Alyssa
Running down the alley, I turn and continue down the backstreets until I come to a small dark path. The back entrance of The Madhouse isn’t very well lit, but I’ve been there plenty of times before, I’d know which direction to go even if I was blindfolded.
One thought rushes around my mind.
I’m late.
My trainer is going to kill me. My fight is scheduled to start at 9.15pm. Without even looking at my watch, I know for a fact by the crowds of people starting to gather around that it has to be past nine as I’m flying through the door and down the dingy corridor.
Tonight’s fight is an important one, but I just couldn’t get out of the apartment. My mom was hounding me, even more than usual and just wouldn’t let me leave without hearing her drunken ramblings. Unfortunately for me, it’s a typical occurrence of which I try to avoid at all costs.
This fight is a big one for me. It’s not my norm, in my eyes it’s a step up and one that I’d been trying to get Stefan to arrange for months. The stakes are high, the odds stacked against me - meaning a big payout for me if I win. While I manage the rent, bills and a small savings pot on my average winnings, it wasn’t going to be enough to cover the cost of college.
Tonight’s fight I’ve been matched with a guy.
I’ve never had an official match against a guy before. That’s not to say I’ve never fought one, just not here. Even in our organization it’s rare, taboo even. Unfortunately, the organizers won’t just match you up with anyone. We have to be in the same weight class and of a similar experience level. It’s only when we have no other opponents that they start considering male-female matches.
The chick I was supposed to be fighting tonight pulled out at the last minute. I heard a rumor that she tore her achilles, or more accurately another fighter tore it for her. Nothing would surprise me in this game, where money is involved there’s no telling what another person will do to win.
Honestly, you’d think the seedy guys upstairs would prefer the higher stakes that come with these matches but apparently they’re ‘a cause for trouble’. Even they’re reluctant to see a man beating on a woman, no matter how professional the fight. But by the end of the night their smug smiles and wads of money gripped within their fat hands are all I see.
Times are changing. I’m finally getting the fight I want, the fight I’ve lobbied for for months. I need this fight, and I’m more than confident in my skills that I can win.
As I get closer to the changing room, a pissed off Stefan comes into view. Of course he’s waiting for me, or more accurately, waiting to yell at me. At least I know he doesn’t have much time to berate me before the match. I raise my brow and fight the urge to roll my eyes by immediately cutting off his screaming fit before it even starts, I say the one excuse that will shut him up.
“Mom.”
Between Stefan and I, that’s all we need to say. One word to cause instant silence, and understanding. He knows me well, and is the only person in my life that’s stuck around long enough to understand my situation completely. He knows all about my mother - and not just the stories I’ve told him, he’s caught the live act too.
It was true that he’s been there through everything, all the ups and downs. The first year of high school, things got so bad that he and his wife offered to take me in. While I’d always wanted nothing more than to come home to loving parents such as Stefan and Karlene, they had three boys. While I loved them like I would my own brothers, I couldn’t put more strain on their lives.
They’re the family that had chosen me, not because of blood or marriage, just simply because they wanted to.
Stefan was my father’s closest friend. I was young when he died, I have almost no memories of him, only the stories and photos from Stefan. After the motorcycle accident that took my father’s life, Stefan really stepped up for me.
Stefan offers me a nod and an understanding smile. Finishing wrapping my hands, he hands me the worn skipping rope. “Warm up quickly. You have five minutes.”
And so, that’s what I do.
When my five minutes are up I'm changed, ready and heading out to the cage. The cage is exactly how it sounds, it’s surrounding walls are chain metal and once the door shuts, that’s it. The only way out is by knockout or forfeit.
Headguard in place, I pause outside the cage to re-wrap my right hand once again. I like to be a hundred percent certain that I’ve got my power shot locked up tight. Shoddy protection causes injuries, and with my livelihood on the line, I just can’t afford to take any risks.
As I hear my name echoing through the room, I step forward into the cage as the crowd starts to roar allowing my confidence to grow.
James, my opponent, already stands opposite me, a team behind him and a smug smirk on his face. I have to resist rolling my eyes at how sexist I already know him to be. Just like every other guy I meet, he thinks that he has the upper hand because I’m female.
He might want to have a chat with the last person that underestimated me.
The match is ideally made up of three five minute rounds, but the fight only ends with a knock out or forfeit. If that doesn’t happen by the time the clock runs out we keep going. It’s as many rounds as it takes.
I’m not so good with holding them down for a forfeit, so my best bet is a knockout.
James scans the crowd, his fans cheering him on and he raises both arms above his head. It must be nice.
While I know there’s few who actually come out to watch me, I know without a doubt there’s none of my family or friends out there cheering my name. My mom is the only family I have left and I certainly have no friends.
Ding ding ding
