Fighting Brought Us Together

Fighting Brought Us Together - Chapter 2

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I wake up to the ceiling of the changing room. Where am I? For a moment my head goes blank and I struggle to recall the events from the previous night.

I peer groggily around the sunlit room to ascertain that I am indeed alone.

Yup. Just me.

Seems like Henry was too pissed at me to care about my well-being at the moment. He didn't even bother to wake me up. I guess I can't really blame the guy. I did cause him a pretty hard time dealing with the crowd last night from my sudden departure.

I sit up, taking notice of how cold the floor is despite the sun. I raise my hands to slap myself awake, but instead my fingers come into contact with my mask. Oh right. I'm still wearing it.

I'm so comfortable in this mask that I don't even realize it's there; it's like a second skin. I pull the mask over my head with one hand and I hold it in my hands on my lap, staring intently at it.

My brother burnt the midnight oil for countless nights to make this mask. He made doubly sure that it was perfect.

I ran my stiff fingers over the surface of the mask, enjoying the feel of the smooth surface and soft netting.

This mask means a whole lot to me. It's the only remnant I have of Avan, and I'm sure as hell not going to let anything happen to it anything soon.

It meant a lot to my brother too. He never fought unless the mask is secured over his face, though many people who knew his identity had told him that he was so handsome he would possibly do better without it. Of course, being me, I gagged whenever I heard that.

Not that my brother wasn't handsome. In a professional, sisterly way, I admit that he was what girls would call "cute" or "hot". Bleh. I didn't want to boost his already-inflated ego so I didn't mention it. Of course, he didn't bother concealing his obvious good looks, nor was he humble about it, as he would come home boasting about a girl that confessed to him. Sadly, this happened a lot.

Avan got his looks from my mother, who's really beautiful. Really. I'm not being biased or anything. She used to be a model, too. The special thing about her is that she doesn't wear any make-up. Maybe a little lip gloss, but other than that, zero make-up. She liked to keep it natural. She's my idol.

My mother gave up her model profession to be a lawyer. She said that she did that my father didn't like the idea of other men drooling over her. Every time this came up, our parents would start staring at each other with those googoo eyes, and my brother and I would never fail to make wrenching noises. Though we acted like that, we were secretly happy that our parents loved each other so. You could say we were a happy happy family.

Were. Past tense. We're not anymore.

Yawning loudly, I stand up to get my stiff from my bag for a quick morning shower. It's unlikely that anyone will barge in, it being a Saturday. Business hours start in the afternoon on Saturdays, so I'm quite safe from any prying eyes.

I place the mask gently in my bag, though it's quite sturdy and not that fragile. Not that it really mattered. All the opponents I fought could never land a single blow on my face. They could never set my mask even slightly askew. I do not permit it. It is something I pride in: not letting anyone lay a finger on the precious mask.

Giving another humongous yawn, I go to the shower, peeling the bloodied (the blood belonging to both my previous opponent and I) fighting gear, and get out in less than five minutes. I look into the mirror as I brush my teeth with my spare toothbrush that I sometimes carry around. Yes I carry a toothbrush with me. Call me weird, but I like my teeth to be white whenever I happen to bare them at hapless people.