Story of a Street Fighter

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I smiled, seeing that I won. The man whom I had fought laid on the ground, most likely unconscious.

There's a saying. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall." I never believed it until now.

Irish ran into the ring, grabbing my arm to keep me steady. I must have gotten hit in the head extremely hard because I could feel blood running down the side of my head.

"Holeh shit, Kaida, ya just beaht the unbeahtable," Irish said in awe.

"Yeah, I guess I did," I answered, stumbling into the arms of the Irishman.

"Whoa there, careful. C'mon, I'll get ya stitched up."

I had enough strength to look up at him, confused. "Winnehs are bandaged and paid, remembeh?" He smiled.

I nodded. "Thanks."

He returned the nod and led me down the hall, then turned to the right, and down another.

I could feel myself begin to get weaker from the powerful blow my head took. It was apparently obvious because Irish's expression showed worry as he looked at me.

"I'll be fine, Irish," I assured him. He didn't appear to believe me, quickening his pace and dragging me down the hall.

I stumbled, holding a hand to my still bleeding head. The wrap on my hand may have been covered in dirt, but it was better than nothing.

Finally, Irish threw open a door to reveal an infirmary type room. He led me in and said, "Sit down."

I obeyed, watching as he grabbed a roll of gauze and a small package labeled GAUZE DRESSING PADS.

"Hold still," he told me, taking out the dressing pad and holding it to my wound.

I didn't move, letting Irish act as a nurse. The thought made me smile and I failed to stifle it.

"Wha?" Irish asked, seeing my failed attempt.

"Oh, nothing, Nurse Boy," I teased. He grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Like I neveh heard tha one before," he countered.

I shrugged it off, and after a moment of curiosity, I had to ask, "Who was that man I fought?"

He was silent for a moment before he spoke. "Heh's called Cane. One of our best fightehs. He was theh best, until ya beaht him."

I nodded, causing Irish to grab my chin to hold my head still. "He was too predictable. His movements were obvious and too thought out."

He removed the dressing pad and held a gauze pad to my wound. Then he moved in front of me, confused. "Wha do ya mean?"

I shrugged. "Well, when I fought I didn't really think. I just acted."

He narrowed his eyes. "Even the best fightehs can't do tha. There are a few, but not maneh. And ya can do tha without any trainin'?"

I couldn't help but smile. "That is good, right?"

"Right," Irish agreed. "Ya must beh a natural figheh. Tha's good. Tha means ya will survive."

I nodded before I realized what he said. Survive? "What do you mean by survive?"

He didn't answer, instead moving my hand to my head, making me hold the gauze. He walked across the room and returned with a needle and thread of sorts.

"This maeh hurt a bit, but it's just stitches." I nodded and removed the gauze, allowing him to stitch my bleeding head.

After Irish finished, he put away the medical supplies and motioned for me to follow him down the hall. I did, still very aware of my surroundings.

He led me up a flight of stairs, then opened a door to a room. "Ya can staeh in here. Tomorrow ya have to meeht the leadeh."

I nodded and flopped down on the bed, noticing my backpack and jacket were on the wall nearby. Irish chuckled, causing me to look up. "What?"

He shrugged. "Nothin'. See ya in the mornin'." And with that he left, leaving me to think about my meeting.

Suddenly a buzz came from the nightstand. I opened it to find my phone, with my uncle calling. I quickly picked it up.

"Kaida! Where the Hell have you been?!" He demanded.

I sighed. "I'm fine. I-"

The door flung open and two men marched in. The first took my phone, the other grabbed me.

Shit.