Troy Keller was man enough to know that he didn't know much.
What he did know was that Katrina Real was a bitch, and he hated her guts.
They'd met just six months ago; they were martial artists from the same style, but different dojos. Katrina and Troy had risen in the ranks through dojos (places of learning) at the opposite ends of town. When Katrina moved out on her own, she switched dojos, planting herself firmly, and inconveniently, in his life.
They were both level one black-belts and both highly commended by the Kentokukan Karate school's higher authorities. While Troy was praised for his discipline and grace in demonstrations and fighting alike, Katrina's fiery temper and a capacity for brutality that made her one hell of a fighter.
"These demonstrations, or katas, as you call them, are useless," she'd say when the higher ranks would meet to discuss the novices' curriculum, "I'm a single woman living in Montreal . . . like a lot of the new students. These things will get them nowhere. We should focus more on fighting and self defense and less on these useless activities"
"Those useless activities teach discipline and grace. Your response only reveals what an animal you are!"
It was an insult that fit in fact, but not appearances. Troy had only ever seen Katrina in the bulky tunic and trousers of their martial arts school. Her features were such that her ethnicity was impossible to determine. On some days she looked Caucasian, on others she looked Asian, and others still she could pass for Native American, Polynesian, or Latina. She was skinny as a toothpick, wore thick glasses anyone would find hideous, and her long dark hair was always brutally tied to the back of her head.
"Just hope you never find out what kind of animal I am," she said slowly.
It was her eyes that gave her away. Behind her glasses, they were dark, cold, and watchful. They were the eyes of someone comfortable with violence; someone who could command it to work to their advantage. The overall effect was a cross between a schoolmarm and a serial killer; a combination unappealing enough to make hating her all the easier.
"You're a barbarian! What kind of a woman are you...if you are a woman?"
"That's enough!" The fight had ended due to Kanus, their instructor's brutal interruption.
Troy's behavior had been exemplary for the five years Kanus had known him, but since the day young Katrina had walked in and announced that she would like to train with them, the two of them had been at each other's throats.
When Troy was leading warm-ups, Katrina was grumbling and cursing his harsh discipline and regimented silence. While Katrina was cracking jokes during some of the harsher exercises, Troy stood and seethed. When Kanus put them together to train, they did so in silence, their eyes shooting darts at each other with a tension that every other student in the room could all but feel. Occasionally, during choreographed fight routines, one of their arms or legs would 'slip,' planting a firm blow in faces, stomachs, and in poor Troy's case, his groin. If one of them made a mistake, the other took the liberty of pointing it out, and that always resulted in a fight.
"There's something about one that seems to bring out the worst in the other," one brown belt said to another over a beer.
"Any clue how many push ups they've gotten for all the fighting they've done?"
"By my count, let's see . . . two classes a week . . . ten push ups for every offense . . . the session started three weeks ago . . . I'd say at least two hundred"
"Sounds like love to me."
"You're a hopeless romantic, Aries."
"And you are full of crap, Ralph, if I were a romantic, I wouldn't pay some sadist to boss me around, exercise me and make me beat people up."
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Stubborn as Mules (Romantic #SPG)
RomanceSHORT STORY. COMPLETED. "The two had strong personalities and were stubborn as mules. Neither of them was going anywhere...and everyone suffered because of it, particularly the two parties involved." Katrina, the hot-headed modern woman fighter who'...
