My muscles strained trying to keep the body twice my size from crushing me against the concrete floor. My breathing was labored, caused by the headlock I was in and the knee Zayden kept pressed against my abdomen, restricting air to my lungs and making my chest tighten painfully.
«You ok?» Zayden asked between breaths as the weight from his arms and knee kept me down.
I didn't answer, my mind too busy racing through different tactics that would give me back the upper hand. I kept a mental note of keeping my abdominal muscles flexed to avoid having his knee press down on my organs. I would be quick to pass out should I relax.
I finally pressed my lips together and braced my muscles before responding with a quick jab of my forearm to his throat and a swift thrust of my hips. I caught him off balance and seized the opportunity to position myself on his side; one knee on his neck and the other on the side of his ribs with his arm secured between my legs, a move taught by the gang leader himself last time we sparred. I fumbled for a second as I made sure my knees were positioned over the correct target areas on his body.
I didn't dare put too much pressure on either leg, fearing the damage I could do if I lost control of my balance. Instead, I kept most on my weight distributed on the balls of my feet and off Zayden. I knew he could get out from this grip as my hold seemed a bit sluggish and lacked the proper power to hold a person of his size down.
Still, Zayden groaned in defeat and lazily tapped the ground.
I released my hold and bit back a sigh of relief as I helped him up. Sweat dripped from my forehead and into my eye. I rubbed at the salty sting it left behind. My breathing remained harsh even as I shook loose. I avoided clutching my sides in exhaustion and instead settled for loosening the wraps around my hands and knuckles.
We had been sparring for just over an hour now, constantly making up different scenarios to act out to work on our reflexes and polish some of the moves that needed improvement. For the better part of an hour, he had been showing me some new grappling techniques for times when the fight ends up on the ground.
From experience, being on the ground under a man twice my size had always been the worst-case scenario for me. It was reassuring that specific techniques could potentially get me away from situations where I'm overpowered. It was the act of actually mastering them and picking the right time to use them that had me frustrated. It reminded me of when I first started learning how to kick correctly. The timing and aim will get you farther than the power of the kick.
«Sorry,» I mumble, referring to the last grip I had him in. «I'm still trying to figure out a more graceful way to get into that hold.»
Zayden chuckled under his breath as he dusted off his shoulders and pants.
«You'll just have to practice that sequence a couple of more times, unfortunately for me,» he joked. «But the grip was perfect once you readjusted. Had you pressed down at all, I would have ended up with some cracked ribs for sure.»
Physically drained from the sparring session, I settled down on the edge of the fighting ring, legs dangling off the concrete platform. Zayden leaped off the platform and headed for the cooler bag he had brought for us.
«Bring me a pack of ice, could you?» I asked as Zayden brought out two drinks from the bag. He handed me the pack of ice before settling down next to me.
YOU ARE READING
The Mystery Fighter III
AcciónAfter getting into college, Cassie has no intentions of going back to her old habit of street fighting- but as the streets of her hometown would have it, her combat days are far from over. ...
