JaThea/RaStro One Shots (Lesbian Story)

The Ringside (1)

I was taught of not being afraid of hurting myself physically at a very young age. My dad would always bring me to training with him in the gym before his big fight. Well every fight he had that time was big enough to give us money for the whole month until the next big fight happens.
 
I can no longer remember my mother’s face because every time I try to remember how she looked like, only the dreadful memory of her being shot point blank in the face was all I could remember, while I was giving everything of me not to make any noise that’ll turn the men’s attention to that ajar closet door where I was hidden by my mother when the break in happened.
 
I can’t remember if I felt pain that time, but I remember being scared. Dead scared not of the men carrying guns around, taking anything of value around our house for their keeping. I was scared that my dad would be home anytime soon and I was scared they might see him and shoot him as well. But I guess dad took the long cut on the way home that night, because he only arrived when I was already in the social welfare custody the next day.
 
He was coming from a fight and he didn’t know what kind of hell I’ve been through and he was crying on my lap when the social workers allowed him to see me. All I wanted to do that time was to hug him and beg him to take me home but my mind was scared that the same thing might happened again if I’d go home with him right away. I was always scared since then, and I hated myself for being scared.
 
“You should learn how to stand on both of your feet A that’s where you’ll get the momentum. The firmer your stature and the quicker your footwork is the better.” Dad would always remind we while I was jabbing on a punching bag. And when he does, I remember punching a little but harder on the hug sack of sand in front of me so he would give that nod of affirmation that I’m doing just fine.

“Guevarra, you’re up next. Down by third round.”

“Me or her?”

“This time, her. Don’t let her get a hold of you or corner you at any rate. Got me?”

“Yes boss.”

“Bet’s on you for 50k tonight, cold hard cash. Good luck.”

“Thanks boss.”

“Are you sure you can KO Muñoz by third round? That bitch is sleek Althea.”

“Kathleen I know what I’m doing, will you just focus on the hardest job in every fight?”

“What? Be a round girl?”

“Exactly.”

“Whatever you say, bender. I’m up see you on the ring side.”

“See you.”

“Guevarra, final call.”

“Coming.”

“Right, boss said you killo by third.”

“I know he told me.”

“We have a hundred thousand bet on you Guevarra, if you want a 50k by the time you walk out of that ring give this your best shot.”

“What do you guys call me again Ben?”

“The Bender?”

“Then believe that.”

“Right, mouth piece.”

I can’t remember the first time I was punched in the face inside a ring, but what I do remember is the blinking lights of the hospital room I woke up into and after that night I promised myself that I would never be punched in the face ever again.

“Fighting in the blue corner, wearing red, white and blue! The champion! Amateur record of 12 wins with 0 loses all by way of knock out! Arci ‘the poison’ Muñoz!” the crowd cheered for the their favorite, the mayor’s daughter and the reason this illegal amateur boxing matches continues.