Fear Itself

Later that evening, just hours after Avery escorted me home, I learned that my father was being called away on business for the next couple days. I got the usual “I’ll be back in a few days, there’s plenty of food in the fridge, be a good girl, Tali” speech he always gave when he was off for business trips, but I didn’t mind. This gave me an opportunity to prowl. Rather, it gave me an opportunity to prove myself in exactly the place nobody thought I could: West London. More importantly, the fight clubs.

Nobody wanted me to go, but they couldn’t be that hard to find. At least, I hadn’t thought so until I was left wandering around West London, doing my best to keep to myself, especially considering people seemed to really enjoy preying on me, as I had seen every time I ventured out with Avery. I kept my head down, wandering, trying not to make myself seem lost until my ears caught the familiar deep, hearty laugh I could only assume was Dean Cassidy. I whirled around very excitedly, meeting his face with a wide grin. “Dean!” I exclaimed, then looking to his right and seeing his friend. “Chandler!”

“Blondie!” Dean shouted right back at me. The second he came toward me, any hungry, prowling eyes seemed to back away. That was rather convenient. Dean and I exchanged a hug (I always liked Dean’s hugs, probably because he was so enormous and husky). Chandler, who stood on his right, was not. When I hugged Chandler, I felt bone. Dean was dressed down, out of his normal uniform. Chandler still wore a suit, this time without a tie and with the jacket unbuttoned. A small gold pin sat near the lapel of his jacket: a hollow circle gold line cutting diagonally through it’s center.

“Hi, darling,” he greeted me with a tiny smile. He was still wearing those black wayfarer sunglasses, even though it was dark out. It was funny seeing Chandler stand next Dean. There was almost entire foot worth of height difference between the two of them. Plus, Chandler never seemed to wear pants that covered his ankles and also never seemed to wear any socks, which seemed strange, but Dean once told me that Chandler firmly believe that socks restricted his creative flow, as did his father, an ex-board member (his older brother, Remy, now served as the Head of Finance).

“Wow,” I said breathlessly, still overjoyed to see familiar faces. “What are you guys doing out here?”

“Well, Blondie, the League doesn’t really approve of elite society going clubbing, so this is where Chandler and I do our weekly drinking binges,” he joked.

“Government officials seem to all have giant sticks up their asses,” Chandler commented dryly. “Absolutely no fun.”

“What he said,” Dean chuckled with a grin. “Better question: what are you doing out here, Blondie?”

“Nothing much. Just looking for a fight club,” I chirped, beaming.

“Whoa, hey,” Dean said. “Why are you looking for a fight club?”

“Dean didn’t we pass one just a block back?” Chandler asked him, looking at him, eyebrows furrowed curiously.

I gasped a little, and a grin came to my face. “Thank you so much, Chandler!” I squeaked before rushing off, though I could have sworn I heard Dean scolding Chandler for unleashing “all of his great wisdom” on me.

Sure enough, just about a block away was a dingy looking building, and the lighting was sparse, enough that the windows still looked dark. It was loud, even from the outside. I could smell the sweat leaking through the door. Though the yelling should have been enough to shake me off, my damaged pride was what ultimately pushed the door in, causing me to enter a world I had only ever imagined in my nightmares.

There were people, so many people, mostly men, all screaming, all shouting boisterously, obnoxiously. I wanted to cover my ears, but I didn’t want to look weak. The whole point of coming here was to prove myself, wasn’t it? I pressed on, doing my best to block out the noise and the smell of blood and sweat permeating the small amount of oxygen left in the room. I didn’t want to shove through, so I opted for a sparsely occupied corner, allowing me a view of what everyone was circled around. It was a dirty pit with cement walls circling them, save for a small break allowing entrance and exit. Two men were in there, beating the living crap out of each other, trying to take one another down. Blood was spilled on the ground, both were glistening with sweat. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought perhaps I had seen Avery’s face. He didn’t see me, didn’t look over. I couldn’t make him out perfectly, but it seemed like it was him. If it was, that was great. If not, well, I was still going to prove something to myself.

I spotted a man in the back corner at a make-shift table, accepting cash from people. I approached with confidence, shoulders rolled back, not paying attention to the hoots and whistling I was receiving from the men. I put my hands on the table and looked at the man there. “You got a contender for the next fight?” I asked, turning my head to spit on the ground. Like Dean told me: monkey see, monkey do. “‘Cause I want in. You hear?”

The man gave me a rather perplexed look. “Suit yourself, sweetheart,” he mumbled. “Whenever this poor bloke goes down, hop in.” I approached an empty spot near the gate, hoping to size up my opponent. The man at the table began whispering, and he pulled at envelope. A flood of people rushed up, all of them telling the man at the table that they were “betting against the little birdie.” I let out a breathy laugh, glancing over my shoulder and examining the line until it seemed to shorten considerably. I reached a hand in the pocket of my jeans, pulling out the wad of cash Avery had given me before he left me, just in case I happened to need it. Well, he was about to get that tripled.

I threw myself in the line and gave the man the cash. “I’m betting this on myself,” I told him.

I was met with the same confused look as before. “Are you…” he began to say but I cut him off.

“Do you want my money or not?” I asked, no longer with patience.

“Whatever you say,” he said quietly as he took my money. I looked back to the ring, watching as one man was sent crashing to the ground. My opponent threw his arms in the air with triumph as the other needed to be helped up and escorted out. His whole face was bruised up, bloody, and broken, and I couldn’t help but cringe. My opponent looked about as big as Dean, if not bigger, and for a moment, I legitimately felt fear seething in my chest. Nevertheless, I opened the gate and stepped into the ring. Immediately, the man laughed right in my face, laughed like this funny. I thought he would lose the ability to breathe, he was laughing so hard.

“Well then!” he laughed. His shoulders were shaking. “What do we have here? Is this my prize or somethin’?”

Now, I really did cringe. “In your dreams, mate,” I scoffed. He didn’t look so amused anymore.

“You ain’t serious,” he muttered as though the realization was finally dawning on him. “Is this some kinda joke?” he asked, looking around. The big brute awfully didn’t have much of a brain. It was the brawn I had to worry about. He was easily over 200 pounds of solid muscle; I could tell that much from sizing him up while he spun around like a teetering top, searching for an answer, at least somebody finally confirmed that I was his opponent. With my arms folded, face fixed in discontent, I watched as a grin overtook his face. “Should be easy ‘nough,” he mused, smiling too wide for my comfort. “Takin’ on a pretty, lil’ girlie like you.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes as the announcer yelled. “One minute!” The audience began cheering wildly, hooting and hollering. We walked to opposite ends of the ring. I heard a jostling approach me as people were forced out of the way.

“Princess, what the bloody hell you think you’re doin’?” he asked, exasperated, confused, but mostly angry. He had shoved straight through the crowd and to the edge of the ring. I lifted my head and gave him a smile.

“Don’t worry about it, Mumbles,” I told him, trying to comfort him, though the anger lying behind his eyes seemed insatiable. “I’ve got this.”

“The hell you do,” he spat. “Get outta there, Princess, if y’know what’s good for you.”

Before I could answer, a bell sounded. “I believe that’s my cue, Mumbles,” I said to him, and his face was fixing with utter shock, eyes wide and showing some kind of emotion for once, and I soon found out why. As soon as I began to turn my head, a fist collided with my face, sending my head reeling and the rest of me tumbling on the ground. My face was throbbing. This was what actual pain felt like, wasn’t it? This wasn’t an “ow, Daddy, I stubbed my toe!” moment. This was a “Blood hell, some brute just socked me in the face” moment, and it hurt. The pain was something akin to getting hit in the face with a baseball, I supposed, though it seemed awfully strange that I was considering all of this while lying among the dirt.

The man laughed. “Aw,” he cooed mockingly before spitting right in my face. “Did the little girlie get her favorite pink sweater dirty?” Everyone laughed. They were shouting, yelling, laughing, mostly demanding that I get up. They wanted a show. That was what this was all about. Once I could get my bearings, if I could get my bearings, a show was exactly what I intended to give them, decidedly with an unexpected outcome.

“No,” I retorted with a grunt as I tried to lift myself off the ground. He had walked away from me, wiping his face on a sweat rag he had layered over the side of the ring. Chest heaving, I gripped the edge of the white concrete and steadied myself. Avery leaned across.

“Princess, just walk,” he told me. “Let them take their money and walk.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” I said breathlessly, shaking my head. “Just… just give me a second. I need a second to think.”

“What you need to do is get outta here,” he retorted.

“Hush,” I commanded, pressing my hand over his mouth before he yanked his face away, silent now, thankfully.

I needed to think back to everything Harley had taught me. I didn’t have the strength that this bloke had, but what I did have was agility. I had speed, and I had reflexes. I also had a decent knowledge of human anatomy thanks to my father’s use of textbooks as bribes. I just needed to slow down for a moment and use this man’s extremely naive overconfidence to take him down. He was strong, and he was chiseled. Clearly, he was used to this. By the looks of things, he was probably some kind of local champion or at least the evening’s champion. I could feel the adrenaline rush coming on, the fear, and most importantly: the key to winning this fight. Adrenaline was going to be the key factor here, and all my brutish friend had was a silly idea that he had already defeated me.

Adrenaline was going to help me take the hits, I knew, but it wasn’t going to give me the stamina I needed to let myself get wailed upon like a punching bag. Movement. That was the other key factor. I needed to move. Thankfully, my legs weren’t what hurt, so that shouldn’t have been an issue. I needed to stay back, needed to keep my eyes peeled for available openings in his swings. Going back to Harley’s rules, I needed to aim, that was probably very important. Other important rule: breathe, which I wasn’t currently doing so well. I took a couple deep breaths, and my eyes met Avery’s. “What’s that look for?” he asked with underlying concern.

“I know what I need to do,” I explained, a small smirk on my face.

“If it’s get the fuck outta there, you’ve got the right idea,” he murmured to me, and I just laughed. Despite his protests, I turned from him and walked back toward the center of the ring.

“Oh, you want more?” the man jeered.

“C’mon, then,” I tempted, raising my head a little, beckoning. I want him to come at me, wanted him to swing, and he did. After giving me another one his irritating, condescending, bellowing laughs, he flew at me full force, but he was sloppy. He left his entire center unprotected.

In other words, he just made this really, really easy.

When his arm swung up at me, I veered. Staying light on my feet made movement simplistic and allowed my steps to flow. My eyes locked at the bottom of his ribs, and I delivered a swift jab there. He grunted, and immediately, his arms flew haphazardly. This gave me the perfect opportunity for my next move. Melting back just a little, my left hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, bending it back. In one swift motion, I sent my right forearm slamming into his bent wrist. A loud crack sounded, the man howled in pain, and suddenly, the crowd was screaming wildly.

The man was angry now, but that only made this easier. Fighting was a mind game, sort of like tennis was. The principles were the same: precision, aim, and focus. He had none of these, and I had them all. He charged forward again, but I predicted this, and I swung the arm that just cracked his wrist in a horizontal windmill, hammering right below his ear. He groaned, stumbling to the side. Logically, I grabbed his other wrist in a vice grip, locking tight while my other wrapped as much as it could around his bicep. While he was distracted by the pain in his ear, I tugged down swiftly and forcefully. A pop sounded, and the man howled out once more. I couldn’t help but smirk. I wasn’t satisfied with causing him pain, just mostly satisfied that I was about to prove him wrong.

“So what’s that you were sayin’ ‘bout me, again?” I heckled, getting right in his tearful face. He scowled at me, spat on my feet. “That’s a downright shame,” I sighed with mock apology. “I was about to let you off easy.” I shook my head as my left foot slammed down on his right. “Have fun tryna walk, big boy,” I whispered in his ear before I gave him a light shove, sending his massive body toppling over with my foot still slammed on his. A loud tear sounded from his ankle, and as he writhed around on the floor sobbing, a hush sounded over the audience.

As a last hurrah, I spat on the once-confident champion. “Have fun with your crutches if you can afford ‘em, mate,” I sneered before exiting through the gate and marching right up to the man sitting at the table. I reached right into his coat pocket and removed the envelope. “So, I believe these winnings belong to me, then?”

Just as I had the envelope in my hand, I felt an arm wrap around me and literally drag me to the exit. “Time to go,” Avery mumbled, obviously rushing as hungry eyes began to fall upon us.

“Didn’t you just see that, Mumbles? I won,” I told him excitedly.

“I saw it, congrats, don’t do it again,” he muttered before he tugged me through the door and down the street. As soon as we were in the clear, he stopped us, and his hands immediately cupped my face, turning and swiveling my head, eyes watching carefully. “Everythin’ looks right,” he murmured, then sighed with relief. “Princess, put that money away before you get us in anymore trouble.”

Hurriedly, I tucked the envelope in the pocket of my cardigan. “Wait, is my face going to be messed up?” I asked, eyes wide, suddenly probing my face with my hands.

“No,” he told me, sticking his toothpick between his teeth. “He hit you in a weird spot… above the jaw, but below the eye. Shouldn’t even leave a mark. Lucky.” An amused smirk tugged at lips. “Why? You scared? What happened to that tough girl in the ring?”

I shrugged my shoulders, grinning sheepishly. I could feel myself blushing as I swung my arms around, rocking on my feet. “Dunno,” I said, grinning.

“You got a little ghetto, Princess,” he joked, almost grinning.

“Didn’t I!?” I exclaimed. “It was so cool, Mumbles.” He just gave me a breathy laugh. “So,” I said as we began to walk again. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow, what with the robbery and everything.”

“The one that you volunteered me for?” he replied.

“Hey, you volunteered yourself for that one,” I retorted.

“I wasn’t gonna let you go alone,” Avery said with a tiny, almost inaudible huff. “I don’t trust the lot of ‘em keepin’ you safe.”

A touched smile spread across my face. “Aw, Mumbles,” I cooed, leaning over and hugging him tight as we walked. “You know, you’re really cute sometimes.”

“No, I’m not,” he mumbled.

“You know, you keep saying that,” I giggled. “Hey, Mumbles?”

“Yeah, Princess?” he asked, barely glancing down as we continued walking.

“Can you take me home instead?” I pleaded, looking at Avery with my eyes as wide as I could make them and the biggest pout I could possibly give. Avery looked at me for a moment, trying to give me a straight face, trying to tell me no, but he sighed.

“Fine, Princess,” he agreed. “Fine.”

So he walked me home that night, much like he did every night, and that night, when I bid him farewell, I planted a friendly kiss on his cheek, reminded him of how cute he was, and rushed inside to shower and prepare for tomorrow’s events.