Forever the Fighter

1. Kylie or Scarlett?

TRAILER MADE BY DEPRIVATION

CURRENTLY MAJORLY EDITTING BE WARNED. I AM EDITTING CHAPTER 2 RIGHT NOW.

Welcome to Forever the Fighter, a story with with confusing plot twists at every corner, random hot guys that appear out of nowhere(but are there for a purpose), and a girl who no one really understands. This is my first story on the website and I hope you enjoy:) This is about to go under major editting(probably not until I finish the story) so I'm really sorry about any mistakes.

Scarlett is basically whoever you want her to be, but if you need someone to base the story, think maybe a younger Jena Malone. 

Also, yes I made the cover, that's why there's no dedication.

A/N I promise it gets better. The first few chapters are a little ehh and short, but I've hopefully gotten better. I'll edit the whole story once I'm done. Happy reading and enjoy Forever the Fighter :)

Playlist for Chapter UNO:

Back In Black-AC/DC

Rock N' Roll Train-AC/DC

Chapter 1

Jab. Cross. Hook. Kick. I told myself over and over again. My arms ached. My back was sore. My hands were sweaty. My calves burned. But I couldn't stop. I wouldn't stop.

I finally felt the need for water, so I let the punching bag swing back and forth like a pendulum. The gym was empty, with me as the exception. The silence could drive someone insane, but I've gotten used to it from coming here daily. I chugged down my water bottle, and sat on the  old, dusty mat. I started my 100 push ups.

Down. Up. Breathe. Down. Up. Breathe. The pattern continued 100 times. I felt the heat rushing towards my face. Sweaty palms, and heavy breathes took over, and that was the only sound in the entire gym. My sweat dripped to the floor from off my reddened face.

I was tired. Finally.

Walking into the locker room, I stripped off my damp clothes and showered. I switched my muscle tank and shorts for a hoodie and jeans. I combed my long fine dark hair out, and pulled it into a bun tight bun sercured on the top of my head/ I slipped on some fake glasses that did a good job of hiding my face. My contacts were put in, so I was unrecognizable. I grabbed my old, beat up messenger bag, and headed out.

To the people who noticed me walking down the sidewalk, I was just an average girl. A high school student, who looks like they've just came back from hours of studying. The gym was right behind the library, which I honestly haven't been to in ages. 

Not hours of training and working out.

I didn't look like Scar, the infamous street fighter with no mercy. The one with those cold, icey purple eyes.

I looked like Kylie. A regular old school girl, with soft brown eyes. And that was the person I wish I was/

Except I wasn't. I was Scarlett, nickname, Scar. I am a street fighter. I used to do it to make money to support me and my brother.

I still do it for that reason.

Except now I'm addicted. 

Just like that kid at school. The one that always shows up high? The one your parents tell you to stay away from?

That's me. Except replace weed with fighting. Actually, that's a terrible metaphor. Scratch that. 

I rushed home, anxious to get back before my brother got home from school. My school ended at 2, yet I usually leave after lunch because all my classes after lunch are unnessesary.