Masked
Chapter 2: Aftermath
“Luke!” “Luke!” “Luke!” Synchronized, the chant sounded like a prayer.
Holy shit. I’m indestructible.
The cheers continued to make the pit rumble as I tugged off the bloody bandages that wrapped my hands and held them up in the air like a trophy. I watched as the ref counted out Matty’s unconscious tap out. It was only when he grabbed my torn hand and held it up in the air that I felt the rush of thrill pulsate through my body.
The crowd cheered louder than ever before, in the middle of my celebration, several medics shoved me aside to attend to Matty’s injuries. Son of bitch was still out cold. I watched as the blurry figures checked his vitals and cradled his neck in a brace. Was he dead? As expected, they snapped his nose into place and leaned him forward. Matty screamed out in agony and the medics seemed to have breathed in a sigh of relief. That’s a shitty way to be woken up.
“You really sealed the deal this time!” I felt my head vibrate to the sound of Matty’s foreboding warning as I forced my hands to stabilize my head onto my neck. What the fuck was going on? The crowd cheered my name causing an overwhelming dizziness to take over my body. I was on top of the world. Why can’t I feel anything anymore? Is this it?
One of the medics grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the crowd, I attempted to push them off, but they knew something was up.
They always knew.
I was shoved into the small room that was hidden away in a mere crevice of the warehouse, an area the fighters only knew about. One wobbly bench was all that was provided. We would each take our turns, sitting down and swaying back and forth in a nervous totter, as we each bandaged our hands. Wrapping and rewrapping our callused fists.
The room was dark, yet a simple ray of light would shine up from the stairway, the stairway that ironically led to the pit. You could say that this place was a symbol. A symbol in each one of our lives. A reason to fight or not to fight. A shadow we each are battling.
“Kid!” Pulling out of my hazy thoughts was Marco, my personal fight manager and best friend since I joined the underground fighting world.
“Marco!” I threw my arms up staggering over to the familiar face standing by my numbered cubby. His sleeves were rolled up and he looked pissed. At least I thought he did…who knew nowadays. I couldn’t tell the difference, even if I tried.
In a drunken stumble, I fell onto his shoulders. Marco retracted his arm and slammed me hard in the ribs. My body forced itself into the lockers sending a spasm of pain throughout my spine.
“I’m done babysitting your sorry ass” I looked up at him, eyes widened, my breaths sharp and constricted. What the fuck just happened?
“You need to be clean Luke. Clean. That’s all I ever asked. You really fucked up this time”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed, I laughed so hard I could have sworn I felt my broken ribs grind against one another.
“You’re done! I want you out of here right the fuck now!” Marco grabbed onto the hoodie in my cubby and shoved it into my chest.
“Marco, man, calm down” I laughed nervously feeling a cold sensation pierce my skin. My heart began to race as the tension in the room made it too thick to even consider breathing.
“No! That’s it Luke! It’s over!” He signaled towards the exit, like an owner punishing their dog after they took a leek on the new fancy rug.
“But why?” For the first time in a long time the sadness felt like cement in my heart. Weighing down the useless organ into the pit of my stomach. I watched as Marco scoffed in response grabbing my duffle bag and dropping it at my feet.
“Because you almost killed a guy tonight” He then pulled out the checkbook from his back pocket and scribbled a few numbers onto it. He seemed to be doing math in his head.
“Because it’s obvious you’re never going to change” Ripping it out of the book, Marco handed me the check.
“And because you’re a fuck up and I’m done trying to fix you” I looked down at the written amount. It was a mock. $1,000. Is this some kind of joke?
“What the fuck is this about?” I held the check up to his face as Marco merely shrugged.
“After Matty’s hospital bills, what you owe the foundation, and all the interest rates…that seems to be the right amount” He glanced toward the number and smiled. Another mock.
“And what about my fucking broken ribs and my busted face? Who the fuck pays for that?” The anger boiled within my body as I attempted to stay as calm as I possibly could. The static was back and the buzzing was driving me nuts.
“I thought you were heavily medicated”
I let out an anguished scream as I punched the cubby beside Marco. He didn’t even flinch.
Holy shit. I’m indestructible.
The cheers continued to make the pit rumble as I tugged off the bloody bandages that wrapped my hands and held them up in the air like a trophy. I watched as the ref counted out Matty’s unconscious tap out. It was only when he grabbed my torn hand and held it up in the air that I felt the rush of thrill pulsate through my body.
The crowd cheered louder than ever before, in the middle of my celebration, several medics shoved me aside to attend to Matty’s injuries. Son of bitch was still out cold. I watched as the blurry figures checked his vitals and cradled his neck in a brace. Was he dead? As expected, they snapped his nose into place and leaned him forward. Matty screamed out in agony and the medics seemed to have breathed in a sigh of relief. That’s a shitty way to be woken up.
“You really sealed the deal this time!” I felt my head vibrate to the sound of Matty’s foreboding warning as I forced my hands to stabilize my head onto my neck. What the fuck was going on? The crowd cheered my name causing an overwhelming dizziness to take over my body. I was on top of the world. Why can’t I feel anything anymore? Is this it?
One of the medics grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the crowd, I attempted to push them off, but they knew something was up.
They always knew.
I was shoved into the small room that was hidden away in a mere crevice of the warehouse, an area the fighters only knew about. One wobbly bench was all that was provided. We would each take our turns, sitting down and swaying back and forth in a nervous totter, as we each bandaged our hands. Wrapping and rewrapping our callused fists.
The room was dark, yet a simple ray of light would shine up from the stairway, the stairway that ironically led to the pit. You could say that this place was a symbol. A symbol in each one of our lives. A reason to fight or not to fight. A shadow we each are battling.
“Kid!” Pulling out of my hazy thoughts was Marco, my personal fight manager and best friend since I joined the underground fighting world.
“Marco!” I threw my arms up staggering over to the familiar face standing by my numbered cubby. His sleeves were rolled up and he looked pissed. At least I thought he did…who knew nowadays. I couldn’t tell the difference, even if I tried.
In a drunken stumble, I fell onto his shoulders. Marco retracted his arm and slammed me hard in the ribs. My body forced itself into the lockers sending a spasm of pain throughout my spine.
“I’m done babysitting your sorry ass” I looked up at him, eyes widened, my breaths sharp and constricted. What the fuck just happened?
“You need to be clean Luke. Clean. That’s all I ever asked. You really fucked up this time”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed, I laughed so hard I could have sworn I felt my broken ribs grind against one another.
“You’re done! I want you out of here right the fuck now!” Marco grabbed onto the hoodie in my cubby and shoved it into my chest.
“Marco, man, calm down” I laughed nervously feeling a cold sensation pierce my skin. My heart began to race as the tension in the room made it too thick to even consider breathing.
“No! That’s it Luke! It’s over!” He signaled towards the exit, like an owner punishing their dog after they took a leek on the new fancy rug.
“But why?” For the first time in a long time the sadness felt like cement in my heart. Weighing down the useless organ into the pit of my stomach. I watched as Marco scoffed in response grabbing my duffle bag and dropping it at my feet.
“Because you almost killed a guy tonight” He then pulled out the checkbook from his back pocket and scribbled a few numbers onto it. He seemed to be doing math in his head.
“Because it’s obvious you’re never going to change” Ripping it out of the book, Marco handed me the check.
“And because you’re a fuck up and I’m done trying to fix you” I looked down at the written amount. It was a mock. $1,000. Is this some kind of joke?
“What the fuck is this about?” I held the check up to his face as Marco merely shrugged.
“After Matty’s hospital bills, what you owe the foundation, and all the interest rates…that seems to be the right amount” He glanced toward the number and smiled. Another mock.
“And what about my fucking broken ribs and my busted face? Who the fuck pays for that?” The anger boiled within my body as I attempted to stay as calm as I possibly could. The static was back and the buzzing was driving me nuts.
“I thought you were heavily medicated”
I let out an anguished scream as I punched the cubby beside Marco. He didn’t even flinch.