Page 22 of Vying Girls
I cast my eyes over the water, the Vaults just a smudge between the trees. Someone will be there. The fighters, the gamblers. Place never sleeps.
The boat over is nauseating. I’ve not eaten this morning, not sure I could keep anything down. Place is busier than I thought. Even the cavern sees a few people. Up on the ledge, Northbound Wolves practise some set. They don’t often play here, should bea good night. They’re in their masks and full makeup, the fake blood they smear over every inch of visible skin. Anonymity is their game, no one knows who they are. I admire them for it.
I continue to the cages. Blakely’s there, smacking her fist into the palm of her hand despite there being no opponents around. Always ready for a fight, that one. She’s sparring alone in the corner gym. I consider her from afar. Be fucking suicidal but…isn’t that the point?
I saunter over, waiting until she notices me.
‘Need my essay notes?’ she says with a grin.
I shake my head. She knows I’m not here for that.
‘Wanna practise?’
She gestures around her. ‘Am, aren’t I?’
‘I mean with someone.’
Blakely squints. ‘You got a short-term memory or something?’
‘Opposite. I know what I’m asking for.’
Blakely pauses, sucking her teeth as she considers. ‘Won’t go easy on you. I don’t coddle.’
‘I’m not looking for easy.’
‘What are you looking for then?’’
‘Does it matter?’
She purses her lips. ‘Suppose not.’ She punches her fist into her hand again, grinning wildly now. ‘Cage, then.’
I step into the first one, her most favoured.
Once we’re in, that orange-haired girl materialises to lock it.
No backing out now. That’s rule number one.
Blakely is someone else when she fights. Or maybe she’s someone else when she’s not fighting. In class, she’s sensible. Serious. Always intelligent in her discussions. She loves words as much as I do. In here though, she’s something different entirely.
Despite how fucking cold it is, she’s in tight shorts and a sports bra to match, tattoos snaking all over her deeply tanned skin.Her knuckles are already wrapped. Gonna have to do mine too, and whatever else she decides to break.
‘You not been home?’ She nods to my Anarchy shirt. It’s still damp but that’s the least of my pain.
‘You always such a talker?’
She purses her lips, shrugs, then throws her fist into my face.
It’s blinding. Makes the cuts on my knuckles feel like tickles. I stagger into the bars, bent in half.
She lets me breathe, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She is going easy on me after all. I don’t want fucking easy.
I take a breath against the pounding in my nose, tasting blood on my lips. Then I fist my hand and swing it in an arc. It catches the top of her arm. She’s just meat there. Doubt she even felt it.
She looks down and nods. ‘Might bruise,’ she allows.
Gritting my teeth, I swing for her again. She blocks it this time, pushing me back into the bars like I’m a fly she’s swatting.
I use the momentum to fall back into her. I’m pissed off now, adrenaline of a different kind taking hold.
