Page 58 of Hard Tail
My hands were curling into fists, and I actually took a step forward—then Sensei came toward me with a friendly smile, breaking the spell. I forced myself to calm down and return his greeting.
Training didn’t work its usual magic, though. Even after the warmup, after basics, I was still tense. All the time I was watching the guy out front demonstrating the moves, at least half my attention was on Prick-tard, three men down the line from me. And God, he knew it. Every time my eyes flicked his way, he was glaring at me. When we went on to sparring, I couldn’t tell you who made the first move, but we marched straight up to one another.
“You’ve got a fucking nerve, turning up here tonight,” he snarled, the menace in his face matched by his belligerent tone.
“I could say the same about you,” I countered, fighting to keep my own voice level. God, I was ready for this. I could picture myself, standing victorious over his battered body, every bruise a revenge for what he’d done to Matt. Payback for every downcast look, every hurt he’d ever suffered.
But then I heard Sensei’s voice behind me. “All right there, Mr. Knight?”
It was enough to bring me to my senses. God, what the hell had I been thinking of? I hadn’t become a black belt so I could solve all my problems with my fists. Hell, wouldn’t that make me just as bad as Pritchard? Yes, I hated that bastard, but I hated the way he made me behave, made me think, even more.
“Fine,” I managed to Sensei, and he moved on to another pair, giving us an assessing glance as he went.
I turned to Pritchard and spoke in a low, intense voice, for his ears only. “I’m not going to fight you, you bastard. I don’t want to have to look at you that long, and I certainly don’t want to have to touch you.” I turned away, but he grabbed my arm. Furious, I twisted out of his grasp. “Just leave me the fuck alone—and if I ever,eversee you within a hundred feet of Matt, I’ll bloody kill you, understood?” I hissed.
Pritchard’s face twisted. “Yeah? You and whose army? I could take you with one hand behind my back, you little ponce.”
I barked an incredulous laugh. It was loud enough that the pair sparring nearest to us turned to look. “Enough with the gay insults, all right? We both know how bloody hypocritical you’re being.”
“You shut your fucking mouth,” he spat. “Or I’ll shut it for you. Permanently.” A vein was standing out on his forehead; I spitefully hoped it would burst.
“Worried someone’s going to find out your dirty little secret?” I couldn’t resist taunting him.
“Like you’re not just the same,” he sneered.
Enough was enough. I was damned if I was going to let him say that about me. “As it happens, no, I’m not. Not anymore. I’m gay,” I said in a louder voice. “And if anyone’s got a problem with that, well, it’s their problem.”
Pritchard stood there, stunned. “You stupid fucking—”
“Just leave me and Matt alone, all right?” I said tiredly and walked away. It was a breach of etiquette, leaving the dojo without Sensei’s permission, but I hoped he’d forgive me. Or be glad to see the back of the floor show, more likely.
I walked down the stairs and out of the sports centre, waving good-bye to the receptionist as I went, then made my way through the car park. As I got out my car keys, I was still, to be honest, a bit light-headed from having just announced my homosexuality to the world—or at least, the two or three people in the dojo who’d actually been near enough to hear me.
Then a pile-driver punch slammed into my side, just above my kidney.
Winded, I staggered a few paces, then spun around gracelessly. If I’d been in the mood to be scared of Pritchard, I’d have been bloody terrified. His face, in the twilight, was purple with rage, and his teeth were bared, his lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl.
“Come on, you coward. Fight me, you fucking poofter!”
It was the last insult, more than anything, that made me punch him back. He was such a piece of filth. I don’t know if I was fighting for me, for Matt, or for all the other poofters he’d slagged off—and probably beaten—in the past. Perhaps it was the reminders of World War Two I’d seen earlier, spurring me on to fight for what was right. Maybe I was just fighting what I could see of myself in Pritchard: the cowardice; the hypocrisy; the wanting to have all the benefits with none of the responsibilities.
Maybe it was just because he was such a hateful piece of shit.
As I leapt past him, catching him on the ear with a backfist strike, a warm drizzle started to fall. “Call that a fuckinguraken? There’s girls with white belts who could do better than that.”
Casual misogyny apart, he was right. My knuckles didn’t hurt as much as they should have—I was still pulling my punches.
“Think you’re so fucking special, don’t you?” Pritchard sneered. “You and that fucking slag Matt. Think I’m stupid?”
It was probably just as well he didn’t leave a pause for me to answer.
“I know you were fucking him in that bloody shop,” he snarled.
What?“Look, Matt and I aren’t—”
He lunged at me again, feinting with a jab punch and following it up with a side thrust kick that could have knocked several internal organs clean out of my body had it connected. I retaliated with a kidney punch of my own. It landed a little off target, and I felt my knuckles bruise against his ribs.
Was that a rib cracking under the force of my blow?
Pritchard swore and came straight back at me, feet flying in a series of kicks. I dodged and blocked instinctively—not thinking, just reacting. The ground was getting slippery, and I had the vague impression of people around us. I thought I heard a police siren in the distance.
As a roundhouse kick came in, I made a sweeping block, putting him off-balance. I danced out of reach and retaliated with a textbookurakento his temple.
He dropped like a stone.
I stood there, panting, staring down at him as he lay on the ground in the rain—and then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and Sensei was there.
For the first time since I’d met him, he wasn’t smiling.
