Beautiful Stranger (18+)

Chapter 1-Deja Vu

Warning: Abortion

Jayden's POV

Six weeks later

I feel like shit.

Absolute shit.

In my twenty years of life, I've had chickenpox, strep throat, the stomach flu, bronchitis, and several other debilitating ailments and mental health issues, yet I have never felt more like shit. I've taken beatdowns by some of the best fighters in the world, my own father included. I've trained strenuous hours to have the body I do, trained until I couldn't walk for days, trained until I was heaving my guts up, trained until I couldn't drag myself out of that ring.

And I have never felt more like a piece of walking shit than I do now.

I hurt everywhere.

My insides feel as if they're being ripped from my body and being pulled out through my esophagus. The taste of vomit and stomach acid is thick in my throat. Dried tears streak my face and crinkle my shirt collar. My hands feel numb as I clutch the ceramic toilet bowl like it's what is tethering me to this world. 

This is like high school all over again. 

Well and college but not for the same reason.

There is a reason the saying "beer before liquor never been sicker; liquor before beer and you're in the clear" exists. 

I just graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology four months ago and was recruited to work for Nasa (National Aeronautics and Space Administration) fresh out of university. I've only been working there for about two and a half months and to be honest I'm not enjoying it as much as I thought I would be. Maybe I just have to give it a chance. Or maybe this is a blessing in disguise, that is if it is what I think it is. 

The people aren't very nice. People aren't very nice in general, but I'm treated more like an intern rather than a drafter, which is what I was hired to be. I love drafting up new aircrafts and designs, don't get me wrong, I do; it's just hard to love your job when you're nothing more than a glorified intern. The amount of coffee I've had to fetch in the last month is astronomical and I overheard the men in my department talking about the beaner they just hired. I'm Cuban. 

Ha, see what I did there? No, okay. Yeah, I know I'm a nerd for making that joke. 

I have a feeling I won't be working there for very long, not with the suspicions I am feeling. I should just go back to my childhood dream and open up my own shop. I may have an aeronautical engineering degree, but I love fixing cars, especially vintage ones. At least by opening up my own shop I can move back to Miami and be with Emiliano and my dad. I try as much as I can to make the three hour trip back home every weekend, but it's really hard when I drown myself in projects and I kind of don't want to admit I'm miserable at my job. My dad is proud of me, I know he is, but he wanted me to be a professional boxer like him.

I would never be like him, though, it's a sad truth, the truth nonetheless. He is a man and I am a woman. He is Alejandro Martinez, the greatest boxer the world has ever seen, and I'll always be Jayden Martinez, Alejandro Martinez's daughter. I wanted to make a name for myself in a field my dad knows nothing about.

I did make a name for myself in boxing, just under the guise of Alas, meaning wings in Spanish. It's the name my dad gave to me when I was little because I was always fascinated with airplanes. And when I mean boxing I actually don't mean boxing; I mean illegal streetfighting in an underground club in New York with no gloves and no rules, except for no weapons in the ring. That is where I met Emiliano. He was visiting the club and one of his best friends, the owner, Domenico. His sister really ran the place, but she was sixteen so he had to pretend like he ran and owned it. I was fifteen and fresh meat at university. I didn't fit in so it was nice to have them in New York.