Chapter Text
The lights in the ring are blinding, ugly cheap LEDs hanging from the ceiling that make your eyes sting. You ignored it, along with the familiar stenches that filled your nose- booze and cigarettes, blood and sweat.
Your head throbbed in pain as you hardly managed to block the punch from the woman in front of you, your opponent. Sweat dripped down your nose. Exhaustion and fatigue ached in your bones. But you knew you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t lose. You wouldn’t be able to afford it.
You clenched your gloved fists, holding them close to you and shuffling your feet. You furrowed your brows and took a shaky breath. Focus.
Your opponent lunged at you, swinging, but you fully blocked her hit this time, returning it with one of your own. She blocked it. You pushed against her arms, keeping her focus on your hands and waiting for that split second of vulnerability, so you could rear back and kick her in the side, causing her to double over and clutch her stomach. You kicked her again and she fell to the ground. The referee started counting, and you watched as she grasped her side, struggling to get up and catch her breath.
She didn’t get up. The referee grabbed your arm, raising it into the air to declare you as the winner. You could hardly even hear the cheers around you, too focused on the girl you had beaten, gazing at her over your shoulder. She was still on the ground, gasping for air and sobbing in pain. Guilt and concern washed over you in waves. You hoped you hadn’t done any severe damage. From the looks of it, she had a broken rib or two at least, and it was all your fault.
You did that. You caused that.
–
Fighting was the only thing you’ve ever been good at. It’s all you’ve wanted to do since you were little, following in your father’s footsteps from his career as a professional in the MMA. You were basically raised in the ring. It was your sanctuary. Your safe space, where you could channel all your emotions and embrace them. You loved it.
Of course, that was back when you were fighting for fun. But now, you’re fighting for your life.
It was awful.You hated fighting in these shitty underground rings, with little to no rules or regulations, being leered at by older men while you fought tooth and nail, desperately needing to get by.
You tapped your foot against the counter impatiently, gazing at the older man sitting across from you in the makeshift bank clerk’s office. He was chubby, with greying hair and an ever growing bald spot on the back of his head. You weren’t exactly a fan, but he was the one who took the bets, collected all the money, and gave you a decent cut of it. So you were patient, letting him finish with his online poker game, knowing that once he was done, you would get paid.
“Here’s your cut.” He slid an envelope to you through the opening under the glass window. You tore it open, counting the bills.
You frowned as you finished, placing the envelope back on the counter. “You’re short, by a million at least.”
The older man didn’t even bother to look up from the monitor, leaning back in his seat and taking another puff from his cigar. “No, that’s the right amount.”
“Bullshit.”
“Listen sweetheart, money’s been tight ever since the cops busted that underground casino down the road, and now they’re trying to sniff around my place too. Not to mention people have been going missing, probably on the run or lying low. That’s the best you’re going to do for a while until everything calms down.”
You scoffed. “I could make more money fighting with a hand tied behind my back. Speaking of, what the hell was that back there? That girl you had me fight was way too new. She could’ve died.”
“I don’t know why you’re complaining. You won and you got your money. If you don’t like it, you can go somewhere else. And if you need the money that badly, I’m sure there’s much easier things you can do to get it.” He sneered, his eyes wandering your body.
Disgusting prick.
You didn’t answer him, just grabbed your money and stormed off.
–
You couldn’t remember the last time your mother had been healthy. It had been years. She had been overlooked by the lesser doctors, the only ones you could afford with how little you had, appointment after appointment of misdiagnosis and lack of treatment causing her health to decline and progress into the late stages of pancreatic cancer, finally diagnosed almost a full year after she first got sick.
One of the strongest people you’ve ever known now looked so frail and weak, lying in front of you in the hospital bed, her body thin, bags under her eyes, her cheeks sunken from malnutrition, a side effect from the chemotherapy. The only time she didn’t seem in pain was when she rested, looking so peaceful, breathing gentle breaths, followed by the soft beep from the monitor. You reached over and took her hand, holding it softly.
She awoke from the contact, opening her eyes slowly and smiling at you. “Come to visit again, hm?”
You nodded. She gave your hand a weak squeeze, gazing out the window, noticing that there was a considerable amount of daylight left. “Shouldn’t you be working right now?”
“I got the day off.” You lied.
“Oh really?” She pulled her hand from yours, pinching your chin where a noticeable bruise had started to form, probably from today’s fight. You winced. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice this? Or the cuts on your knuckles? I’m not an idiot. What happened to your job as a waitress? Don’t tell me you got fired already.”
You sighed. “It wasn’t my fault. That place was hardly paying me anything anyway. It wasn’t worth it.”
You tried to work normal jobs. You really did. But no matter what, something always went wrong.
Your most recent venture was waitressing at some shitty dive bar. One of the patrons ran his hand under your skirt, causing you to throw him through a table and almost break his arm. Most of your jobs went like that, with someone always pushing you over the edge and causing you to snap.
You always have had an awful temper. Your Dad liked to say you had fire running through your veins, bubbling up and boiling over. As you got older, you hoped it would get better, but life just got harder and harder, and it made everything worse.
“You promised me that you would stop fighting. I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You have to take care of yourself. I need to know that you’re going to be okay when I’m gone.” Her touch went soft, stroking her fingers over the bruise before pulling away, grimacing in discomfort as she lied back.
“I know, but you don’t have to worry about me, Mama. Right now, it’s my job to take care of you. I just need a little more money and then I can pay for your next treatment. Only a few more fights and-”
She shook her head. “You’re always so damn stubborn, just like your father. Having to do things your own way and never letting anyone help.”
You gazed down at your lap, bowing your head. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She sighed softly, reaching over for your hand again. “I’m hard on you because I care. I can’t lose you. You’re all I have left. Please, promise me you’ll be safe. If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”
She was begging, and pleading. You could see the desperation, the love, the need in her eyes. You gave her hand a soft squeeze. “Okay, Mama. I promise. I’ll be safe.”
She fell asleep not long after that, your conversation probably wearing her out. You made her worry so much, sometimes, you think it would be better if you didn’t visit at all. Maybe she would be better off without you. But you knew that wasn’t true. She was your mother and your best friend. She was all you had now. You needed her, and she needed you.
You pressed a small kiss to her forehead, before you got up and left.
–
You sat back on your bench as you waited for the train to arrive. The day had been long and dreadful, and all you wanted to do was to lay in your bed. Your bones ached with fatigue, your muscles burning and sore, and there was still that throbbing headache you had from your last fight. You prayed it wasn’t another concussion, that was the last thing you needed right now. No matter what, you knew you had to push through it.
Your phone buzzed. You gazed at the cracked screen, feeling a dread pool in your stomach. You knew exactly who it was.
Unknown: Your monthly payment is due tomorrow at 8. Don’t forget
You: Can’t we push it back? I need a little more time
Unknown: No
Unknown: Same meeting place as last time, tomorrow at 10. 8 million and no less. Be there and bring the money or else.
The last thing you needed right now was the loan sharks breathing down your neck too. You ran your fingers over the envelope in your pocket. All the money you had saved for your mother was once again going to have to go down the drain. Snatched away by those damn bastards that have been terrorizing you for a better half of your life now, blaming you for a debt that wasn’t even yours.
“Fuck!” You shouted, kicking over a nearby trash can. Frustration overwhelmed you, along with anxiety, desperation, and hopelessness. You ran your hands through your hair, feeling the tears well up in your eyes, trying to catch your breath and calm down
You stared at the ground. A pair of polished shoes stepped into your vision. “Rough day?”
You looked up at the man standing before you. Tall and handsome, nice suit and tie, briefcase in hand…a salesman. He offered you a charming smile. “Maybe I could be of assistance.”