❝He can have heart, he can hit harder and he can be stronger, but there’s no fighter smarter than me.❞
-Floyd Mayweather
“So, are you actually gonna run anytime soon?”
“Huh?”
“Like, do your run. Because I need to, and I usually follow after you.” I nod, and begin a slight jog. I know Everett will annoy me in any way possible, so I choose to ignore him, once again.
But it’s a hard task.
“So you won’t tell me about Karen, hm?” He ponders for a bit, and then comes up with another question to stab me with. “Why don’t you like being called Delaney?”
I laugh a bit, but try to keep it to myself. It’s comical, how obliviously annoying and almost invading he can be, but I feel that if I show even a bit of laughter, he’ll take it the wrong way.
“It’s a long story,” I sigh, speeding up a bit, “and it has to do with her.”
“Who, Karen?” I nod. “Well, at least you’re telling me a bit. Next question-”
“What is this, a quiz?” I don’t feel like having a social hour, but I’ve obviously given into Everett a bit. Not a lot, he hasn’t won me over quite yet.
“How about this, for every question you answer, I’ll give you a weak spot of hers. Your opponent.”
“Not this again.” I groan. I don’t feel like interpreting his random “suggestions.”
I cover my ears when he begins to speak, but I can still make out what he says. I uncover them.
“Never put your arms beneath her shoulders. They’re her strong spot, she has biceps made of steel. She’ll crush your puny little hands.”
“Right, okay, but that’s probably her weak spot. You’re just lying to me to make me avoid there.”
“Alright, if that’s what you think of me.” I begin to pick up my pace to a full on run.
“Or maybe you’re telling me that so I’ll think you’re lying, and go there as if it’s a weak spot, when you were lying about lying!”
“Why don’t you have any friends?” I’m taken aback. I’m fairly antisocial, but it’s not fair to ask that question. “I mean, I don’t know that specifically, but I can guess. You never have anyone over. To be honest, I didn’t like you at all when we first met. Why are you so antisocial?”
I can’t believe I blurt out what I do next. Maybe it’s because I’ve been holding it in all this time, and maybe it’s because I need him to shut up, but either way, I just do it without thinking fully. It’s not a lot of information, but it’s enough to get him questioning.
“Everett, maybe it’s not just that I’m antisocial. Maybe there’s something else that’s holding me down that I just don’t want to explain to people.” I stop running. I pretend that it’s to check my heart rate, but really, I’m running out of breath. “After-after people found out about it, they questioned if I was really ‘safe’ to be around. And I didn’t want them to. So I just stopped all communications, to make them feel safe.”
He stands, mouth open.
We just want everyone to be safe, Lane.
Safe.
“What happened?”
“The thing before that? It, um, well, I don’t feel like saying. Shit, I’ve told you too much.”
“No. Tell me what happened.”
I shake my head without actually realizing any of my surroundings.
“I-I can’t. I’m sorry, Everett.”
I turn around and begin to jog home. He sprints after me, so I pick up my pace.
“Lane, just tell me what freaking happened!”
He catches me and grabs ahold of my arm, spinning me towards him.
“Just tell me.”
“I can’t.”
He’s squeezing my arm, like maybe if he squeezes hard enough, it’ll just pop out.
“Let go.”
There’s no escape. He’s got me locked in, he’s trying to grab me and I’m just trying to squirm free and the walls are closing in and-
Delaney, please, let me love you, sweety…
No.
I take my free hand and smack it across his face.
He lets go of me, and I feel free.
I realize what I’ve done. He’s holding his face, and it’s red from the smack mark. A wave of guilt washes over me, and I immediately regret my actions.
“Everett- I- I’m so sorry.” I take both hands and cover my mouth. I can’t believe what I’ve done. “I don’t know why, I just-”
“Lane, it’s okay. I understand.”
“No, I shouldn’t of done that, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I trail off, continuing.
“It’s okay! Jesus, Lane, I get it!”
“No,” I whisper, now talking to myself more than to him. “you really don’t.”
Because what I’ve just done is an action I’ve been trying to correct for almost a year.
AN: What are your predictions? Who is Karen? What happened between them?
YOU ARE READING
Fight Like a Girl
Short StoryLane has a list of everything she loves most hanging over her bed, and it goes a little like this: "1. My dad 2. Boxing 3. Feminism" If Lane wants to stick to what she loves, she may just have to fight, well, like a girl for it- because girls fight...
