Fight or Flight

His chest, sore and pumping with the intense and satisfying rush of adrenaline. His worn-out opponent on the floor in a blurred daze, harshly surrounded by a mixture of mockers and supporters who already turned on him. Some even going far enough to spit down on him. Talk about kicking someone when they're down. A man, surrounded by a thick unhealthy amount of smoke, sat at the top of the dim warehouse giving him a silent nod. Clearly he was impressed by his golden goose. Strangers slap his bare back as he makes his way through the mass. I stand dumbfounded amongst the chaos and chants as the room shook from the vibration. He blinks, shocked I'm guessing, by my unannounced presence. I follow wordlessly down the narrow, poorly-lit hallway stepping on an empty beer can in the process.

'So, what are you doing here?' He questions already pulling the tape from his bruised and bloody knuckles. 'Somehow I don't think this is your scene.'

'I could ask you the same thing.' I mutter, fighting back – trying to gather what I just saw and simultaneously getting the attention off of me. What was I doing here? I hardly knew the guy. We have an English lecture together. That's it. 'What are you in some kind of fight club or something?'

'You say that like you disapprove.' His voice is curious but his deep brown eyes are focused on his battered hands.

'Of course I disapprove. You literally have someone else's blood on your hands right now.'

'What can I say? I guess I don't hold my punches.' He sends a cocky smirk my way, walking over to a mirror. My eyes shamelessly wander admiring his tattoos that were scattered across his damp, flushed skin. His face was a bright pink and his short brown hair was matted to his forehead thanks to the sweat. He notices my stare causing a knowing smile to spread across his face. The lone dimple on his cheek made my stomach twist and tighten with knots.

'I'm so glad you think this is funny. This seriously cannot be how you wan-...'

'Let me stop you there.' He cuts me off abruptly, holding up a skinny finger. 'I'm starving so I'm going to this great diner that I know plus it's open all night so if you want to continue this conversation of ours-- join me?'

I open my mouth, taken aback by his sudden yet serious invitation. Every word he said and every thing he did baffled me. I could never read him and raced to keep up with him. He was ever-changing and ever-moving. It was impossible to pinpoint his mood or his mind. He was an unknown. I spent my last nineteen odd years being told by my parents to be cautious about everything and everyone. Including the unknown, especially the unknown - as my dad would remind me.

'My car's out front – you could follow me there.' He speaks pulling a shirt over his head covering up the small areas of ink on his back. 'C'mon.'

And so I do. Against my better judgment. I follow gladly. During the few short minutes of our exchange, the warehouse was nearly empty. The man from the smoke cloud was now in front of me. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and a bad comb-over, which clearly hid the growing bald spot. Justin, my classmate, gestures the round man to follow him aside so they could talk in private. I'm guessing so that I couldn't be completely in his business, other than showing up tonight unannounced. They share a few laughs and nudges before he hands over a crumbled white envelop with familiar green bills sticking out. Several from what I could see. It had to be several hundred dollars in there. The stranger offers me a wave of his hand while stepping past to demand that a lone drunk get up and leave – by any means necessary. Or else. I shudder at his last two words and as a precaution slightly move closer over to Justin.

'Alright, are you ready?' Justin wonders stuffing the envelope into the pocket of his sweats.

The warm fall air greets them as they step out into the graveled parking lot. I watch as Justin slings his duffle bag over the hood of his classic Mustang before sliding inside.

'So are you coming – or what?' Justin's smile grows as his car purrs with life.

Without a second thought, I rush over to my Crossover, hoisting myself up to get inside and scramble to put my seat belt on. He extends on hand out the window to thrust his index and middle finger towards the exit. I didn't know where this night was going; all I knew was it just got a lot more interesting.