She's A Fighter (ON HOLD)

She's a Fighter; Chapter Sixteen

“She’s dying inside, Caleb,” Faye says, attempting to whisper.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do. I’m a nurse, not a psychologist, Faye.”

“I know you’re not! Otherwise, she probably wouldn’t be as much of a mess.”

Ouch. Coach yells at me to push harder. I tune him out. I try to get in sync with my punching bag. I’m in a proper fighting stance and tapping the balls of my feet back and forth. That’s the thing about mixed martial arts that won me over; the rhythm that ran through my body.  That’s something I never got out of any other sport, or any training.

Training, and I’m going to put this as nicely as I can, is a bitch. Every second is torture. My muscles ached. I loved it. Why? Because I pour myself in training. Because I could release my fire from within. Yeah, I’d suffer now. Yes,  I would later on be sore. Yes, I am exhausted and burnt out, but when I could rely on no one, I relied on myself. I pushed harder. I suffered now and like the great Muhammad Ali, I would live the rest of my life as a champion.

Faye and Caleb keep on talking and this crazy man of a coach keeps yelling in my ear to push harder. It all builds up. Your fight is less than a week away, Carter. As if I didn’t have enough to worry and think about. The fight has one of the many goals and accomplishments I promised myself to accomplish. The fight gave me reason to push through, to prove to myself. I didn’t want the fight for any other reason. I didn’t care about the money, my title, or my fans. I appreciate them and thank them for their continuing support but, they knew “The Killer” not Carter Price. Not the real one.

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“Carmouche has nothing on you!”  Faye yells from outside the ring. I smirk and Carmouche notices. She seems a bit aggravated.

“You think this is a joke?” Carmouche spits the words out at me.

Honestly, yes. She’s an average fighter and although she might have some of these newbies tricked, I know better. I see the kinks in her fighting that no one has bothered to pick out. I tease her, dodge each punch she throws and fake as she tries to take me down. How cute, she thought she was gonna take me down. Sorry, Carmouche, I’ve been in the game too long.

Then, she starts getting tired. Her punches and kicks start to lag and I notice. I hear her team rooting on her. Right then, I attack. She lags while pulling her hands back after taking a shot; big mistake. I throw a single shot, dead at her face and then through her. When my fist connects with the bridge of her nose, I feel the bone break. Her eyes, all of a sudden, get wide. Surprised, I ask her in my mind, you shouldn’t be. Then we she tries wiping at her nose with one hand, I single-handedly take her down. I get on top of her and mount her. I aim to shoot. Each punch connects with her face. Her face, and the pink gloves Faye bought me, are now doused in her blood. She’s unconscious, but I’m too in the moment to realize. Then, the referee grabs me and pulls me off of her. The medical team come by her side. After evaluating her, a stretcher comes in and takes her away.

“And the winner by k.o. is Caaaarter “The Killeeer” Priiiiice.” They lift my arm up and an annoyingly big smirk is on my face.

After I push out from the storm of reporters asking me about the title fight, I go and freshen up.

Coach spots me and says, “Hey, big shot. You knocked her out.”

“Yeah, literally.” Troy says, while he he blocks the reporters’ view of me.

Layla walks up to me in my room backstage and says an old friend of mine is here.

“Old friend?” I ask.

“Yeah, uh her name is Hayleigh.”

My eyes grow wide. I let her in.