Romani Noor is an aspiring chemist- well, possible ex-chemist, after she can no longer afford the rise in her university tuition fees.
Her best friend and sister, Juno, is living across the country with her wife, sending Romani occasional cheques t...
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"Attack!" Easton yells at me from the edge of the training mat, "You can't be on defence the entire fight! Grow some balls boy!" He scolds and I clench my jaw.
I make eye contact with the much older boy I'm sparring with. He smirks at me smugly and my rage only builds.
His hands are poised upwards, readying to strike me which leaves his midriff open.
I don't hesitate at the opening, launching forward and upper cutting him straight to his ribs.
He yowls in pain, gritting his teeth at me in my sudden attack. I refrain from smirking back; I hadn't won just yet.
A familiar comforting voice calls out from across the room, "2-3-2 move, Val! Like we practised!" Slater calls from where he's stationed by the boxing gear.
I see Easton glance over approvingly before watching our fight again intently.
Easton loves Slater, he's his favourite fighter and biggest money maker. I'm sure adding me to his team was nothing but a pleasure, and smart financial investment.
I don't waste time, as soon as I hear Slater's call, I follow through on our practised move.
The older boys' hands had lowered defensively to his torso after my strike, leaving his head open and vulnerable.
I strike again, following through on the moves for the stunt Slater taught me.
2-3-2, head, throat, head. All in a succinct pattern.
My fist strikes the boys head unexpectedly, disorienting him as he stumbles, head swinging to the side and bearing me his throat.
As soon as the vulnerable flesh of his neck is exposed, I attack his throat, my fist clashing down and blowing the air from his lungs.
He coughs and splutters, almost on the ground, but I revert back to the last move in the formation, striking his head yet again to finish him off.
He topples to the ground, wheezing, tapping on the mat frantically as his sign of defeat.
The move all happened within the span of 3 seconds, though it felt slowed down as I parried my way through the moves.
I didn't realise how winded I was, standing above the boy with my chest heaving, my ears tuning back into my surroundings, picking up on the clapping from my small audience.
"That's my boy!" Easton cheers, making me puff my chest a little at the praise. It was nice to hear.
But it's not his praise I want to hear. My eyes instinctively search for Slater.
I find him, his gloved hands crossed against his bare sweaty chest as he watches me with a proud smile.
I can't control my face when I smile back at him, chest inflating with glee at his approval.
