"Harry."
He blinks as if he's seeing me properly for the first time. I lay a hand on his right that's curled tight around the rope.
"Please, get up."
The ref won't interfere. If he doesn't move, his competitor will continue until he's unconscious. A dirty fight with no morals, no human decency.
"You're here," he wheezes.
Harry just about manages a smile.
"Yes, and you need to get up for me."
Before Harry can think to comply he's dragged away and slammed into the middle of the ring. Energy that once seemed lost now pumps through him, boosting his motivation and gifting him with the drive to put up a fight. He's still spent, but manages to just about roll away before he's hammered into the floor by a swinging fist. I wince as he valiantly takes a kick to his right side only to struggle to his knees and land a solid hit to his opponent's middle.
The guy is clearly more or a boxer, looking awkward and off kilter when trying to work a jabbing knee or foot into his attack routine. He's more top heavy than Harry, who's comfortable in using his whole body to achieve a dynamic mix of onslaught. It's also alarmingly clear the hits Harry's taken to his face earlier on in the fight have become a nuisance to his already impaired vision. The time it takes to wipe blood from his eyes makes him vulnerable to deadly right hooks. He won't last much longer.
Mack's nowhere to be seen and flagging down the ref proves harder in practise than theory. He's not looking out for demanding girls on the side-lines; he's more concerned about dodging the fight he's overseeing in the ring. Flailing my arms doesn't do the trick. I shove my fingers into the mouth to produce the loudest whistle I can. It attracts the attention I so desperately want. The ref shifts over, crouching down to give me an ear.
"Give him a time out!" I order over the noise.
"It doesn't work like that."
I grapple the ropes, leaning further up.
"He can't see properly out of one eye, with all the blood he's basically blind. Just let me sort that out and you can put him back in the ring," I grit.
He sighs heavily, shaking his head before I'm given a stiff answer.
"Fine, you have two minutes."
There's hostile complaint from the crowd as the fight is broken up. The ref encourages a dazed Harry into my corner where I'm waiting, stood on the edge of the raised ring the other side of the ropes. I steady him as he stumbles.
"What happened?"
"I can't see," he heatedly says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "You're here, I thought you weren't coming."
"Well, I didn't come to see you get your arse beat."
Mack dumps a bottle of water over Harry's head, which ultimately puts an end to our conversation with undignified splutters. I'm handed an old t-shirt to wipe Harry's face, concentrating on the cuts and applying pressure before Mack hurriedly applies sticky bandages.
"Don't let him hit you in the face again, Harry."
I scramble for the band on my wrist. Harry bows his head towards me as I take handfuls of his hair and tie it out of his face. It's a haphazard bun, but it'll have to do because we're out of time.
"Don't give up. Go kick his fucking arse!"
Mack helps me down into the audience a second before Harry's barrelled into. He's got conviction in the punches he throws but I worry it's not enough. I hopelessly watch as he's hit, again and again. The impacts he'd taken early on have rendered him weaker, unable to recover and more susceptible to violent assaults that follow.
Chapter 7
Start from the beginning
