"Y/N, I told you to go easy on the poor kid...sheesh." My longtime coach Marty chuckled as he expertly cleaned up my opponent's small open wound.
Marty, Lorenzo (my opponent and Marty's son), and I were all in the locker room where most injuries were taken care of. The smell of sweat, blood and literal salty tears was all that I inhaled whenever I stepped into this building, but the locker room's smell was the worst. I always had to breathe through my mouth or else my nose would fall off. That's what I get though, for wanting to practice and work at a male dominated gym. Thankfully, there were a few other women that liked to work out here just like I do. So these guys got a taste of their own medicine whenever they gave us, women, the chance.
"Maybe if he would've stopped talking and actually done more swinging, he wouldn't have gotten hurt so bad." I smugly smiled as I shrugged, feigning innocence.
I had already taken out my mouth guard and unstrapped my gloves by the time Marty started to clean Enzo's wounds. So I just stood there with my old muscle tee and black sports leggings, cooling down from a heated workout.
"If I would've swung, I would've hurt you." Enzo quickly defended, flinching at the antibacterial cream Marty was rubbing on his eyebrow.
"Oh really? That's why we're 4-0?" I clapped back, my arms crossed on my chest as I squinted at him skeptically.
He huffed out incoherent words under his breath, turning away from me while Marty just waved me off and told me to head back out to the main gym.
Marty's Gym had become a second home to me, a place to escape to when school and home life was getting overwhelming. And it was where I became a part of an entirely new family, of big muscular Italian guys and Marty's wife, Patty, who have all been working there since before I was probably born.
I started coming here when I was in the 10th grade, after months of constant violent and physical bullying. A group of senior girls, decided that I was neither good nor attractive enough to ever step foot onto school grounds peacefully while minding my business and getting my education. Stupid right? I know, so that's why instead of crying about it to my parents I walked into the gym and told Marty what was going on.
Almost immediately, Marty, Patty, and the guys all came to me with open arms, taking me in and caring for me as their own blood. As for the bullies, they learned about 3 months after I started boxing not to put their hands on me again.
Now, I'm in college as a full time student while working here Thursday's, Friday's and weekends in the afternoons. I usually spend time playing with the kids to distract them while their parents work out. Today was a pretty slow day, but being as it's Thursday, it wasn't much of a shocker.
I decided to start wiping down the punching bags with disinfectant spray since there wasn't much to do. Some of our regulars were here, like Fredo, Vincent, and Benji; all close friends of 30+ years, working on a few combos and jumping rope together. Or Nancy and her daughter Marci, they were on the treadmills.
Everything was going by smoothly until the front door's bells rang and fell to the ground, from impact of whoever opened it. I turned around to be met my a very aggravated yet astonishingly good looking guy walking into the gym with a bloody nose and cut cheekbone. He stomped his way up to the receptionist desk where usually Patty would be but she took the day off, so I rushed over there seeing as I was the only employee around. I hastily set the spray and wipes down next to one of the bags, and casually walked up to the desk like the guy hadn't just ripped the door bell off.
"Hi....Hi welcome to Marty's Gym. Can I....uh can I help you?" I struggled to ask in both a polite yet worried way.
The guy looked a bit embarrassed but replied back anyway, "Is there someone who can teach me to kick my sister's boyfriend's ass?"
