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Pulling away from the vehicle procession, she heard the loudest car horns yet but they faded from her senses as she hit the top of the grassy hill and leapt over the wooden benches. Her breath, what she had left of it, almost caught in her chest at the sight that met her.
The flat sand was covered with people but not regular beach goers. They had formed a tunnel, making a direct line for her to the sandhills. They whooped and cheered, and some held up signs she couldn’t take notice of as she tore past them.
Ava gritted her teeth as she launched herself up the sand that felt like torture on her cramping, aching and quaking legs. Her feet dug in and out of the absurdly soft, steep and hot sand. She screamed through the pain and exertion, having to pull them out over and over again, as she rose higher, the angle steeper. Every move she made brought more agony, so much so that she collapsed onto the sand, losing her footing through sheer exhaustion. But she still climbed. Using her hands and arms to pull herself along, screaming as her knees sank into the sand instead of her feet. Rising higher.
It didn’t matter how she got to the top as long as she reached it. She scrunched her eyes as she regained her footing, not daring to look at how far she had gone or at how much was left. Her head was spinning. Her muscles begged for mercy. But she willed her body to keep going. Whatever it took.Just keep going.
After suddenly falling face first and rolling over twice, she splayed out onto a reasonably flat surface where she lay for some time. Burying her face in her hands, lying on her back, she sobbed tears with every emotion pouring out of her. She had done it.
Beneath her, she heard the crashing of the waves, the rolling of the ocean. She took a few more breaths before sitting and then heaving herself up. She gingerly made her way to the edge of the precipice, seeing not only the people that had formed the tunnel but the drivers of the vehicles pouring out onto the beach as well. Looking up at her, clapping, cheering, waving flags. Chanting her name.
No words could ever describe how grateful she was at that moment for what they had all collectively given her. Their time, their kindness and their passion to show her that her sexuality didn’t matter. The court case, her loss and her injuries didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was her character. That she was willing to try again, despite the setbacks.
Instead of words, Ava simply punched her fist to the sky. A silent gesture to them and the media circling overhead. A simple message through the torrent of emotions running through her.
She was ready.
Ava stared at the magazine cut out of Veronica Nash, the same magazine she had found her first night in this house. It was the eve of their rematch, and she sipped cold water infused tea, trying to ease the whirlwind of emotion inside of herself.
She found concentrating on her opponent actually easy. All her months of training had led to this. She knew what she had to do. Whether she could was the real story. The bookies were right to have her as the massive underdog. It was common sense. She had seen the internet chatter about herself. All the praise and the rather disgusting insults. Mostly she just shrugged it off. Mostly. But some—some of it was too hard to forget.
One in particular, where she had been accused of only getting this shot because of how she looked, stayed with her. It was hard enough to get over her own insecurities about only being worth what people could lick their lips over without actually seeing and hearing it from others. It was only one person’s opinion, but she knew it reflected a bigger mindset. How big? She would probably never know.
Punch her. Kick her. Hell, put her in hospital. All that hurt less than people thinking she didn’t deserve to be in the Cage, thinking her only worth was her body and face. Tell her she couldn’t fight or couldn’t win. Whatever. That was your opinion. But all her hard work, all her sweat, all her injuries reduced to a “Nice tits, babe”? That was tough to shrug off.
She answered her buzzing phone, ignoring the fact it came up with a number she didn’t recognise.
“Hello?”
“Hello, am I speaking with Ava?”
“You are.”
“Hi, Ava. This is Owen Gasnier.”
“Huh?” Her brain felt numb, then clicked into gear. “Gaz...”
“That’s me,” he replied, and she could almost see the smile behind the phone. “Sorry to call out of the blue like this. I just wanted to wish you luck and ask how you were feeling?”
“I’m good. Thank you. Well, as good as I can be, I guess. Nervous but that’s good.”
“Try not to let the occasion get the better of you. Don’t play out the fight in your head before it happens...”
Ava could hear another voice on the line, appearing to fight with Gasnier. It was heated but playful.
“Gimme the phone...”
“Would you go away? Go over there.”
“I’m talkin’ to her, and you can’t stop me.”
“I’m the Goddamn Heavyweight Champion of the World, woman.”
“’Scuse me, but seeing all the effort I put in, that belt is at least fifty-fifty mine. Ante up, bitch.”
“Christ Almighty...Ava, excuse me. I’m sorry about this...”
“Yeah, yeah, tell your sob story walking. Move...”
