Hopeless Insanity

Out of the woods

Walking out to the ring wasn't really what I wanted to do but Mac must've ran back to the stands because he was next to Opie by the time I made my way out. I was met by the... ya know, I don't actually know who the fuck this guy is. Owner? Announcer? Whoever he is, he's got a black eye that he didn't have when I spoke to him earlier. Guess Gemma's temper made an appearance tonight.

"Ready?"

He met me right before I entered the ring, which isn't unusual, but there's still something sketchy about this whole thing. Especially since the guy I'm going up against looks like he's already gone several rounds.

"Uh... yeah but what's up with my competitor?"

He looks over his shoulder, smirks, then spits on the ground. He is very lucky he missed my shoe or I would've shoved it up his ass. "He won't be a problem. Should go down after a few hits."

Wait... "he's taking a dive?"

"Not exactly." I cross my arms and when he sees the expression on my face, he thinks twice about bullshitting me. "He's my sister's man. Caught him cheating on her with MY wife. This is payback. Do whatever the fuck you have to, just make him go down."

"And your sister?"

"Was in the closet with that friend of yours."

Oh shit. "That a problem?"

"Nope. You win this and I'll throw in an extra 50 bucks."

"Make it 200 and I'll get a nut shot in."

"Deal."

I shake the man's hand and go over to my corner, where Tig is standing... no offense to my friend but Kip is the one that boxes the most so shouldn't he be the one to give me pointers? Not that I need any; I am the only one here that's done this in a semi-professional setting.

"You ready Frankie?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Don't forget... I got some-"

"Money riding on this. I know Tig."

He gives my cheek a pat and I am a little tempted to give him a love tap in return. Something he must sense because he backs up SO quick. "Kick his ass sugar!"

"I will if you'll sit the fuck down."

He smirks but gives me a kiss on the cheek and does as I ask. I look over to the ref and nod to let him know I'm ready and the Announcer/Owner/whothefuckknows comes in and does his spiel. You know the one 'in this corner is blah-blah-blah' and the crowd goes wild. Same shit, different ring. I don't really give a fuck what they choose to say about myself or my competitor and besides I need to focus on getting my mouth guard in and not getting my ass kicked too badly. Sure the guy doesn't look great but he's still a solid wall of muscle; if he gets ANY hits in they're gonna hurt like a bitch. We make our way to the center of the ring and I guess I can shake his hand... or not. Asshole acts like he's gonna shake my hand only to pull it away last second.

"Think I'm scared of you little girl?"

I can't tell if he actually means what he's saying or not. If it was whispered to me I might feel differently, but he fucking yelled that shit. It's very... hmm... sorta like watching a WWE match where the guys shit talk one another. Except this is boxing and I'm not impressed. Neither is my family by the way they're cussing him out. The only one that I actually make out is Mac yelling 'SHOW HIM WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF BABY!'... I fucking plan on it.

**

Well... I won! I didn't exactly get away unscathed and I was right, dude hit like a fucking freight train. I didn't actually mean to let him get in any hits but I may have underestimated the reach of his arms. I'll be sporting a black eye, bruised cheek and side for a while but it could be worse. I mean, I knocked out some of his teeth and hit him so hard in the dick he may not be able to procreate. No matter, a win is a win. Clay is throwin a party in honor of my win, nothing huge, just the usual suspects but everyone is THRILLED. Apparently Tig wasn't the only one with money on that little fight, the others were just smart enough not to tell me about it. No worries, I still made a lot of fucking money from that win.

"Here gorgeous." Mac is 100% babying me right now but I'll take it. He gently places an ice pack on my bruised face and puts his free arm around me... it really is good to be back. "Half-sack's gonna bring you a drink in a minute."

"Thank you."

"Need anything else?"

"Nope."

"Ya sure?"

"Yep." he is starting to fidget and I'm not entirely sure why. "You good?"

"Are you?"

"I mean... other than the pot shots that guy took to my face, I'm fine."

I was watching his expression when I said that and catch the moment his face falls. I'm gonna go ahead and place the ice pack on the table, move so I'm sitting in his lap, and now we are nearly nose to nose. He knows what I'm waiting for and after an annoyed huff, he wraps both his arms around me and pulls me closer.

"You gonna do anymore of those fights?"

"Why? Do you not want me to?"

"Would it matter? You're gonna do whatever the hell ya wanna do."

"Mac."

He's not entirely wrong but his tone is less than desirable. I'm not completely indifferent to how he feels about this kind of stuff. We haven't actually talked about my taking on fights before now; he knew I was a boxer but with all the Mayan and SAMCRO shit that's happened... it just never really came up once we were here.

"I ain't gonna tell ya not ta do 'em Frankie, but I don't think I'm gonna go t' anymore of 'em either."

"How come?"

"Because... believe it or not, I didn't enjoy watchin some prick put hands on my girlfriend."

I could say something snarky, bring up the past, but I'm trying to grow as a person so I'm gonna keep it locked away in my head... I call that progress. "I tell ya what Mac. Unless a fight pays out REALLY fucking well or is for the club, I won't take anymore."

It's not perfect and I can see that he was hoping I'd say I'd stop altogether, but this is a pretty big compromise on my part and he knows it. I'm sure Opie or Gemma... fuck, pretty much anyone in the club that knows me, has probably told him about my love for boxing. It's not that I enjoy getting my face turned into mush but there is something therapeutic about getting into that ring and going blow for blow with another person. At least the fair fights are. Ones like tonight... I can take 'em or leave 'em.

"Alright but if you ever box Half-Sack he better take a fuckin dive."

Clay let's out a loud laugh that makes both of us jump and he thumps Mac on the back. When the hell did he come over here? The man is not as sneaky as he'd like to think he is... were we just THAT lost in this conversation? Fucker.

"Don't worry about it Mac. Frankie's kicked his ass more times than I can count! Kid learned how to box from her, ain't no way he could actually take her in the ring."

"I could try!" he huffs, putting a drink in my hand and winking at me... brave man. "But I won't!"

He's put his hands up in surrender which tells me that Mac is glaring at him, let me just glance- yep.

"Better keep your fuckin hands off my old lady unless ya want me ta cut 'em off!"

I slap his chest in an attempt to get him to knock it off but since he's grinning like the Cheshire Cat, I know he's teasing and from here the night wears on.

*

We leave before the party truly ends and after our long overdue make-up session, we're just laying with each other in the dark. Our legs are entwined, my head is on his chest and I just focus on his heart beating. My mind is filled with how all of this started and trying to figure out how such a horrific nightmare could turn into something like this. It's not perfect by any means; him and I are still horribly stubborn and there will always be a violent streak that runs through the both of us, but it's no longer aimed at one another. We both decided that we're in this for the long haul and though we got a little lost along the way, we're now out of the woods. We'll never get the cookie cutter, white picket fence life but I'll take the bloody and crazy one we're carving out together.