well as a skilled fighter like Thor, I wasn’t going to be able to face anyone again. It was part of the reason I wanted the persona to stay hidden, to remain anonymous, until I had built a rep for victory. Tonight’s battle wouldn’t question bravery. It questioned proficiency as a fighter. Even if I lost, which I didn’t intend to do, the integrity of the fight was based on how long I lasted as his equivalent.
The call came and I followed Shepherd to my corner. The crowd was thunderous with the cry for Thor, but it wasn’t much lower in cheers for Betta. I was him. He was me. There was no more hiding.
“You,” Thor hissed at me as we met in the center of the cage. “You’re going down like you should have last week.”
“Fair fight, gentlemen, and fight fair,” the referee commented. I didn’t respond. My thoughts were centered. Thor had to be the one hammered home.
The fight started and Thor was on me fast. A fist to the face sent me sideways; a second later, I encountered a swift jab to the lower ribs. My left hook took him in the side of the head, but he spun out, then back at me with a low kick. In an attempt to axe him in response, he caught my foot and sent me to the mat.
“Fight, goldfish,” he mocked as his body covered mine. I had to get him off me. I turned into myself. The constraint of him over me was too much. A childhood memory flashed quickly, but I dove forward. I wrapped my legs around Thor and flipped us. I had to keep him down. A blow to the head didn’t deter him. He struggled like a slippery fish. He was out from under me easily, and we faced off upright again.
The buzzer signaled a return to corners. Coach yelled things at me, but I wasn’t hearing the words. Sound in my ear was garbled like I was underwater. I imagined I heard the siren cry of, “Take him, Betta.” A sweet accented drawl, despite the shrill screech of it, was something I didn’t want to notice in the moment. I couldn’t let her voice catch me. I refused to be baited by her. Her words meant nothing to me, I told myself. I shook my head and jetted forward.
By the third and final round, my opponent and I were moving with the combined emotion of hatred. This wasn’t courage on display. This was impassioned dislike. I wasn’t going down as easily as Thor anticipated. His verbal taunts didn’t unsettle me. It only propelled me inside myself, where I had the greatest strength. It was a secret a review tape would never reveal. I’d been verbally abused all my life. Words of disappointment, cracks about my incapability, and insults about my skill would only drive me onward. I refused to go back to who I was. The river of victory was flowing forward.
We were in a final hold. The time was getting close.
“You fucking pussy, just quit,” Thor demanded.
“Never,” I hissed. It was the first time I responded to him. It was hard to hold my tongue, but there again I had a hidden talent. I’d learned to never talk back. The slaps across the face from my father taught me to keep my mouth shut. Over time, Cain took the severity of those blows. He’d even taken worse, on my behalf, by opening his mouth to deflect my father from me. Because I was small, because I was weak; Cain felt he had to take care of me. Take the punishment for me.
I couldn’t let my breach of silence distract me. Speaking took thinking, and I had to keep my mind focused on physical control. My head twisted as if that would help force Thor over. We were struggling against each other, opposing forces when the unthinkable happened. He bit me. I screamed out and the ref called the time.
“He bit him,” Shepherd yelled, climbing into the space allotted for the fight. Thor was already celebrating with fists raised to the heavens. The crowd was going wild. I rolled to all fours and stood slowly. A trickle of blood was streaming down my right pec from my neck.
“He bit him,” Shepherd bellowed again. The ref approached me to examine the top of
The call came and I followed Shepherd to my corner. The crowd was thunderous with the cry for Thor, but it wasn’t much lower in cheers for Betta. I was him. He was me. There was no more hiding.
“You,” Thor hissed at me as we met in the center of the cage. “You’re going down like you should have last week.”
“Fair fight, gentlemen, and fight fair,” the referee commented. I didn’t respond. My thoughts were centered. Thor had to be the one hammered home.
The fight started and Thor was on me fast. A fist to the face sent me sideways; a second later, I encountered a swift jab to the lower ribs. My left hook took him in the side of the head, but he spun out, then back at me with a low kick. In an attempt to axe him in response, he caught my foot and sent me to the mat.
“Fight, goldfish,” he mocked as his body covered mine. I had to get him off me. I turned into myself. The constraint of him over me was too much. A childhood memory flashed quickly, but I dove forward. I wrapped my legs around Thor and flipped us. I had to keep him down. A blow to the head didn’t deter him. He struggled like a slippery fish. He was out from under me easily, and we faced off upright again.
The buzzer signaled a return to corners. Coach yelled things at me, but I wasn’t hearing the words. Sound in my ear was garbled like I was underwater. I imagined I heard the siren cry of, “Take him, Betta.” A sweet accented drawl, despite the shrill screech of it, was something I didn’t want to notice in the moment. I couldn’t let her voice catch me. I refused to be baited by her. Her words meant nothing to me, I told myself. I shook my head and jetted forward.
By the third and final round, my opponent and I were moving with the combined emotion of hatred. This wasn’t courage on display. This was impassioned dislike. I wasn’t going down as easily as Thor anticipated. His verbal taunts didn’t unsettle me. It only propelled me inside myself, where I had the greatest strength. It was a secret a review tape would never reveal. I’d been verbally abused all my life. Words of disappointment, cracks about my incapability, and insults about my skill would only drive me onward. I refused to go back to who I was. The river of victory was flowing forward.
We were in a final hold. The time was getting close.
“You fucking pussy, just quit,” Thor demanded.
“Never,” I hissed. It was the first time I responded to him. It was hard to hold my tongue, but there again I had a hidden talent. I’d learned to never talk back. The slaps across the face from my father taught me to keep my mouth shut. Over time, Cain took the severity of those blows. He’d even taken worse, on my behalf, by opening his mouth to deflect my father from me. Because I was small, because I was weak; Cain felt he had to take care of me. Take the punishment for me.
I couldn’t let my breach of silence distract me. Speaking took thinking, and I had to keep my mind focused on physical control. My head twisted as if that would help force Thor over. We were struggling against each other, opposing forces when the unthinkable happened. He bit me. I screamed out and the ref called the time.
“He bit him,” Shepherd yelled, climbing into the space allotted for the fight. Thor was already celebrating with fists raised to the heavens. The crowd was going wild. I rolled to all fours and stood slowly. A trickle of blood was streaming down my right pec from my neck.
“He bit him,” Shepherd bellowed again. The ref approached me to examine the top of
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