was chocolate ice cream involved. The over stimulation and 70 hour work weeks were a coping mechanism. My way of avoiding the real issue, that I was sad and a little hurt. Disappointed might be the best word. I had let myself get excited over a boy, and had to feel the lows for a minute. Once I came to terms with that, I felt much better. I had a crush, a connection, a date, organic chemistry, easy flowing conversation, and great sex with a guy I was hopelessly attracted to. Who wouldn't be let down by losing that before you could even say you had it? My ice cream sundae had been taken away after I only had tasted the cherry on top.

  Fourteen - Angela

  After two full days of rest and relaxation, my sanity was starting to come back around. It was once again time to embrace the grind. My cellphone had been off for a few days, and the world around me had sort of disappeared. There was a message from Bryan waiting for me when I turned it back on that would change my life.

  The article I wrote on Cage was the biggest yet, by far. Tons of positive feedback and interest had lead to its going viral. The piece was chocked full of the quotes I had managed to gather in the whirlwind. My constant content push had created a steady increase in our traffic, and the article made it explode. We were rich! Well, sorta. Our revenue for the month cleared twelve grand, something like a 1200% increase, and we were on pace to make much more in the following month. Pre-orders for branded site gear that Bryan had designed were enough to go forward with the branding idea and have them produced. My own personal site, which included a lot of the interviews and opinion pieces I wrote had started to generate revenue as well. I was used to getting twenty six and forty dollar checks for ads, so ripping open the envelope and seeing that I would have an additional nine hundred dollars in my account was pretty amazing. Things were paying off, and I have to say, the juice was worth the squeeze.

  I could afford to go out and buy myself a drink, even leave a tip. The night of the Westerson and Arnold fight I found myself at a sports bar with my friend Danielle. She was a fun little redhead who had a way of attracting attention wherever she went, and she liked to watch fights. More accurately, she enjoyed the men.

  The booth was my preferred seating, because it gave me a table top to work on. I only had a pen and junior legal pad, but I appreciated the space. She complained we should sit at the bar, boy crazy even when there were none. We were watching the lead up to the fight, a promo used to hype people up for the main event. Images and highlights were quickly flashing, and Cage appeared in a couple of them fighting. The place was loud and crowded, and drone out the voice of the announcer. The subtitles were explaining the former champion Forrest Arnold's road to the fight, and showed a clip of the weigh in between him and Cage.

  “Ooh! Whose that one? I want him.” Danielle said, pointing at Cage. “The one with the tattoos, the hot one. What's his name? I know you know all the fighters names.” she begged, tugging at my arm. She was instantly smitten.

  “His name is Cage Edwards.” I said, and felt my neck bristle and turn hot.

  “Sexy.” she said, purring. I knew she was only being herself and having fun, but it made me jealous. “I am gonna look him up.” she said, looking down at her phone.

  “Danielle.” I said, and put my hand over her screen.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Do it later. We're out.”

  “Says the woman who brings a notepad and pen to a bar to watch a fight.” her arms crossed over her chest, but she was never serious. “Fine.” she said.

  The night was going along well, and as per usual, Danielle found a way to make friends even while we sat at the booth. We were joined by Jack and John, two men in their late twenties who were there to watch the fights. Casual fans who assumed girls knew nothing about fighting, and so espoused their inherent man knowledge regarding combat.

  “Arnolds gonna take it.” said Jack.

  “Nah dude, I'm telling you. Jet Westerson is that dude!” John added. “Did you see what Cage Edwards did to Arnold?” he asked, using the loss to bolster his point.

  “Ooh! Cage, isn't that him Angela?” Danielle asked, eyes like a puppy. I nodded.

  “Cage Edwards is a bad mother fucker, but I bet he don't ever fight again. He's a moron.” Jack said.

  “It was hilarious when he gave that judge the finger though. When I saw that, I was cracking up.” John. It was interesting to hear what other people thought of him.

  The two fighters made their way to the cage, and I made my way to the bathroom. Had to get it done before the main event. Bryan had more good news and he let me know through a text.

  BRYAN- Sold a portion of the sites ad space to a company for the next three months with an option to renew. Twenty five grand, and that's in addition to all the ads we already have! We don't lose any of those. This is awesome!

  BRYAN – You watching this fight? Should be interesting.

  Things were looking up and up for me. I made the decision right then and there, while sitting on the toilet with my pants around my ankles. I was quitting my job at the newspaper. There was no reason not to consider myself full time. Dream job status, attained.

  I joined our new friends at the table and turned my attention to the fight with a renewed sense of energy. The fight started and Westerson was aggressive early. Arnold was patient and avoided the strikes, and they ended up in a clench against the fence.

  “Jet's looking good. He's about to get this take down!” John said, rooting him on. He then moved his attention over to me. “Want me to buy you a drink?” he asked, giving me the smile.

  “I have one.” I said, pointing to my water. “But thanks.”

  “Danielle said you don't have a bo
yfriend.” he said, leaning closer. I was trying to watch the fight, and his breath smelled like cigarettes and beer.

  “That's true.” I said. “I'm a lesbian.” the idea of lying about my sexuality was to turn him away, seeing as how he didn't fit the requirement of being a woman. Instead, this only seemed to embolden him.

  “Nice, we could work something out with that.” he said, staring at me.

  “Gross.” I said, and stared him down. “No thank you.” he was distracting me from doing my job.

  “Whatever.”

  Danielle was getting along fine with his buddy, and John kept his mouth shut for the rest of the round. People see the quick and brutal knockouts of fighters like Cage and expect that all fights go down that way, and it isn't the case. A lot of fights turn out to be long, drawn out battles of stamina and skill. Title fights consist of five, five minute rounds.

  The first couple rounds were full of battling for position, either fighter landing a shot here or there. Neither took a lot of risks, but the action was steady. Two men in the heat of an evenly matched battle, but it wasn't enough for casual John.

  “This is boring as fuck!” he yelled, tossing his head back to finish beer number three since he sat down. “Punch him in the face! In the face!” he said, making the entire bar privy to his riveting analysis. “This is why I miss Cage Edwards fights. He would fuck either of these dudes up.”

  By round four, the tide was beginning to turn in the favor of Westerson. He was the fresher and stronger man, and his style was wearing Arnold down. Westerson stayed one step ahead of him, and appeared well on his way to becoming the new middleweight champion of the world.

  I thought of Cage, the rightful champion. It sucked that he had lost his title without being beaten in the ring, and it was Jet Westerson who was taking his shine. The fight wasn't fireworks, but he got the job done and won a unanimous decision. Forrest Arnold retired after the fight, and Westerson was the champion. The new face of the TFC.

  Fifteen – Angela

  I had to see him. Ignoring my feelings was madness, and it wasn't helping all that much. Once my anger died down I remembered that Cage was human. The prison he was being held in was only a ninety minute drive, a trek I made on a boring Tuesday morning. Gray skies hid away the sun, and provided a fitting backdrop for such a dreary place as a state penitentiary. It was my first time visiting, and I wasn't one hundred percent sure he would see me.

  After signing in, I was handed a stack of papers. After filling those out, I was searched for paraphernalia, and then sent into a visiting area. Thick glass separated prisoners from visitors, and we sat on uncomfortable plastic chairs with a phone to communicate. It reminded me of the movies. I wasn't nervous until I saw him, hands chained together and wearing a full on navy colored prison suit. He had been there long enough to have grown a beard, one long enough to hide his face. The eyes gave him away. He sat down in front of me, and lifted the phone.

  “Hi Cage.” I said, offering a half smile.

  “You are so gorgeous.” he said, still the same man behind the beard. I exhaled.

  “How are you?”

  “Great.” he said, straight faced. “How about you?”

  “Same.” it was nice to look into his eyes, to see his face, hear his voice.

  “So we gonna go on a date when I get outta here or what?” he asked.

  “I don't know.” I said. “Why did you act like an idiot in court? And flip off the judge?”

  “I was hungover, and he was trying to give a speech. Fuck that little bitch. Where I'm from, that guy gets the backhand.” he said, going off on a tangent.

  “Cage!” I said, calling him back to reality. “Look at where you are! You are not supposed to be here. You have a brother, kids that rely on you. You lost your title for God's sake and you are acting like the judge is the one who has a problem.”

  “Don't tell me where I'm supposed to be. I know I belong in that cage. We live in a beta male society where they freak over over a little bar fight. Honestly, that shit wasn't even a problem. They could have left the police of out of it.” he said.

  “So you are the victim?” I asked, getting tired of his not taking responsibility for his own actions.

  “Exactly!” he said, smile wide like he was without a care in the world. “I'll get out.” he said.

  “Yeah, doesn't mean you'll be back fighting in the TFC.”

  “I'm Cage Edwards. Guarantee they give me an instant title shot. You think they want that boring mother fucker holding their belt? Nah, it makes them look bad.”

  “They don't seem to mind putting his face all over the posters.” I said.

  “Ha! Let him fight a few times. When half of the crowd falls asleep in the middle of the third round, tell them to give me a call.” he laughed off any possibility the world might go on without him. Like a shit headed problem child who used his timeout to plan his next dubious deed, jail appeared to have no affect on him.

  “Can we be serious for a sec?” I asked, taking a breath to relax. “I understand what happened, I was there. I am trying to get to know you, to see how you think. And honestly, this is making me nervous. I don't want to see you get out of here and repeat the same mistakes. I told you I have dealt with the anger thing before-”

  “Anger thing? What does this have to do with anger? I wasn't angry. I was happy as shit when I broke that mother fuckers face, and I was happy as shit when I gave that judge the finger.” there was no part of him willing to own up to his side of things.

  “You shouldn't have done those things Cage. We all want to flip off the judge and punch the asshole, but we can't go around acting like that.” I said, reaching the end of my patience with him.

  “No, we all can't. Are you done yapping? I need to go work out.” his happy eyes turned dark and cold, and he stared right passed me.

  “Good riddance Cage. Everyone was right about you.” I slammed the phone, and walked out of there.

  Sixteen - Angela

  Our closure was bittersweet, but it was what I needed. My attention shifted back to work, which had actually become less stressful. We hired a part time assistant to handle a lot of the side and busy work, and I didn't have to produce quite as much content because we had already built a giant readership. Freelance articles came in regularly, and the site was at the point where Bryan and I could both live very comfortably off of it. I was in the waiting room at my doctor's for a routine checkup, a few months after the visit when there was more news on Cage.

  “Former TFC middleweight champion Cage Edwards is at it again. This time, with an officer in the state prison. Take a look at this footage folks.” the news anchor turned it over to security footage from the prison, which showed Cage mounted on top of the guard, punching him in the face. Next flashed close up photos of the guard's face, busted and bruised. His lip and eye were swollen, and reports were in that said he sustained serious injuries to his shoulder in the attack, injuries that required immediate emergency surgery.

  I could only shake my head at what was turning into a very sad story. The additional charges could add up to three years to his sentence, pending the investigation. Despite his awful attitude, hearing it made my heart nearly split in two. His poor brother. I told myself not to think about him anymore, that his mess of a life was no longer my problem. The nurse called my name, and I was able to escape hearing any further coverage of the incident.

  “How have you been Angela?” asked Doctor Snow. He had been my physician for years, and I saw him twice a year for a checkup.

  “Great, never better actually. Things are going great at work, I'm blessed.”

  “Any concerns? Anything been bothering you?” he asked, slipping into a pair of gloves. He wore corrective lenses and had the type of friendly and professional bedside manner that made you feel comfortable.

  “No, not really.” I straightened my posture so he could take a listen to my heartbeat.

  “Regular periods?”

  “Yeah. I
think so.” I said, and paused. “Now I'm second guessing myself.” I laughed, trying to remember my last period. I had been so busy with work. He checked my height, weight, blood pressure, and then had me pee into a cup. Things were going along swimmingly, and then he left the room. While he was gone I checked my phone for more information about Cage.

  Most of the information had yet to be released. Only that Cage attacked the guard, and caused injuries. I read through some of the comments at the bottom of the article, and it was ninety plus percent negative. The tide had entirely turned against him. He was the bad guy, and everyone was more than willing to speak up about what a piece of shit ass hole he was. Doctor Snow knocked before entering the room again.

  “Angela.” he said, “it appears that you are pregnant.” he looked every bit as surprised as I was.

  “What?” I asked, eyes wide. It set in right away, there was no one else. Cage was the only person I had slept with in months. “No.” I covered my mouth. “How far along?” I asked. I wasn't ready, the timing was awful and it was with the wrong person. Doctor Snow frowned.