Page 3 of The Fight For Survival
I know I don't have a choice. The work I've put into making a name for myself in the underground fighting ring for the last few years is finally paying off. To be handpicked as I have is an opportunity I can't pass up.
Can I do this? Go back to a place I promised myself I would never step foot in again? Through the fear and trepidation, there's a niggling inside of me that feels a little bit like hope. Hope for what? To see the people that meant more to me than anything else ever would? To beg on my hands and knees for them to forgive me, and we live happily ever after?No,I will have this fight, but I stand by the decision I made all those years ago. To leave them be. I'm toxic, and I will not poison them.Stay away,I tell myself.
I nod my head to Damon with a resigned sigh and pray to whatever god is out there that I'd get through this fight in one piece, and I don't mean physically.
Mia
"Areyouexcitedtosee our first fight, Mia?" My best friend Zoe asks me in a louder tone than needed. An eagerness in her voice while gripping my arms, probably leaving bruises. How can a girl who can't be an inch over five feet be so damn strong? I push her away, forcing a laugh, "Of course I am."
Just stop thinking about him.
Walking over to my dresser, I grab my favorite going-out top and slip it over my head. It's black with a silver buckle at the front of my cleavage. It's a tight-fitted top that shows off my tiny waist, making my breasts look bigger than they are.
I'm not one for dressing up a lot, preferring to lounge around in some yoga pants and a hoodie, but my clothes for the occasional night out are gorgeous. When I dress up, I always feel sexy and confident, though that could be because of the reaction I get from my boyfriend when I do.
Looking around at my bedroom, I internally cringe at the mess. Clothes are scattered over my Alaskan king bed, continuing onto the floor. My dresser drawers and closet are thrown open, and my hair products and makeup are an unorganized mess on my vanity table.
Okay, so I'm not the tidiest person, but when your only friends growing up were boys, you can't blame me. It's a small mercy that I keep the rest of the house I share with my boyfriend clean.
"Where is your enthusiasm, Mia? We finally get to see what the fuss is all about," Zoe says with a pout, putting her hands on her slim hips.
"You know what else we get to see, right?" She doesn't let me answer, rushing her words. "Men! Lots and lots of sweaty, strong, delicious men. I know you've got Cade, so you don't care about that part, but- oh god, I'm just so freaking excited!" she squeals.
I love my friend. She has helped me through some of my life's hardest, most unbearable times. She's a fantastic person, but her energy is too much sometimes. Always hyper and can talk more than anybody I've ever met. I have to carry around painkillers on days like today.
For an introvert like myself, it's a miracle we bonded like we did. I don't think I'm antisocial per se. I just like to keep to the few close friends that I have. Some professionals out there may say I have trust issues, but there's no changing who I am.
I met Zoe three years ago when she came into my boyfriend's tattoo shop, drunk off her ass, demanding that he tattoo a butterfly onto her vagina. It was my shift working at the reception desk that night, and luckily, I managed to talk her out of it. I got her some coffee, and we chatted for hours. I found her bubbly vibe so refreshing.
She's the type of girl that doesn't give a shit what people think of her, which is a quality I can admire in a person.
"Zo, I am excited, I promise," pulling on my skinny dark wash jeans, "You have to understand how I feel. Underground fighting reminds me of Kane, and it's just brought up some unwanted feelings," I tell her, trying to get her to comprehend my reservations about going.
"When we get there, I'll act like I'm on drugs too, promise," I sass, dodging a pair of balled-up socks she throws my way.
"Don't be a smart ass," she laughs lightly. Putting down her lip gloss, Zoe walks over to me and pulls me into a soothing hug.
"Look, I know any thought of that man terrifies you, Mia, and you will do just about anything to forget him, but it's not like he will be there, okay?" Wrapping my arms around her, soaking in as much comfort as she is willing to give, I close my eyes and mumble, "it's not Kane himself that terrifies me," not wanting her to take my words the wrong way. "It's the feelings he evokes when I think about him that scares me."
Pulling away, Zoe stares at me, perplexity marring her face. "What feelings?" Stepping away from me, her eyes widen. "Mia, you can't tell me you still love him. Hebrokeyou. And what about Cade? That man would kill himself before ever hurting you the way he did." Zoe would never get it. She wasn't there, hadn't even met Kane before.
Why are you trying to defend him? Zoe's right. He did break you.
But I do still love Kane. I think I always will. Instead of trying to explain to Zoe my feelings and reassuring her that Cade already knows how I feel, I lie. "No, of course not. Sorry, I'm just not feeling myself today," I tell her, shaking my head and forcing a chuckle.
The playful woman is absent as she studies me. After a minute, she must see the sincerity on my face because she nods, "let's just have some fun. It's been a long fucking week." She steps into my space and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. "I've been around drunken people all week working at the bar. Now it's our turn to get intoxicated and fucked in every way possible."
Wrinkling my nose in disgust, choked laughter slips past my lips in disbelief at her crudeness. My playful friend is back, and I let out a breath.
The churning in my stomach stops my laughter, and I hold a hand to it, expecting my touch to ease the discomfort. I haven't been able to eat anything all day. I know my worries are irrational. I just can't help the feeling of foreboding inside of me. It's been there all day, and no matter how much I tell myself to get it together, the feeling doesn't leave me.
"So, does Cade know who Braylon will be fighting tonight?" Zoe asks while touching up her makeup in the mirror. The mention of Cade puts a genuine smile on my lips, and my body floods with warmth from just the thought of him. He has been my best friend since kindergarten and my boyfriend for four and a half years.
His real name is Daniel Cady. Everyone called him Dan or Daniel, but Kane and I have always called him Cade. We were the only ones who got away with it. Now a few close friends of ours have taken on the nickname too.
Cade is a highly talented tattoo artist and owns a shop called 'Chasing ink.' The name brings a solid lump to my throat every time.
Don't think about that.