Undefined Path

"How long have you been fighting?" Was the first question Nic asked me. I shrugged my shoulders. I honestly didn't know the answer. For all I knew I could have come out of the womb swinging.

"My entire life."

That answer didn't make him falter. "Where did you learn to fight?"

Such stupid questions. "I learned how to fight by fighting. I wasn't professionally trained or anything. Hell, watching the crazy shit they do in cartoons inspired a lot of it." What was wrong with telling the truth? It's not like they could use it against me, and really, what harm would it do? The fastest they were away from me and left me alone, the better.

"Have you ever lost?"

I shook my head. "Never." He looked kind of surprised. "What? When you fight like I do you never lose a fight. Ever." That brought silence. But, alas, Nicandro Naoya recovered quickly.

"That's. . . interesting. Where did you grow up?" When I didn't answer, he repeated the question. No, I'd heard him, but that didn't mean I had to answer.

He poked me in the arm. "Did you hear me?" When I continued to not answer, he grabbed my arm. I spun around so fast that it almost gave me whip lash.

"Of course I heard you, we're walking right next to each other. Just because I said I would answer your questions doesn't mean I agreed to answer all of them. Don't fucking assume that I play by the rules. If I played by the rules then we'd still be down there with Mark, talking our heads off." I rolled my eyes and kept walking.

"Why won't you answer that question?"

God, I couldn't wait for this to be over. "Who do you think you are, asking me about my personal life? What are you gonna question me about next? My boyfriends? My girlfriends? My siblings? How about the people that have died because of me? How far are you willingly to test my patience?"

He looked sorry. But I wasn't. Nic needed to be put in his place. Roger stood there, not saying a word. He wasn't even looking at either of us. Was he. . .scanning the area around us? Huh, that was weird. If he was as good a fighter as Nic, he wouldn't have to do that. Being aware of ones surroundings without actually looking at them is what makes the great fighters. It's almost like having six senses instead of five. Intuition maybe? I don't know.

But hey, now I knew what level Roger was at with his fighting. I stored that little fact away, dreading when I'd have to use it later. Part of the thrill of a fight was discovering your opponents weaknesses and using it against them. If Roger and I ever fought, it would be good. I could already tell. With this Nic character, however, things would be a little tougher. My instincts told me that we might actually fight on equal terms. Would fighting Nic help me get out everything that needed to be released?

Would he be the one to free me for a small moment in time? Let all of these bottled up emotions flow from my tired body, and let me rest and be empty for awhile? But then, if I really fought him like I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to feel that sensation again, that release. Would I have to hold back in order to savor the flavor, so to speak?Let him live so I could fight him another day.

"If you want to know so much about me, fight me," I said to him, cracking my neck. Could I fight him tonight? Ahh, what a wonderful opportunity to open in front of me. I could feel it in my blood and bones; I was ready. Nic would be a challenge that I would meet head on.

Nic stuttered out something I couldn't understand, but Roger turned to me, an angry expression on his face.

"Hell no. Nic isn't fighting you tonight, or ever."

"Who are you, his mom? Do you decide everything he does?"

Roger took a step foreward. It was meant threatening, but I read in to it. He'd put his body in front of Nic's. "I see it in your eyes, we watched the fight, your emotions aren't in check. No where close. I'm saving Nic from dying, from you killing him."

I cocked an eyebrow. I turned to Nic. "So, you're like, this kids bitch or something, right? He tells you who to fight and when, and you just do it. Huh. Didn't think I'd see such strong fighters have this kind of relationship."

I began to turn around to leave, but Nic started speaking. "What does me fighting you have to do with me getting to know you?"

I chuckled. I couldn't help it. Something in me just found this whole situation funny. Was I giddy? The blood flowing through my veins was buzzing with excitement. I could see it now. I was going to fight Nicandro Naoya. It was actually going to happen. When and where were just the questions now.

"If you fight me, and win, I'll tell you anything you want to know." Slim chance of him winning, but I had to hold something out there that would draw him in, pull him closer to he'd want to do it.

The side of his mouth lifted the slightest. "And what if you win?"

"If you fight me, and I win, I don't want anything from you. The fight is enough."

Roger must have realized that this fight might happen. He spoke up. "What if there's a tie?"

That had never crossed my mind. A tie? With the way I fight, that was never a possibility. With Nic, had that possibility come in to play? I shrugged my shoulders. The fight was all I cared about, nothing else. But even if I found something out about them, I could always erase it from my memory later.

"How about, if there is a tie, which I doubt there will be, we play 20 Questions. I ask you 20, you ask me 20. How does that sound?"

If Nic agreed to this term, he was agreeing to the fight. My heart tugged. He was going to agree. I was sure about that. Location and time didn't really matter to me. I lived off of the money that I won. What did I do during the day? Educated myself, read books, and played video games. I could get lost in any of those things, and my mind and body and soul could be at ease. My emotions wouldn't be tearing me up inside, causing outbursts and emotional and mental damage.

When a smirk lit Nic's features, I knew he was agreeing to it. "When and where?" I pulled his phone out of his pocket before he could react and began to enter my number.

I handed him back his phone. "Text or call when you're ready."

He took his phone back. "Why not when you're ready?"

I laughed, a good hearty laugh that came from deep in my stomach. "Because, Nicandro Naoya, I'm always ready."