Chapter 6: Chapter 5. Looking Like a Deadbeat Zombie

CLAIRE

Tonight was chilly. A biting wind whipped across my face, the clouds overhead a stormy gray, mirroring Blake’s eyes.

But the adrenaline coursing through me was stronger than the cold, making my body taut with anticipation for the fights.

My heart pounded so loudly, I was afraid it might burst out of my chest. But I wasn’t scared. This was the norm before a fight.

Finally, the man who ran the fights stepped in front of the crowd. I took this as my cue and pulled up my hood.

I adjusted the straps and pulled it down just enough to cover my eyes. I didn’t have to worry about my hair getting in my eyes because I’d already pulled it back.

The real challenge was keeping my hood on at all times. It was tricky.

It made it harder to see your opponent, and seeing your opponent is crucial in a fight.

Sometimes you could predict their next move just by the way they tensed a certain muscle. It gave you just enough time to defend yourself.

The hood made that difficult. I had to keep my head lifted so I could just barely focus on their shoulders and down.

I made sure to get a good look at their faces when we were introduced. But other than that, I had to keep my head away from their prying eyes.

The fact that the alley had a few street lights on so the crowd could see the fighters didn’t help.

It wasn’t that I was terrified of having my identity discovered. But it would cause more problems than it would solve.

If you’re a good fighter, like me, it’s best to keep your identity under wraps in case some unhinged person decides they want revenge.

I shook my head gently and looked back up to listen to the man just in time for him to call my name.

A hint of a smile touched my lips at the cheering crowds all around. It was both amazing and a little sickening to see how many people enjoyed watching fights.

The sight of blood sent the audience into a frenzy, and to an outsider, it might seem absolutely horrifying.

But if you think about it, battles have been a form of entertainment for centuries. So, it kind of made sense that it would still be popular today.

Again, I shook my head, all the while keeping my gaze on the ground, to clear my thoughts and tensed my muscles again, mentally preparing myself for what was about to happen.

Since it was colder than usual tonight, I wore knee-length black yoga pants (capris), a blue sports bra, and my dark purple jacket. My jacket was unzipped, revealing my toned stomach.

I then tuned in my hearing to listen to who my opponent was.

I didn’t really pay attention to what he was saying until I heard, “So welcome our next~ victim~”—he winked at the crowd—“Nick Ross!”

I hid my smirk as I watched Nick step into the ropes, forming a square-shaped ring.

He had blonde hair that was gelled up and looked as if he’d run his fingers through it multiple times, light green eyes, and a muscular chest.

Nick was clearly a guy who was admired and had a lot of pride in himself. And he probably had a big ego. Which it was time for little Miss White Wolf to deflate.

The man started to list off the rules, and I took that moment to scan the crowd quickly—curious to see who had come out tonight.

But when my eyes landed on dark stormy gray eyes, I froze. Blake. He wasn’t looking at me—he was watching Nick. And he was in the front of the crowd. Why? He’s usually always in the back.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard a small chime of bells, signaling that the fight had begun.

As soon as that bell rang, I blocked out everything around me. All the tiny noises to the loud cheering of the crowd. The only things I focused on were my pounding heart and my steady breaths.

Nick and I circled each other like predators. Each of us searching for the other’s next move; each of us deciding what to do.

But I didn’t do anything. I wanted to trick Nick. I would make him think that I found him somewhat intimidating and as soon as he would strike, I would strike as well.

I just had to make sure I saw the movement before he actually made his move.

Finally, I sensed that Nick had stopped moving. One foot was in front of the other, and his hands were clenched and blocked his face. His legs spread apart.

My stance was somewhat similar to his. My legs were in a saddle stance and one foot was in front of the other.

My hands were clenched tightly, but my arms were crossed and blocked my chest, instead of my face so that I could see his next move.

Then, Nick pounced. He lunged forward, but I expected it. As soon as his fists were mere inches away from my face, my right arm lunged out and grabbed his fist, twisted them to the side, and threw him on the ground.

I smirked in triumph when I heard his screams of agony. He was angry now. He quickly got up and pounced again. This time, his fist connected with my right jawbone.

I made a small noise in the back of my throat at the throbbing of my jaw but no other physical movement to clarify that it hurt.

It wasn’t hard enough to break my jaw, but enough to cause me just enough pain.

Nick took this as an advantage, his other fist shot out and connected with my gut. I doubled over in more pain again. A hiss escaped my mouth too.

~My gawd he throws some pretty nice punches.~ But I couldn’t take it anymore. The pain was becoming too much too soon.

Though I have taken many punches, it didn’t mean it hurt any less. As soon as Nick’s leg came out, ready to kick me in the gut, my hands shot out and grabbed his ankle.

I was pissed now. I roughly pulled on his ankle and threw him to the ground.

As soon as he got back up, I flew over to him and threw a punch to his left jawbone. Then, I delivered a solid punch straight to his nose.

A grin spread over my lips when I heard the cracking of his nose. When I pulled my fist back, I saw that blood was running down his nose and it looked slightly crooked now.

I could hear the crowd screaming and cheering for my name. Some were cheering for Nick, but not much. I could see the anger evident on Nick’s face as he lunged at me.

His fist made harsh contact with my right cheekbone. ~Dang, that hurt!~ I thought as I let out a hiss of pain again.

I am having about enough with his punches right now!

Nick’s smirk is the first thing I see. He’s clearly pleased with the pain he’s causing me. But all he gets from me is a deadly sneer.

I’m far from happy. Who would’ve thought someone so attractive and muscular could be so dumb, yet so good at fighting?

I mean, the guy was dumb enough to use his real name. What if someone wants payback? Because, let’s be real, I’ve been kidnapped and tortured before.

It happened five months after I started boxing. I was walking home and Nancy was already at her place.

She offered me a ride, but I turned her down. I wanted to walk that night. I can’t remember why I wanted to walk.

About ten minutes after I said no to Nancy, I was kidnapped by a gang. They beat and tortured me in an abandoned house for three days.

Nancy tried to reach me the whole time. When I finally got home, I had to use a ton of makeup to hide all the bruises and cuts.

When Nancy asked where I’d been, I told her I’d been sick and stayed in bed for three days. I missed four fights and lost a lot of money.

But I didn’t care. I knew I could make the money back and I needed to regain my strength. Nancy never found out.

The only reason it lasted three days was because I ~did~ escape. It would’ve been longer, I’m sure.

My thoughts are interrupted when Nick lands another punch to my gut. I double over, hissing in pain.

I’ve had enough. I quickly straighten up and get into a defensive stance. As soon as his leg swings out, I grab his ankle.

Just like before, I twist his ankle and throw him to the ground.

Right now, I’m determined to show this guy who he’s messing with.

Before Nick can get up, I walk over and grab his shoulders, pulling him up, just to kick him in the chest. Nick doubles over, screaming.

His screams of pain only fuel my energy more as I land a punch on his left cheekbone—leaving a cut below his left eye.

I can see him getting dizzy and staggering backwards. Trying to escape me. But I’m not stopping until he’s on the ground, unconscious.

To finish Nick off, I grab his shoulders and swing his upper body down to my knee. His face slams into my knee, and I wince at the sound it makes.

Nick looks up and staggers back again. Then, he falls to the ground—unconscious, I might add.

Everyone starts chanting my name because I just won.

“White Wolf!”

“White Wolf!”

“White Wolf!”

I hear it over and over. I glance at the ground. Nick is lying there looking like a beat-up zombie. His worst injuries are probably a sprained ankle and wrist.

The rest are minor injuries like a bruised chest, cheekbone, and a cut below his left eye and another cut above his right eyebrow; also, he has a bloody and, most likely, broken nose.

The bruises are already turning an ugly purple and black. The cuts on his face are bleeding.

I, on the other hand, only have a nasty bruise on my gut and cheekbone, and a small cut below my right eye. It’s not much, but it hurts.

“Winner.... White Wolf!” The man yells. Two men come and carry Nick’s unconscious body off the ground, taking him to his manager to get patched up.

I can’t help but chuckle at the sight. I’m glad I finally got to give Nick a piece of my mind. But I’m not satisfied. I still want to fight more.

And lucky for me...I still have seven more people to beat. The adrenaline is pumping through my veins. I’m itching to hit someone again.

I prefer to fight girls. Why? Because girls don’t underestimate me. They know damn well I’m not afraid to throw a punch, and neither are they.

But, it’s rare when a girl challenges me. And when they do, they leave with something broken or bleeding.

That’s the only thing I hate about fighting: I hate how these guys think they can take me. They think I’m just a fragile girl who can be broken easily. But they’re wrong.

I’ve built walls around my heart and I control my emotions. No one will get through to me again. I won’t be broken again. I refuse to be the one hurt in the end again.

Love isn’t real. Just like James said. It’s just a four-letter word that means nothing. Besides, you’ll always get hurt in the end. Always. There’s no escaping it.

If you do find the guy of your dreams, then you’ll end up losing him to death—you’ll be hurt again. And if you don’t find that one guy, then you’ll die with a lonely, empty heart.

Either way, you’ll be broken. So, you see, it doesn’t matter what you choose, in the end, you’ll always get hurt. You’ll always die with a broken heart.

***

It’s eleven o’clock now. Time to go home.

I won every match, as usual, and ended up with a nasty bruise on my gut and cheekbone, a small cut below my right eye, a slightly sprained wrist, three cuts on my cheek, and a bloody nose.

It’s not much, but it’s enough to cause me a lot of pain. At least nothing’s broken.

I leave the ring and head to my bag. I unscrew my water bottle and take big gulps. I take out my first aid kit and get out the gauze and disinfectant wipes. I clean my cuts and wipe my bloody nose.

I have my mirror out so I can see what I’m doing. My hood is still covering my face so I have to look closely.

Once the blood finally stops dripping from my nose, I wrap the gauze around my wrist and gut, making sure it won’t fall off. My body is sore and I’m starving.

My stomach won’t stop growling as I think about getting some fast food.

“White Wolf, I’m heading off now. You need a ride?” Nancy asks from her car window.

Nancy had a meeting to attend because she’s the manager, so people want to meet with her to discuss the fights.

She'd asked me to join her, but I'd always declined. I mean, I'm okay with walking. If another gang shows up, I'm pretty sure I can outrun them. At least, I hope so.

Nancy seems unsure, but she nods anyway. I give her a wave and stuff my things into my bag. I can feel Blake's gaze drilling into the back of my head, but I shrug it off and start my trek down the alley towards home.

Yes, it's a shortcut. No one knows I take this route home because I make sure everyone's gone before I do.

By the time I get home, it's already 11:24 p.m. I'm starving and exhausted. I peel off my hood and clothes, ready to change into something more comfortable.

I pull on some black sweatpants and a plain, short-sleeved black t-shirt, paired with my purple converse and a maroon hoodie.

I grab forty bucks and head out, aiming for the nearest fast-food joint.

Ten minutes later, I've got my earbuds in, blasting uplifting pop music. A car horn blares to my side and I nearly jump out of my skin, whipping my head around to see a black 2012 Ford Fusion.

I tilt my head in confusion. Then the windows start to roll down and I find myself staring into the grey eyes of... Blake Johnson.

I roll my eyes and keep walking.

“Hey Claire. What's with the outfit and why are you out so late?” I hear Blake's amused voice from his car.

I shrug. “Heading to a fast-food place. Didn't feel like dressing up,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant. Inside, I'm freaking out.

What if he sees the cuts on my face? I can't wear my hood because then I'd draw attention. I quickly shove my bandaged wrist into my pocket and pick up my pace.

“Well, why don't you hop in and I'll take you to McDonald's? I was heading there anyway.” Blake suggests casually.

“How do I know you won't kidnap me?” I joke, grinning slightly.

Blake's laughter floats over from the car. “Trust me, if I wanted to kidnap you, I would've done it a long time ago. Now, get in. I'm starving,” he says.

I sigh and turn to look at him. His jet-black hair is swept to the side, making him look even more badass and attractive than before.

Can you blame me? The guy's hot, and I'll admit it to myself, just not to him.

Knowing he won't back down, I sigh and climb into his car. I take a moment to appreciate the soft black leather seats and the spotless floor.

~Guys seem to care more about their cars and hair than anything else.~

I nod approvingly. “Nice,” I murmur, running my fingers over the smooth dashboard.

Blake chuckles. “I know. It was a birthday gift.” He replies, steering us towards McDonald's.

Wow... our third encounter and we're grabbing a bite. Who would've thought?