Brawler by Scott Hildreth

revenge, I stepped forward. She began feeling me out with shorts jabs, trying to lure me in. Ripp was right, if I got in close and stayed there for any length of time, she’d try and catch me with a hook as I broke away.
    And if she did, I’d be in serious trouble.
    But there was no way I could beat her if I wasn’t throwing punches.
    I swung a wild right hook into her arms, attempting to clear them from blocking my target. I wanted a straight shot at her face.
    She threw a left hook into my ribs, and I didn’t even see it coming. I countered with an uppercut that fell short.
    As follow-ups, we both swung left hooks at the same time, hers a narrow miss, and mine caught her on the shoulder, knocking her off-balance. I followed with a right hook to her ribs.
    The shock expressed in her eyes was enough for me to know she didn’t like what she was getting, but I wasn’t in the ring to make her happy. A hard left hook into the center of her stomach made her eyes bulge, and the sound of the bell prevented me from going any further.  
    “Bitch!” I grunted as I turned away.
    I stumbled to the corner and leaned down. Ripp pulled my mouthpiece and gave me a shot of water. “What the fuck are you doing? Trading punches?” he asked. “You can’t do that with her. She’ll knock your ass out.”
    I shook my head. “She hits hard as fuck.”
    “And what were you doing? Talking shit?”
    “Uh huh. She wouldn’t fight.”
    Kelsey stepped around Ripp and glared at me. “You a boxer, or a brawler?”
    I didn’t respond.
    “I asked you a question, Spaz. Which is it?”
    “A little of both, Sir.”
    He pushed Ripp to the side and looked right at me. Wearing striped sweats and a white tee shirt, he looked angry, tired, and surprisingly tough for his age. “Looks to me like you’re a brawler. Going toe-to-toe with a girl like her will get you hurt. Now get that right heel off the fuckin’ deck, you flat-footed little shit, and maybe you’ll have enough power to hurt her.”
    “Forget you even know this bald headed prick for right now. Watch my right foot and my hips.” He threw a demonstration punch, twisting his hip in an exaggerated fashion as he did. “As your arm extends, twist on the ball of your god damned foot like your putting out a cigarette.”
    “Yes, Sir,” I said.
    “You’ve got power, Spaz. Now go knock her arrogant ass out, I’m tired of watching you two dance.” He slapped his hand against Ripp’s shoulder. “Put in her mouthpiece in, Dummy.”
    Ripp shook his head and put in my mouthpiece.
    And the bell rang.

FIFTEEN
    Jaz
    Day forty-three.
    I rushed to the center of the ring, and she met me with a hard right cross, missing my head by the thickness of a hair.
    Oh, now you wanna fight, huh?
    I threw a flurry of punches in response, showing her just how quick – and how powerful – I could be.
    She stumbled back a step.
    I didn’t want to beat her, I needed to. For me to quickly advance in the sport, I needed to knock her out and get noticed.
    I wanted the label, like Ripp said.
    Bad ass.
    I took one step toward her and swung an uppercut. The punch blew past her, and in anticipation of her countering with her signature left hook, I threw a right in hope of knocking it astray.
    Her left didn’t come, and my right caught her hard on the side of the face, causing her to stumble again.
    My vision narrowed. All that mattered was that I stay on the offensive, continually bringing the fight to her. If I did, she could only react. An offensive attack on her part, at least during my attack, would be all but impossible.
    The ring became small, and only what was right in front of me was all that was in my view. All of the background noise became dull and distant. My breathing and my heartbeat were the only sounds I could hear, and they were almost deafening.
    She threw a right cross, missing me completely. Her left jab fell short.
    I looked her in the eyes.
    She seemed distant. Confused.