Chapter 22
Arsen
Past
“I don't know how the hell you did it, but damn, Arsenal!” Malcolm slapped the stack of hundreds into my hand. I was a bloody mess, but it still felt good to vent my pent-up anger.
I shrugged, counting out the money from my first fight. I couldn't wait to get out of that grungy-ass warehouse and get something to eat. It'd been a few days since I could afford any food. I didn't know how I won either, my opponent was this beefy Russian guy. He had nearly a foot on me.
When things got really bad in there, I glanced at the crowd and imagined that Val was watching. She'd always been my good luck charm in high school, so why not now too? Even back then it wasn't luck. I just fought harder when I knew she was watching.
I gently pulled the shoelace necklace over my head, the heart-shaped pendant was back against my own heart, where it belonged. I still wasn't sure if I had been trying to impress her, or if having her around just brought that never-give-up determination out of me. I guess it didn't really matter.
I missed her all the same.
“If that really was your first fight, then you and me are gonna make a lot of fucking money together, man!” Malcolm was Nigerian with a heavy accent, in his mid forties. He had a serious limp from when he was a fighter himself. Now he was a just a promoter and negotiator, but he was the best in the underground circuit. He knew everybody.
In a fucked up way, I guess you could say he was my agent. That immediately made me think of Val. On my way to the fight, I passed a poster for her debut movie. I told myself I wouldn't see it because it'd be too painful, but it was Val...
How could I not?
When Malcolm went off to set up the next fight, I took the opportunity to slip out the back and into the alley. The August air was bitter in Pittsburgh. I pulled my hood up to protect my bruised skin from the dirty, city rain.
Making sure I was alone, I stuffed two hundred dollars of my winnings into my boxers. It was a habit I'd picked up during this last, hard year. My plan had always been the same, just 'keep going.' If I ever stopped, the way I'd been living might catch up. I didn't want to be around when that day came.
In the dark, late night hours, my mind always drifted back to Val. This was the right decision, wasn't it? I looked down at my sore bandaged hands and knew the answer. I hated to admit that Hugh was right about anything, but he was right about me. What could I offer her that was better than the life she'd have without me?
Vivid flashes of her lingered in my heart. The way she used to smell, the sound of her voice, all of it hit harder than any punch. Moments like these were the worst, it was getting more and more difficult lately to fight back the tears of missing her.
“That's him,” I heard whispered behind me. I'd expected some fans to come up and congratulate me on the fight, but I was too wrapped up in my own pain to face them. Scuffling feet became a charge and before I could turn around there was a loud crack. Then there was nothing at all.
The relentless rain woke me up sometime later. I was soaked through, lying in a bloody puddle next to a dumpster, like all the other discarded alley trash. My head rang so fucking loud that every attempt to get back on my feet ended with me crashing back down against the dumpster.
I didn't even bother checking for the cash in my pocket. I knew wasn't there. I only had one possession that mattered. I rolled onto my back and slid a filthy, shaking hand over my chest. As hungry as I was, I didn't care about the money. It was the heart pendant that they had stolen from me, that hurt the most.
Alone, and left for dead, I let unconsciousness take me.
'Get up!' I heard Val's voice scream in my memory. When I opened my eyes, lightning crashed overhead, and in the afterglow, I could swear I saw Val's icy blue eyes. I felt like I was in the ring again, getting my ass kicked.
She was watching me, I couldn't give up now.
It was impossible, of course. Val was safely sheltered away in some multimillion dollar mansion somewhere. But that didn't stop the familiar surge of strength I felt whenever she used to watch me wrestle. I put one leg in front of the other and finally managed to get to my feet.
I survived another night because of her.
The flickering, red-neon window lights of a sketchy late night tattoo parlor blinked a few streets over. Starving and probably in need of some real medical attention, I stumbled, almost drunkenly, toward the building. Only one thing mattered to me at that moment. I pulled my last two hundred dollars from my boxers and shoved open the heavy reinforced door.
“Jesus, kid! The fuck happened to you?” The lone tattoo artist asked me.
“Some thugs stole something very important, I need you to give it back to me.”
Present
This didn't feel good anymore. The screaming crowd, the pain that always helped me forget and escape, no longer felt right.
The hastily rigged up halogen lights and the circle drawn on the broken cement floor made the warehouse basement seem more like a construction site than any kind of boxing ring. Malcolm, surrounded by two girls in bikinis, made his way through the fifty or so business men. He barked at them for last minute bets, and was eventually cut off by the air horn that signified the start of the match.
I shrugged off my hoodie, cracked my neck one last time and felt a calm wash over me. Balling my hands into fists, bits of glass flaked off my tar-covered knuckles and peppered my boots. I was ready.
The whole place vibrated with bloodthirsty energy, if it could talk it would say, This is where you really belong. Welcome home, Arsen.
My opponent moved in on me, testing my reactions with some super quick jabs. He was a lean, black kid with a long reach, and he was much faster than I was. Every other strike from him connected. Most were just glancing blows at best, but the glass on his fists got my blood flowing.
A few seconds in, I was already bleeding up and down my arms and I had yet to even tag this kid. The old men cheered at every new cut and narrow dodge. I wasn't going to win if I played the long game. I was stronger and thicker than he was. And I could take one hell of a beating.
I stepped toward him, absorbing half a dozen blows that would have been devastating to other men. I pushed him to the edge of the chalk circle, the large men that walked on the outside of that perimeter pushed him back toward me.
I took two more hard shots to the ribs, ducked under a right cross and came up with an uppercut. One solid hit was all it took to knock the kid on his ass. He staggered, landing upright in a sitting, crossed-leg position.
I grabbed his tight braids with my off hand and cocked my arm to give him a final blow that would send him to the hospital. Or the morgue. There were no refs, and very few rules. You either give up or get carried out.
The payout for the winner was always much bigger if the opponent had to be carried out of the circle. The crowd lost their minds all around me, they were the Roman emperor and they just gave me the thumbs down for this kid.
I just shoved the fighter to the ground instead, he was done. The sadistic mob, booed and cursed at me for the short fight, but I didn't care. I wasn't here for them or for their money.
Why was I here?
Malcolm darted in and raised my arm, “Arsenal is your winner!”
I was here because I was the best, that's why. Playing dress up and pretending that life was different with Val, that was all a fantasy. It was time to wake up.
“We're losing them, man.” Malcolm leaned in, he wasn't happy. He'd gone through a lot of trouble to set this fight up on such short notice, who the fuck knows what he promised everyone that attended. “Double or nothing?”
Another fight, this soon? I'd only ever done one per night, back-to-back fights were unheard of. I took a moment before answering. Val was off living her dream, Mom was stable and recovering and Romeo would be taken care of. All my ties had been severed, no one knew or cared what happened to me now. Fuck it, what did I really have to lose?
I spat a wad of gore onto the ground then nodded.
Malcolm immediately hushed the crowd and made the announcement. The odds were announced and the bets were made. I limbered up and did what I could to clean and bandage my wounds. I sat down on a fold out stool, and was left with a few minutes of reflection.
Why did I spare my opponent? The old Arsen would have thrown that last punch and seriously fucked that kid up. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, my time with Val had changed me. I wasn't as angry anymore. Being around her gave me this sense of peace and acceptance that I'd never found anywhere else.
Missing her was already starting to become unbearable, and it had only been a few hours. I was beginning to feel like I had made a terrible mistake. I was so mad at her, that I wasn't thinking straight.
Val had changed too, not just into the plastic Hollywood sensation that I first met in the lobby of her father's apartment a few months back, but back into the old Val. Every minute I spent with her made me remember how amazing that girl from high school was, and how she was worth risking everything for.
The air horn sounded, stealing away my introspection. I looked up to see not one, but two men take their shirts off and enter the circle. I glanced back at Malcolm, narrowing my eyes in a hateful glare. He shook his and mouthed the words 'double or nothing'.
Malcolm, you bastard. I thought he simply meant a second fight, not two opponents! It made me wonder who Malcolm had bet his own money on. He was probably still pissed about me bailing on him last time. I reminded myself that I didn't have any friends left, especially not here where money was involved.
I got off my little stool and stepped into the circle. Both men charged me right away, trying to get to either side of me. They didn't have glass on their knuckles, but that probably wouldn't matter. They weren’t as fast as my last opponent, but they were definitely stockier, and if one got behind me I was fucked.
I batted their strikes away, dodging and weaving around them. I got my licks in too, but it was hard going. Every time I guarded against one, I left myself open against the other. The fight went on for fifteen long minutes. There were no rounds, no ref, no time limits and no one to throw in the towel. I doubted I'd even be able to quit if I wanted to, this fight looked like it only ended when someone stopped moving.
I was beginning to think that that someone was going to be me.
For every hit I landed against one of them, I opened myself up to take two more. I was damn tough, but even I couldn't go on like this for long. After a while my shoulders dipped in exhaustion. My fists felt like they were encased in concrete blocks, it was hard to keep my defenses up.
Finally a blow struck me between the shoulder blades, then another caught me in the ribs and on the side of my head. I could feel at least two cracked ribs, a concussion, heavy blood loss, and now my vision began to blur.
These guys were as ruthless as I was back in the day, they wanted blood just as bad as the crowd. I would've been able to take either of them in a straight fight, but not both at the same time. I'd never even heard of someone winning against two guys at once.
A heavy blow from somewhere, dropped me to a knee. My whole body was slick with blood and I had trouble breathing. I was in really bad shape.
Right then I knew that I wasn't walking out of this fight alive.
My time with Val, although wonderful, had robbed me of the anger that always kept me alive in fights like these. I slid a hand over a tattoo on my chest that always reminded me of Val. I tried to at least protect that one last piece of her.
One of the men grabbed my short hair and wrenched my head up toward the crowd. They were going to give the audience what they wanted, what I refused to do just a short time ago. All I could do now was wait for the end to come. I no longer cared if I lived or died. My heart wasn't in any of this.
“Arsen!” screamed an impossible voice from the crowd. It was the Val I remembered from high school. She wore her customary dark hoodie with her hair covering half of her porcelain face. She must have gotten out of drama club early enough to catch my wrestling match, I thought, deliriously.
I let the hand guarding my tattoo drop. I was glad I got to see her one last time, even if she wasn't really here.