Page 3 of Expressionate
Unspoken Rule 1.Corbin's eyes land on a bit of blood drying on my lip. Yeah, he had a cruel punch.No one is your friend.I look at the bruise quickly forming on his cheek. So doI.
Unspoken Rule 2.The roar of the crowd is almost deafening as we slowly pace around the cage.If you can get out without killing someone, do it. If you can't, don't cry about it. They were already dead to begin with.I watch the way Corbin's feet move, knowing we're merely staving off the inevitable. One of us is going down tonight, and I'm damn sure going to walk out of here on my own two fucking legs. So, it's not going to beme.
Unspoken Rule 3.Corbin and I attack again at the same time, our muscles tensing, our bodies bunching. I slam my fist into his face again and blood spurts from his nose. He slams his fist into my temple and I see stars.Neverapologize for anything that happens in thecage.
Corbin manages to get me to the ground and he mounts me, fists swinging. I put up my forearms and try to block as much as I can, but it's nearly impossible. I gasp for breath, but with the big bastard sitting on my ribs, it's hard to draw in a decent one. In one last desperate attempt to get out from under him, I lay back completely, keeping my forearms over my face and bring my legs up, crossing my ankles in front of his neck, jerking him back anddown.
Together, we roll to the side and break out of each other's holds. Before he can get even a foot away, I grab his head by the hair and slam his face into my knee. I can feel his teeth crack over my knee cap as they cut into my bare skin. For this match, we're only wearing shorts, our sweaty upper bodies on full display. I don't let the image of the cigarette burns on his chest stop me from slamming his face repeatedly. After a few more on my knee, I stop and force him to the ground, slamming it into the concrete floor. Despite Corbin's weight, despite his size and strength, after several more double taps to the floor, he's out for thecount.
I'm breathing heavy, covered in blood and sweat and new bruises as I stand up. The crowd roars, half in disappointment and half in exuberance. Money changes hands swiftly as someone comes into the cage and removes Corbin's slack body. I'm tired, aching, and hungry as I slowly walk toward my side of the cage. When I get there, my dad's talking to one of the big shots who runs this place; an older man with dark gray hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and a scar running down the side of his f’ugly face. Dad doesn't open the cagedoor.
"Hey," I slap my hands on the metal wiring of the cage, "are we leaving orwhat?"
Dad looks at me as f’ugly face shoots me an unreadable look and walks away. "There's another fight," Dadbegins.
I shake my head. "Not tonight," I say, "I don't want to chanceit."
Dad doesn't smile or try to wheedle me. I can only talk back so much, I've come to know, but usually he doesn't mind trying to convince me. Because usually, it's not hard. He knows all the right buttons to push, or really, the one button he has to push – Ally. He doesn't do that this time, though; he just cuts me a look that I do not like atall.
"You're staying in for another round," hesays.
"What? No!" I slap my open, cut up, palms on the cage gateagain.
"It's double the pay," he says as the gate behind me opensup.
"Why?" I demand, not looking behind me. The fight hasn't started yet. It doesn't start until the other gate closes. I listen intently for the sound of the lock clicking in place. It doesn't, not yet. "Why is it double?" Iask.
Dad doesn't reply, he just takes a step back and hardens his face. The lock clicks behind me and I whirl around, fists up and at the ready with my back pressed against the metalwiring.
Oh, fuck me. I think. The guy that's standing across the cage from me is in sneakers, a ratty t-shirt, and holy jeans. He looks skinny as fuck, wide-eyed, and confused. They think I'm gonna kill him; that's why it's double the pay. Poor guy doesn't even seem to know where he is. His face is bruised to hell, his eyes sunken in even further than Corbin's had been, and he's obviously gaunt under his clothes. They practically hang off him like he's a motherfucking wire hanger. His pupils are dilated and that's when I realize he's high. I don't want to do this. I take a stepback.
“What the fuck are you doing, boy?” my father snaps at me. “Get in there. This should be a piece of cake foryou!”
I shake my head. My eyes burn as the noise from the crowd echoes in my ears. “You’ll do this,” I hear my dad say. “You’ll do this or I swear to God I’ll put Ally on every corner from here to fucking TegaKay.”
A hole opens up in my chest. I know he’ll do it. He so rarely threatens it, but I know he’s serious because that’s how Mom got hooked on drugs. Because of me. After my first fight. I refused to go back. I threw up. I bled. I cried. And he tied me to the kitchen chair while he shot Mom in the arm with a needle that glinted under the dull kitchenlight.
“This is what you made me do, boy,” he said. “If you don’t fight, this is what happens to yourfamily.”
Mom had been too drunk to care. Maybe when she had just been a drunk, she could have gotten better. But now she was a drunk and an addict and it was all my damn fault. I won’t let anything bad happen to Ally. She’s the only good thing I gotleft.
So, I take a deep breath and take a step toward the poor bastard about to become acquainted with my fist. I fall deep into the hole in my chest and let it swallow me up. I don’t close my eyes when my fist connects with his face. I don’t blink as he struggles pathetically under me. I’m not a fucking killer. I’m not a fucking killer. I’m not a fucking killer. I repeat it over and over again. Every time I punch the kid, I say it tomyself.
When it's all said and done and the high as a kite "fighter" is down and out, I stop. The crowd is roaring for me to do it. To kill him. To end it all. I shake my head and retreat to the cage door where my dad's practically frothing at the mouth. "You had him!" he yells at me as we collect our cash and leave. "You could have snapped his neck like a fucking twig. It was easy. That was the easiest damned fight you could’vehad."
"I don't care," I snap back, opening the car door and climbing in. I slam the door harder than necessary, but in no time at all Dad is on the other side, his face beat red as he prepares to lay into meagain.
"You threw that damn fight, you punk ass bitch!" He cranks the engine. Surprisingly, it sputters to life on the firstcrank.
“I won, didn’t I?” My words fall on deafears.
“You didn’t win, you pussied out,” he snaps and then off he goes, on another rant about how ungrateful I am. How worthless I am. I can’tdisagree.
As the car turns out onto the street, I close my eyes and picture Ally, all golden curls and sweet smiles. I can't wait to get home so I can wash off the blood and then read her a bedtime story. It'll be shitty, and she'll hate it, but then will come the lullaby, and that's always her favorite part. Because despite my bloody fists and bruises, when I sing, all the pain comes out and Ally tells me that it’s beautiful. Who am I to tell her it’snot?
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Love
