To Love, To Fight, To Win

Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke up in pain and was sore. My whole body was sore and tight, and I knew that I needed a day of rest. An annoyed groan escaped from my tight lips while I rolled out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom. I took off my clothes, leaving a trail while I went, not even bothering to put them into a hamper.

I was not going to be able to fight today, knowing that if I did, then Reif would probably kill me for fighting when I was sore.

He had trouble with me fighting as it was, trying to get me to work longer and harder hours at the gym that he and his father had me work at.

"At least let's get some work done at the boxing arena," I grumbled, getting into the shower. My whole body shivered in the cold water before moaning as it turned hot. "Fucking, damn," I moaned, putting my hands on the wall before me and let the water run down my back. "That feels so good."

My mind wandered over to what it would've been like if I was a "normal" teenage female and not a girl who fought for money, trying to survive the hardships of running away when I knew that someone would come after me.

I wondered if I would have friends that I could count on and survive the life of high school, or as Reif had called it, "hell." Sure, I was seventeen and supposed to go to high school, but I knew that there would have been too many questions, questions that I wouldn't, or couldn't, answer.

I couldn't talk about the angel in the ground, nor the Devil whose eyes I had inherited and saw in my nightmares with his wicked grin. I couldn't talk about the scars that I had received from the countless fights at a young age or those from broken bottles that were used too many times on my "fragile" body to "toughen me up," as he would put.

The colder turning water broke me from my thoughts, and I groaned in annoyance and quickly finished taking my shower in cold water.

Thankfully, it was something that I was used to, not being able to take a warm shower during the time with him.

Anyway, I hated getting lost in my thoughts, but sometimes, I couldn't help but get lost in them. I couldn't help but think of the 'what ifs,' 'how comes,' and 'what could've happened,' even though I knew that they could kill me.

I wasn't going to die just yet, not until I bring him down and show him what revenge I could come up with. I would not let him get his satisfaction of seeing me dead while he stayed alive and continued with his plan of whatever.

He was going to go to hell, and I was the one that was going to take him, and nobody could take that away from me.

***

"Why do you go to streetfights?" the all familiar voice of my... friend asked. Reif looked at me, and I could see a scowl on his face. He looked me up and down, and I was sure that he was trying to find other injuries that I might be hiding. His black hair fell into his eyes, but he just pushed it away while he studied with me. "Your nose looks like shit. What else are you hiding from me, Riles?"

I scowled but didn't reply as I walked into the women's locker room, followed by Reif. I huffed and glared at him but did not say anything about him entering the locker room. I knew that it was no use because he would just use the fact that his father owned the building, and he was just trying to look out for me. I was grateful that I worked at a time when most females didn't because I was sure that they would have had a problem with him in the locker room.

"How many men?" he asked coldly while I tried to get into a changing room. He moved his whole body in the way of the closing door, and I glared, annoyed. "Damn it, Riles," he said. "What the fuck do you think you are doing? If he finds you, then there is no way I can protect you."

"He won't find me, Reif," I said, speaking for the first time. "And if he did, he would not recognize me." I leaned against the door and glared at him, not even commenting about how many men I had faced the night before. I also didn't comment about "him" protecting me because if anything, then it would be me protecting him, especially if that male found out he was my "friend."

"Yes, because he was too drunk to notice you every goddamn day," Reif replied sarcastically. He rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest while he scowled. "You haven't done anything with your hair nor your eye color. You are like a beacon for people that want you back." He took hold of my arm and fiddled with the armband that I had covered my tattoo with. "Anyone could take this off and see that tattoo," he muttered softly.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes before I tore my arm from his grasp. "Like they would care," I replied bitterly. "They'd just think that I am a fighter, which is why I tattooed myself with it. They wouldn't care about the children that lost their childhood to some sick monster that uses them for his own pleasure."

"I would."

"Bull shit," I spat. I glared at him, getting pissed. I blinked back some tears, hating the fact that I cried when I got pissed. "You wouldn't have known about the group if you hadn't met me."

Reif frowned, but he didn't try to contradict me. He knew what I had said was true because he barely knew what had happened to me during the time that I had been in there. All he knew was that I had been in street fighting since I was around eight-years-old.

I scoffed and ran an arm across my face, and glared. "Whatever. Can you get out so that I can get changed?"

Reif sighed but moved out of the way, let me close the door, and locking it. "'Wait 'til my father hears about this,'" he called through the closed door, mimicking the voice of one of his favorite characters.

"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy," I warned. I might have stopped education at the age of eight, but I wasn't illiterate nor stupid.

I knew some shit, like the Harry Potter series that my friend was so interested in, and forced me to read the books and watch the movies with him, much to my bitter distaste.