Free Fight by London Casey, Ana W. Fawkes

there. It was like one in the morning and
everyone was just throwing money around. They wouldn ’ t remember me  if they saw me the next day. I made
more that night than I did an entire month bartending. ”
    “ You
don ’ t do that anymore? ”
    “ No.
Not for a while. Years. ”
    “ Because
of the MC? ”
    “ Yeah.
Something like that. ”
    We both finished our beers and I
leaned over to the small fridge and pulled it open. I grabbed two more,
assuming Winter would need one. Next time I looked at her, she was teary eyed.
I told myself I couldn ’ t
comfort her again, not when we were damn drunk.
    I twisted off the cap and handed
her the beer. She took it and drank half the bottle in one big drink.
    “ Feel
better? ” I asked.
    “ Hardly, ” she said. She then put her left
foot forward and kicked at my foot. “ Tell
me your story, Tripp. ”
    “ Why? ”
    “ Because
I want to know. You ’ re
protecting me, which doesn ’ t
make sense. You owe someone favors, which doesn ’ t
seem like your style. And you ’ re
going to fight someone from the Red Aces MC for the hell of it. ”
    “ First
off, there are no favors, ” I said. “ I ’ m supposed to be dead right now.
But that ’ s a different
story. You want to know about my life? I was forced to fight to survive. ”
    “ Survive
what? ”
    “ Whatever
guy that was done fucking my mother. ”
    The room fell silent. I couldn ’ t believe I actually said that
to Winter, but whatever. She wanted to know the story, then I ’ d give it to her.
    “ That ’ s how she survived. She ’ d fuck anyone that could bring
some food or throw her a few bucks. Trust me, it ’ s
not a sob story though, she couldn ’ t
get her life together. She had family and refused to talk to them. But me? I
was always just there. And I became a punching bag around the age of ten. I ’ ll never forget it. This fat guy
in the kitchen, digging through the fridge. Shirtless with a set of lips
tattooed above his left nipple. He turned to me and smiled. ‘ You wanna fight me, kid? ’ he asked. I shook my head. The
guy then made a fist and swung at me. He cracked me in the shoulder. It hurt.
He walked away. I never saw that guy again. But my shoulder bruised for a week.
Then it happened again with a different guy. He was bigger, stronger, and he
smacked me in the face. For no damn reason. Then another beat me. Like I was
his own kid or something. Another one pummeled me until I passed out. My mother
then told me in a drunken state that I needed to swing back. One of our
neighbors, a guy everyone called Mutt, had a punching bag in his living room.
He was an old school boxer kind of guy. Won some fights and money, then lost it
all to booze. But he knew what went on with my mother. He taught me how to
fight. I ’ d sneak out of the
apartment and go to his. He ’ d
stand there with a bottle of vodka in one hand and scream at me. Yelling what
punches to throw, how to throw them, how to set my feet for the most power. I
had long arms but they were skinny. Mutt ’ s
cousin owned a boxing gym and Mutt would take me there after school. I ’ d meet him there and I ’ d lift weights and box. I ’ d go until I puked or fell over.
Then Mutt would toss me five bucks and tell me to get as much meat as I could
with it. ”
    I paused and sipped my drink. Damn,
it had been a while since I dusted off this little gem of history. I ’ ll never forget the way it all
happened. Mutt ’ s missing
front teeth. The yellow ring around his eyes. His dark skin. His boney figure.
And his rough voice.
    “ Come
on, motherfucker, hit the bag. Don ’ t
be a pussy. ”
    “ One
night after I was done, some guy took my five bucks. Snatched it right out of
my hand. I didn ’ t eat that
night. I was weak, tired, and everything hurt. My mother had some guy over and
it only made things worse. I swore right then I would forever fight. The next
day I got my five bucks from Mutt and I waited outside. The same damn