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So I do.
I catch him across the jaw. Another time under his ribs. My hands go numb first, which means there’ll be hell to pay in the morning.
If I survive to the morning.
He aims at the side of my head, and I get an arm up just in time to take the edge off. Fuck. Fuck. His other hand comes around next. My vision swims.
I duck to the back corner and keep moving to delay the next hits. Not forever. Mountain Man’s steps feel like earthquakes as he approaches.
Block. Swing. Block again.
Head’s starting to hurt. If he gets another direct hit to the face, I’ll be done. But that’s why I came here, honestly. To be knocked unconscious.
If Mountain Man wants to do that, he’ll have to work for it. He’ll have to invest.
He’s sweating now, not used to chasing people around the ring for this long. He backs off, both hands up, catching his breath.
I smile at him from behind the tape covering my bruises. Give him a come-hither wave.
He charges.
I wait him out until the last second, then stick out my foot and trip him.
Mountain Man goes down hard, and I fold my arms over my chest and roll my eyes. I pretend to check my watch while he pushes himself up off the floor. The crowd’s laughter sounds like it’s being filtered through broken glass.
See? I’m the favorite. They’re all cheering for me.
Mountain Man’s not.
I get my hands up, but he grabs lower on my torso. I’m up in the air, the faces around the ring a blur of color, and then the mat and the hard floor beneath rush up and smash into me.
I taste blood.
There’s a whistle from far away. There aren’t many rules in the ring, but one of them is that you can’t bodyslam people.
If you let me stay…
The ref’s face bulges into view. All the proportions are fucked. “Are you out?”
“Fuck no.”
I hop to my feet, which earns me a deafening cheer.
“One strike,” the ref calls, pointing at Mountain Man. He’s got two left before I win by default.
But I’m not going to win by default.
Fuck this guy.
My torso is a mess of bruises and I can barely feel my hands. Why not go after him with everything I have?
I’m faster. That’s the advantage. I concentrate on all the softest parts of him. There aren’t many.
He punches back like I’ve genuinely pissed him off, which I have. I was supposed to crawl to the side of the ring and surrender after he broke all my bones on the mat.
As if this is the first time anyone’s ever held a grudge.
As if I’m afraid of what comes next.
