But I long for more chaos. More anarchy.
And I wonder what expression I must have.
I pull the blade away from his eyes to stab him twice in his arm instead, and he tries to pry my thighs apart, having dropped his knives prematurely.
Failing to loosen my grip, he punches my thighs instead, striking repeatedly, and there is that raw power again, vibrating against my bones, but I don’t want to let him go yet.
I want to show him he can’t make me.
When he strains against his lack of oxygen and pulls his hand back to strike again, I loosen my grip on his throat and push off his back to throw my legs over my head.
The moment I land, I’m re-channelling the momentum like a spring and propelling myself forward. So the moment he turns, I am there to drive my fist into his torso.
Again. Don’t wait. Pivot around him, take advantage of his unbalance, and this time plunge the dagger into his side. Two quick stabs. One high one low.
He stumbles, but I’ve already surmised he’s made of the things titans are made of. I haven’t done enough damage yet, but I’m close.
When he turns, he tries to back away, but I won’t let him. I sweep his front leg out as he’s retreating and he falls. I could use the dagger clenched tightly in my fist to drag it along his throat. But I don’t. It wants to play more. The mania inside me.
My fist connects with his face instead. Once. Twice. He’s finally starting to wear down. He holds up his arms to block, and I swivel my body to throw my foot under his weak guard, deep into his torso.
I let him grab it for now. Let him lift me off the ground and toss me to one side. I roll out of the way just in time for his foot to stomp powerfully into the floor where my head was. Once. Twice. The force of it practically shakes the ring. I finally make it to my knees when his fist comes down from above. I tilt my body out of the way for him to strike the floor and dash forward to drag the dagger against his side once more. But he grabs me by the back of my shirt before I can escape and pulls me backwards, into the corner of the ring.
This time, I have nowhere to run.
His fist drives into my torso and I can barely block it. My bones vibrate on impact again.
I’ve watched enough television to know corners are bad.
Before he can strike again, I’m dropping as low as I can, and throwing myself under the space between his legs, taking advantage of his wide stance. I turn along the floor to throw my heel into the underside of his knee and he falls. I grab him by his ponytail to pull him backwards and the moment his back hits the floor I’m driving my dagger down towards his face.
He rolls out of the ring and the dagger stabs emptiness.
There’s a euphoria in me as I turn to watch him, one that feels familiar this time.
We watch each other in silence. Each of us is panting on either side of theropes, and it takes some force to get the dagger out of the ring floor so I can stand.
I can finally feel the expression I have on my face. And I understand now why this chaos feels so familiar to me.
It reminds me of Reuben.
It’s Reuben’s smile.
“Don’t run, Mr. Veteran.” My voice sounds foreign with the smile on my face and I tilt my head. It’s so much like Reuben that I can almost feel him there again, whispering in my ears like he had on the cruise ship. Stoking this fire in me to play and destroy.
I crouch as I wait, but Olsen makes no move yet to come back into the ring. He’s watching me with an expression I’ve never seen anyone make towards me before.
But it’s an expression I’ve always seen people make towards Reuben.
One that says it’s looking at a monster.
Olsen is the first to break the silence, “I'm unarmed.”
“Ha.” I wave the knife in his direction, “Which part, exactly?”
He doesn't say anything more, and I know he's waiting.
So you realize you can't beat me in a knife fight, and want to run?
