Drowning

Twenty Seven;

My neck had jolted as I stumbled back in the previous round, but to a big degree. I knew that, tomorrow, I wouldn't be able to move it. For now, though, I had to. I had to move it and I had to continue the fight. I wouldn't ever give Hunnaway the satisfaction of winning. And I most certainly couldn't tarnish my reputation.

Our fists were swinging back and forth; bruises making immediate appearances on both of our bodies.

I won that round. But then there was another round, then another, and a few more after that.

My heart was beating fast in my chest and the need to win had never felt so urgent before. It wasn't pettiness, or me being a sore loser, but I needed to show the world who was the fucking boss.

"Unsurprisingly, Harry Styles, World Champion, wins overall!" the announcer cheers, causing loud echoes of celebratory noises to sound from the crowd.

I didn't let my excitement, my happiness, show. On the inside, I was dancing, singing, cheering with the crowd. But on the outside, I was nonchalant and still prepared to kick arse if I needed to.

"Cunt," Hunnaway spits, jogging down from the ring to his little coach. I scoff.

Press came charging over to both myself and Hunnaway. Our questions would be entirely different, however; for Hunnaway, the usual, 'how does it feel to lose?', and for me, 'how does it feel to win? To beat Hunnaway, again?'.

After speaking briefly with press, and receiving many compliments from Bill, I asked for somebody to go and get Zahara, the only person I wanted to see, or be with, right now.

A few minutes later, Zahara appeared by the side of a security guard, a massive grin on her pretty face. I immediately felt the stress in my shoulders, in my neck, release the moment I saw her.

"Baby," I sigh, walking up to her and engulfing her smaller body in a hug.

"You did so good!" she says, her voice muffled from her face being muffled in my torso. "I honestly thought he was going to kill you. I hate him," she says, pulling her face away from my stomach to look up at me.

"Don't be silly, baby. I couldn't let that happen, could I?" I say, though I had been shitting myself.

"So, Harry! This is your girlfriend?" a news reporter asks me. Zahara pulls entirely away from my body, standing next to me and looking nervous. I took her hand into my own.

"Yes," I nod, the action causing my neck to pang again.

"Amazing! What's her name?" she says.

"She's standing right there," I frown. "Ask her," I say. Zahara squeezes my hand, as if to tell me to stop, as if to tell me to not cause a scene over something so seemingly irrelevant.

"What's your name?" the news reporter asks.

"I'm Zahara." Zahara says. "What's your name?"

"Amazing! I'm Rebecca." she says, her voice so scripted and fake. "How long have the two of you been an item?"

"A while." I say, keeping it vague.

"Where are you from, Zahara? What's your occupation? Do you have kids? An ex-spouse?" Rebecca says. I felt my features twist into a harsh expression.

"She doesn't have to answer your questions," I say. "In fact, Zahara isn't going to answer your questions."

"It's fine," Zahara whispers to me, once again, giving me that same squeeze of the hand.

"Come on, lad. Let's get ya home!" Bill interrupts, placing a hand on my shoulder and tapping. I winced a little, my body already beginning to seize up.