SIN |18+

Illicit (1)

He’s skinny with a shaved head and spacers in both ears, wearing a long coat with a fur collar.
His best attribute is his loud, raspy voice that cuts over the noise of the crowd, no microphone required.

      I step into the circle, bouncing lightly on my toes. I’m wearing only a pair of trunks and by sports va now, and flat sneakers. My hands are taped.

       Pavel strolls into the other side of the circle. I haven’t fought him before, but I know who he is.

He was huge for a man even and I was naturally petite, his brown hair was in a pony tail male pont tail? And he had this look on his face that made you want to shit your pants, he had a scorpion tattoo on the left side of his face

      While a little over 6’4 I should be managing 5'6 or 5'5. While I’m lean and a girl, he’s beefy male.

In real boxing this fight should have never happen he’d be way outside my weight class and we are not the same gender. In the underground fights, they just call this a “Thick and Thin.” and inter, most girls die, bit I'm not most girls

      We face off against each other. He raises his fists up under his chin, shoulders hunched. I stand exactly as I am, with my arms at my sides.

      I haven’t fought him before. I’ve seen how he moves, though. In fact, I can tell what sort of fighter he’ll be just by the way he walked into the ring: brash, swaggering, and overconfident.

      Sure enough, as soon as Vlad blows his whistle he comes at me with both fists flying, thinking that if he can land a solid punch I’ll go down hard..

      I duck the blows easily. Left, right, left, left, right, right.

      Jesus, he’s so predictable. I can see each punch coming from a mile away.

      He’s already breathing hard. Either he smokes like Niko or he’s been neglecting his cardio. Probably the latter. That’s why he’s so soft around the middle.

      I duck down and give him a sharp punch to the gut, testing his muscle tone. He grunts and exhales hard. He’s neglected his crunches too, apparently.

      I can hear the spectators shouting their bets. Those who bet on him initially are now trying to hedge. But the numbers aren’t as much in his favor anymore.

      I can see my father’s friend Arseny standing at the edge of the ring. He’s got his hands tucked in his pockets, smiling toothily. I’m sure he knew better than to bet against me.

      Of course my father isn’t here himself to watch me win. He never comes to my fights. It takes a lot more than that to get him to leave the house.

Fear maybe? I don't know

      I block another haymaker from him, and he hits me in the side with a left hook. I feel an unpleasant bending of the ribs, and I hunch over enough that his next blow catches me in the ear, making my head ring.

      That pisses me off, but I don’t let my anger get the better of me. I shove it down, like coal in a furnace. I want the rage to fuel me, without letting the fire run wild.

      I watch for my opening.
      Left, right, left, left—
      This time I interrupt his sequence with an uppercut to the jaw. His teeth click together hard and his head snaps back. He stumbles back on his heels, dazed and pained.

      I pursue the advantage, hitting him twice in the body and again in the head. Now I know his ears are ringing, worse than mine.

      He spits a little blood onto the platform, raising his fists once more, steadying himself.
      He comes at me slower now, more carefully. He learned his lesson. Or at least, he thinks he did.