Right Uppercut

Chapter 4

The thing about fights on television is that a part of you always wonders if it’s real, like they say, or staged. I had become better at telling what was staged and what was unscripted, but I learned the science of a fight. It’s not something that’s taught; it’s more instinct.

With my fists up and my jaw clenched, I maintained eye contact with Victoria as we circled each other.

That was how the fights always started because to an audience, this isn’t a “fight,” it’s a show and you can’t just jump into the middle of the plot after the opening credits roll. I took those few moments of anticipation to clear my head and focus in on the weakness of my opponent.

I took the fights more seriously than others because I really needed the pay-out in the end. But I also liked the satisfaction of pounding a chick’s pretty face into a mat. It let me release my aggression and the stresses that hung over my head daily like a black cloud.

Plus, as the underdog, winning felt good.

Her hands were covered in pink tape. I ducked out of the way as she swung her fists at me. In retaliation, I sent a blow to her gut, causing her to double over and clutch her stomach for a moment.

Weaker than I thought.

The moment was long for me to trip her by her ankles, sending her backwards onto the mat. Her head slammed down with a thud that wasn’t heard over the male crowd hollering.

That’s when it was entering the next stage; the part where the men in the crowd splashed their drinks and shouted because it was two half naked girls rolling around. To me, it was a fight and I was going to have to throw and take a few hard hits, but to the audience, it was a show that allowed them to not have the guilt of going to a strip club, but still get some pleasure. Sometimes, if the guys got drunk enough, they started throwing money as if they were in a strip club.

I tried not to think about it too much because the thought made me sick. I returned my focus to Victoria, who was now straddling me and I tried to duck away from the punches she was throwing my way, but with nowhere to go, her glove connected with my eyes, lips, cheeks.

Yep, that’ll bruise nicely.

She seemed to be distracted for a second by the noise around us, so I took the opportunity to swing her around and get back up on my feet. I blocked my face with my fists and waited for her to stand before me. When I saw her angry eyes again, I blocked a punch before Superman punching her, sending her back a few feet. That gave me space to corner her.

I felt the tension of the crowd and Ethan’s eyes on me as they awaited what I hope would be the final punches of this fight.

A few right hooks from me and some dirty hits from her, and I saw that she was weakening. I was feeling tired and worn out myself, both physically and mentally, but I had the determination to end this fight myself, so snuck my foot behind her ankle and pulled her to the ground. She didn’t fight when I kicked her, so the ref counted down from ten. She still didn’t move, so he held my hand up.

“Daphne Birch, everyone,” Jeremy, the ref announced. The men whooped and hollered, but I knew it wasn’t because I won; they were just drunk and horny.

I was only the second fight of the night, so Jeremy let my hand go as the crowd returned to the bar and two more chicks took their corners in the ring.

He rested his hand on my back. “That was a great fight. I love a strong woman,” he whispered in my ear. I tried to walk away faster, but not without his hand sliding down my back. I grimaced as I felt his grimy hand squeeze my spandex-clad ass. Just like he did every other week I had a fight. Perv.