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It hits, not hard, but it’s enough to snap his head to the side and force him to retreat.
Marching forward, I keep my hands up, snapping out a kick to his thigh. The kick lands and I catch just the smallest wince from him.
Good, I hope that fucking hurts, because it sure hurt my foot.
Fucking fuck, he’s got thick ass leg muscles. I forgot that.
He sweeps into my midsection and I feel his shoulder as he tries to take me down. He wants this on the ground and I sure as fuck am in no way ready to do that. I might be fighting with crystal clarity, but I need to tenderize this fucker before I go to the ground.
Stepping wide with my legs, I let him push my ass up against the cage, then I clench up with him as he tries to get leverage to toss my ass onto the floor.
Unfortunately, that’s all we do for the next three minutes. We trade maybe ten punches each while he keeps going for a takedown.
He wants to get this shit on the ground, where he can work on my shoulder.
Finally, at the one-minute-left mark, I get a big knee to his face as he tries once again to take me down.
Rushing in, I try to capitalize on the stunned expression on his face, but I don’t get to his falling body quick enough to take advantage of him.
If was in better condition, I probably would have been able to get in some really heavy blows to his face. But despite all the working out I’ve done, I’m still not as fast as I could be.
Settling for getting top mount on his body, I sit down on his bucking hips and slam my fist down into his face as hard as I can. Hammerfist after hammerfist slams down on his arms, preventing me from doing too much damage.
But the times I do manage to connect slowly fuel that burning in my gut to hurt him.
When the bell sounds signaling the end of the first round, I slowly get up off his bitch ass and turn my back, walking away like he isn’t even a concern.
I hear some muttering from Jamey about me being a pussy as he heads to his corner, but whatever. The first round is over, and I’ve already proved he isn’t going to steam roll over my ass.
Didn’t prove much besides that, but baby steps, I guess.
I sit down on the little chair Dale slides behind my legs.
He checks my face and eyes for a moment before muttering, “You gonna play pussyfoot out there or you gonna do something?”
“Well—” I start to say, and he snaps.
“That was a fucking rhetorical question, you jackass. Get the fuck out there and score some fucking points. If this dumpster fire of a beginning goes to the fucking judges, you’re going to lose,” he snarls out at me.
“Right,” I say.
He’s got a fucking point, if I don’t do some fighting, this shit is going to drag on until the final bell and then it goes to the score cards. No one wants a match to ever go to the judges, it’s too easy for them to say the other guy’s the winner.
Dale gives my face a rough slap. “Wake the fuck up!”
Did he just hit me?
“Did you just hit me?” I growl out at him.
“No, I slapped you like a bitch. Now get out there and prove me wrong!” he screams in my face.
Standing up to get out of my way, he snatches up the stool out from under me. “You got a lot of people saying you ain’t got the heart to win anymore.”
Watching him march away from me has me seething fucking mad. That motherfucker called me a bitch.
Fuck that shit.
I’m not going to dig my own grave out there in the ring, I’m going to be the fucking avenging angel.
