RafexKiara Tangled Up in All Your Pieces // Riara

Chapter 27

TW ⚠️ Violence, mental health, depression, foul language/words
•
•
•

The illusion of the confined area in which I was idly maintaining my position was what kept me from collapsing.

I connect my glove to my opponent's face, unable to see his face due to the dim lighting in the stadium that was keeping me sane.

A bubble of nostalgia veils my vision, coursing through my veins and pulsing through the rhythm of my fists.

My calloused fingertips brush against the worn-out gloves.

I absorb a blow and fling my head back, my neck stiffening from the impact.

The painful sting of an uppercut causes my pupils to dilate.

My tailbone picks up the aftertaste of my body's vibration.

The referee glances at me, his expression troubled and clearly wants me to withdraw.

The ringing in my ears pull me back to reality, and I shake my head to keep going.

My fingers dig into the rope, which is the only thing that can help me get up.

My breathing patterns change as I hyperventilate, forcing me to squint in defeat.

My body begins to sweat, and I feel as if I'm drowning in my guilt.

As my opponent's body towered over mine, I lunged.

My father swings his fists, connecting to my chin and sudden hitch in my throat.

My eyes flicker between my father's, blinking quickly.

My lips part slightly, the blood coursing down my parched throat and mingling with the salinity of my sweat.

My brain and headache are battling each other, attempting to jolt me back into reality.

I watch him as he moves back into his corner, his gaze never leaving mine.

Whenever I was in a bad mood, I'd have lucid dreams.

I was accustomed to having complete control over the storyline, particularly in my dreams.

They were, nevertheless, always meaningful to me.

I planned to keep on, searching for the message hidden beneath what may have been nothing all along.

My wits would fade if I became frightened.

If I seize the bull by the horns, I will have the upper hand.

His eyes mirrored mine, heightening the adrenaline of vigilance.

That's who I was battling.

I was confronted with myself, and the only thing I could contend with was the concept of pride.

We dance around the ring, my feet bouncing on the platform.

Intensity encircled his expression, preventing any form of intuition from entering him.

Hesitation was non-existent, slamming us together like magnets.

I'd be lying if I claimed I wasn't influenced by what was going on in a made-up scenario.

Voices in your brain will constantly fool you into doubting what is actually in front of you.

My father never struck me.

He was a good man, but I was determined to stand up to him.

Crush the oncoming voices in my brain that were attempting to mislead me.