Drowning

Twenty Seven;

Bill liked to do this thing sometimes; he'd keep my opponent a secret, for fun. He said it meant I couldn't search the hell out of the person and worry myself about it. But instead, I'd just end up worrying about who they were. Nonetheless, it was somewhat of a game we played occasionally. One I, usually, enjoyed.

In this case, I really wish he had fucking told me.

I'd heard stories about Felix Hunnaway. He wasn't, let's just say, okay, with losing fights. The stories were rumours, hopefully. These stories about him could get him disqualified, fired, in a beat.

But right now, with him standing in front of me, awaiting for the go-ahead, I couldn't help but believe those rumours.

Because the look on his face told me that he wasn't about to let me down easy.

The announcer gave the word, and the fight began.

Immediately, the fight started heavy. It was his fist on my jaw, my fist on his. My fist against his stomach, his fist against mine.

It continued this way, almost pettily, until I was on the ground, spitting out the blood filling my mouth from a hit he had taken just moments before.

The round was over, Bill was annoyed. As usual, he pep talked me, fed me water, dabbed at my cuts, and sent me back out into the ring.

Second round.

My face was throbbing, my heart was racing, but this was just a small fight. And this man was a fucking cunt. Which meant that, there was no single fucking way, I'd ever let him win.

Fuelled by my rage, I began to take control of the fight. Harry Styles-Style, if you may.

My fists had a mind of their own, until Hunnaway was on the ground. It was only fair, after the last round, after all.

The second round was declared to be over, and after a quick glance over at Zahara, who looked anxious in her seat, I was watered, dabbed, and cleaned.

"Much better that time, Haz. You've got this. I don't like the way he's lookin' at you, though. Be careful. Be moral, be a winner." Bill says to me, shaking my shoulders. I nod my head, before being shoved back into the ring for the third round.

Back in the ring, and Hunnaway truly looked murderous. He, clearly, was unhappy to have lost the championships this year, but come on. Let it go, man. Be nice. Be moral, Hunnaway.

He took the first hit. I stumbled back momentarily, and the look on his face had only intensified. But little did he know, it only motivated me.

At first I was afraid of the rumours. The stories. The look on his face. But right here, in the moment, it was my fuel. And he was going to fucking pay.

We continued to fight; using my best techniques on the man. And once again, the round was finished. I'd won that round, just like I had won the previous.

"Playin' good, playin' fair, Haz." Bill says to me, dabbing at a cut. "Really in the zone, keep it up."

I was back in the ring. Hunnaway's face told me to run, but mine told him that I was just getting started.

We were in the fourth round. But this round was over the quickest.

"What the fuck was that?" Bill spits. I was losing my breath at this point. Not from lack of cardiovascular health, but from the pain shooting through my skull, from my neck.

"Hurt my neck," I say quietly.

"Don't be a fuckin' pussy," he hisses, shoving me back into the ring for the next round.