Page 6 of Psycho

And when things turn to shit, it would have to be enough for me to take it, leave, and never return.

I could leave now.

But not when Grandma was still here, even if she was starting to not remember me.

Remember all the happy times in my childhood with her.

I closed my eyes as a small pain pierced my heart. I forced myself to shake away the thoughts and grabbed three bottles of beer when another waitress approached me.

We didn’t serve anything but beer during the fights, which made my job easier.

The girl dropped thirty dollar bills on the table before she grabbed the beer, and I shoved them in the black pouch I was wearing around my waist.

Another round of cheers came up, and I looked over at the ring to see one man with blood dripping down the entirety of his face, stumbling around a bit.

The other man, the one I knew better than the other fighters—Brody—and in a much better condition than the first man, threw his arm back and punched the stumbling man in the face.

It didn’t look like Brody needed to put the full force of the weight on the punch, but whatever force he used, it was enough to have the first man fall back on the ground, his limbs splayed.

I felt like I could breathe a little better because Brody won. Not only because it would make Dad happy, considering how much money he’d put into the man, but also because Brody wasn’t too bad.

The people in the audience started counting.

“One… two… three!”

Loud cheers came out as the bell dinged, announcing the end of the fight.

Dad walked onstage with a big smile on his face and grabbed Brody’s hand, pausing a little, then raised both of their hands up to announce he was the winner.

The crowd went wild. Some were angry with all the money they lost on the bet, and others were delirious because they had just won.

I leaned back against the bar, letting out a small sigh now that the last fight was finished.

I couldn’t go home just yet.

I moved to the office, fired up the computer, and opened my notebook, beginning to count all the money from tonight’s profits.

About half an hour later, the first man came in and dropped off the money from his section of the bet.

I didn’t look at him.

I mostly ignored the people Dad hired to work for him, because they were usually people I wanted to stay far away from.

And sure enough, the man leered at me, his eyes moving down to my chest. My shirt was considered modest, but it still showed a hint of the swell of my breasts.

But he was looking at me as if I was shirtless. I resisted the urge to shudder in disgust.

I didn’t give him a reaction.

I knew that was what he wanted.

What theyallwanted. But I had learned early on, a reaction only gave me a black eye and a lame excuse that no teachers at the school believed.

Not like that would have done anything, anyhow.

The man sneered at my expressionless face, dropped the money off, and walked away. The words “frigid bitch” whispered beneath his breath, but loud enough for me to hear.

I let out a small sigh when the door closed behind him.

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