The Fighter - Short Story

I guess you can say that I hated her.

I don’t know why. It all started when we were younger. I was an angry child and for some time, the only child. I sought out to be the one in command once she came. I always had it out for her, and it was more often than not that she fell out of line. This, in turn forced my hand, so I dealt with it every single time.

But as the older she got the more she rose up to the occasion of the beating, hoping to put me in my place. But alas, she always failed to defeat me, and I loved the idea of her losing to me and at times even surrendering to me.

That’s when realized. She was starting to hang with other girls more her age and began to rebel - Acting up every time, coming home whenever she wanted, and abusing pills and drugs. She got tatted and had no respect for authority. It beaconed at me, I knew I pushed her there and this was the results were coming in and I was going to get it.

Real hard.

That night she got up to me and said, and I will never forget,

 “This is what it is to be helpless,”

And began to give me a whoop the living shit out of me.  Her fist landed on my face repeatedly until I could stand no longer. Every throw was packed with rage, hate, and pride. She left me on the floor of our shared bedroom. She broke my nose that night and I had to get stitches – told my mom I tripped on the cord and smashed my face against the wooden dresser. She got off with black eye and a bloody nose, but that’s what got me, that she fought me like she loathed me.

She could have killed me, but instead chose to let me live to see the superiority and power that she had just earned and taken from me.

And I could not stand for that.

I began to take classes - Kick boxing, boxing, and Tae Kwon Do - and began to train like the beast that I am. I was not going to lose my title, so through our high school that’s all I did. Went to school, attended my classes in the morning and worked out every single evening. The soreness I put on my body, the strain I gave my muscles were all worth putting myself through, as long as I reached my goal, and what an amazing thing it was.

But the thing is, a day prior to me going to her and taking back what I wanted, a woman in the gym decided that my gym bag didn’t belong in the locker I chose because she was late and the lockers were full. She thought I would be okay with the fact that my shit would be on the fucking sweat filled floor with all the fungus and bacteria, whilst hers were neatly placed in the cleanliness of the metal lockers.

So I looked at her ID, found her at the gym working out and just beat the living shit out of her. Naturally I went to jail and spent a few days until my parents bailed me out and picked me up, that was the day I knew that I loved to beat people into a frenzied despair.

It felt exhilarating.

My fist in her face as I sat on top of her as I squeezed my thighs around her ribs hoping they’d cracked. The screams that fell on deaf ears.

It wasn’t really much that I hated her, I just wanted her to rise up and take me down so I can have someone to beat. I loved it so, that I began fights for no reason.

Bumped into me, fight.

Looked at me wrong, fight.

Made a comment that irked me, fight.

Smiled at me for no fucking reason, fight.

I went up to my sister and asked her to forgive me for the way I treated her and for the way I brought her down. She said she can forgive, but will not forget it. They way she said it sent chills up my spine.

Neither will I, honey.

Round II.