Chapter 5:
I’ve learnt to never judge. Over the years, as my life consumed me and I struggled through my days, I realized that I hated people who looked down upon me and my ways. Whether it was the snobby cashier at the supermarket who looked at my cut face and knuckles with disgust, or the psychologist who looked at my behavior with sympathy, they didn't know my story therefore they had no right to make assumptions. There was no space for judgement of others in my life and I was sure that every human being in this world shared my hatred of being judged.
However, sitting in this room, gazing at these fighters I can’t stop my mind from wondering about what drives these women to fighting in an underground tournament. Are they also battling family and social issues like me? Did they grow up in a bad environment, leading them to fighting illegally? Or is this something they loved to do? Too many questions, too few answers.
It’s Saturday night, the beginning of the tournament. The arena is situated beneath a massive club in the heart of the city. While the club has been designed like any other club, with the dance floor, strobe lights and fancy bar area, the real action takes place beneath it all. Mike guides us through the throngs of scantily clad bodies as they gyrate against each other. A plain metal door at the right end of the room holds a six foot, heavily muscled bodyguard. I notice that no one even gazes in the direction of the door let alone approaches it. At the time we are the only ones entering and after offering our names and my fighter number, we’re ushered in through a dimly lit hallway.
The sounds of the club drone off as we walk further down the hallway. The walls are cement and so is the floor. There is a damp smell lingering in the air. A construction elevator greets us at the end of the hallway and another giant on steroids sends us down.
I feel my eyes go wide as we descend to a stop just a level beneath the hallway. In front of us is one of the biggest underground MMA arenas I have ever seen. The place is packed to capacity and I smile as I take in the official cage used in the UFC and other legal MMA competitions. The crowd is made up of such a variety of people that you couldn’t differentiate between an accountant and a part time car thief.
Ryan holds onto my arm the entire time and I shake my head at his need to protect. We circle around the crowd, moving towards two large metal doors situated to the left of the elevator. Ryan offers our names again and we are ushered through. Mike however is forced to join the crowd as this area is cordoned off for fighters and their coaches. The doors bring us to another hallway. There are two doors on each side of the long hallway and one door at the very end of the hallway. The first door on the left, we find is the men’s locker room and the one opposite to it is the female’s. We step through the door and the first thing I realize is that the room is decently sized. There are five rows of lockers running vertically to the entrance area. The lights in the room are bright, illuminating the blue lockers. I gaze at the faces of the fighters I am being pitched against as they too scan me from head to toe. Some look with interest, others disdain and others boredom. Most of the women sitting in this room look to be under twenty five. They look hard and strong. There are only about a dozen women in the room but I can’t seem to focus on a single one.
I look away as I follow Ryan towards the back of the room where I have been allocated a changing area. I dump my bag on the long wooden bench that runs through the middle of the row. I gaze to my left finding two sharp green eyes trained on me. Her face is hard and I take note of the ugly looking scar on the side of her forehead. Her brown hair is cut close to her head and I admire the tattoo that runs up the right side of her neck. She is more built than I am and from the intensity I see in her eyes, I’m praying that she isn’t my first opponent.
“Sit.”
I turn to Ryan who is standing in front of me with a look of determination and seriousness on his face. I sit down pulling off my hoodie in the process which leaves me in my black tank top. I rubbed my hands on my trousers. Ryan squats in front of me, his eyes boring into mine.
“Stay calm, I know you ready for this. You’ve fought in many tournaments and I want you to focus on your fights. Try and not let other thoughts cloud your mind.” Ryan speaks with a fierceness that comes out whenever I need to be motivated.
I nod my head, understanding his words. I can’t let thoughts of my father get in the way of my focus during the fight. I know how it had caused me problems these past few months and that is mostly in practice fights. I can’t deserve to lose focus now.
“Let’s get you prepped.”
I stand up pulling off my trousers which hides my boxing shorts. My shorts are plain black except for the green flame running up the side of my right thigh. I slip off my shoes and sit back down as Ryan pulls out the tape. For the next ten minutes Ryan wraps each of my feet and then each of my hands in black tape as I let my mind wonder about the women in the room. Since the size of the tournament is much larger than others I know that the fighters are going to be more experienced. Both Ryan and I know nothing about my opponents who I am to be fighting therefore my only hope is to use my skill of reading my opponent in order to gain as much information as I can in the beginning of the fight.
My body is relaxed and I feel no aches or pains from yesterday’s gruesome workout. I have Ryan to thank for that. Without his ice bath and hernia inducing massage I would still be feeling the lingering effects of the training.
“Okay ladies listen up,” I look to the front of the room but can’t make out who is talking, all I can be certain of is that it is a man and he sounds to be middle-aged, “introductions will be made in the fight area now before the first fight. We know how you ladies like to be first, however we’ve decided to have a gentlemen dual first and thereafter we will alternate between males and females. Fighters are announced at the beginning of each fight. Losers will be knocked out of the tournament immediately, while winners will proceed to the next round. A win is by knock-out or submission there are no rounds and no judges. However, there is a referee and he will be there to ensure that you fight a clean fight. ” The man ends his speech and I hear the door open and close.
“That clears things up.” I say, smiling at Ryan.
Ryan chuckles, standing up and placing a soft kiss on my forehead, “Let’s get moving.”
I slip my shoes back on, running my fingers over my taped knuckles. I grab my gloves which are a pre-tournament gift from Ryan, including the shorts. I tighten my ponytail once more, ensuring I wasn’t going to be cursing my hair during my fight.
Gradually the fighters walk out with their companions, some male, and some female. I follow Snake Eyes out of the room, gazing at the male fighters as they walk towards the fight area too. Ryan walks behind me, a protective hand placed at the small of my back.
The crowd parts as the fighters walk towards the cage and the sound is intense. There are more than a thousand spectators packed in the area, combine their screams in a sound tight room and you’ve got deafening. The room is mainly open space with the brightly lit cage in the middle. I notice an area cordoned off next to the ring which houses five chairs.
The crowd grows surprisingly quickly quiet and I strain my neck in order to catch a glimpse of the person who earned the silence. Ryan and I stand towards the middle of the group of fighters and I can barely make out the people in the forefront.
I feel my heart stop altogether as I look at the man climbing the three steps of the cage to address his audience. His black hair is still long and wavy but the obvious decorations of snow can be seen. His face is still handsome as always but the marks that mar his face are more prominent. His eyes, as I remember them being a soft blue have turned icy. When he smiles, I’m not sure if I am looking at my father anymore. There is no happiness in it, just cynicism. He is dressed in a tailor fit navy suit with a white shirt and no tie. He looks rich, powerful and dangerous.
I swallow the lump in my throat, grabbing onto Ryan’s hand as a lifeline. I feel his fingers tighten around mine and I let out the breath I have being holding.
“Welcome all to our humble home. I look forward to our tournament this year. I hear we’ve got some of the best fighters in America.” He pauses as the crowd cheers, they seem to love him, “I wish you all the best of luck and may the best fighter win!” His voice is loud, clear and authoritative. A voice I have never heard him use, not even with my mother.
“Short and sweet.” I blink at the man standing next to me. His face is blooming with a full smile and a look of admiration on his face. He’d mumbled the words as my father descended the stairs. What made my father so special to these people?
“You okay love?” Ryan whispers in my ear, his eyes shining with concern.
I keep my face passive, “I’m good.” I reply softly but strongly.
“Now to the action,” I look towards the front where a middle-aged man dressed in a black shirt and trousers stands and I realize it was the man from the locker room, “our first fight of the night will be fought by, Mark Johnson and Freddie Soleman!” his voice booms loud around the area and that’s when I notice the microphone held in his hand. The crowd cheers as the two man walk through the crowd towards the cage. Both men are big, however one is slightly taller than the other. The usual handshake is initiated by the professionally attired referee. Now remember what I said about judging, doesn’t mean it’s an illegal event decent referees couldn’t be used.
“You want to watch the fight?” Ryan shouts over the cheering crowd.
Many of the fighters have returned to the locker rooms while some have decided to stay and watch the match. Since this is a male fight, I don’t have to worry about keeping an eye on potential opponents.
I shake my head before gazing at the man I once called my father. He is sat on one of the five chairs and he holds that same cynic smile on his face. How am I supposed to talk to that man, he seems nothing like the man I knew. I turn towards the locker rooms and as we pass the metal doors I hear the first sounds of the fight.
Inside the room I drop onto the wooden bench in our corner. My mind is reeling and I feel sick. I can feel the sweat licking my skin at the back of my neck and I craved fresh air. Lo and behold I am stuck underground for the next few hours. No fresh air, no peace.
“Lea, look at me.” Ryan speaks quietly as he squats in front of me just like earlier.
I let out a harsh breath before gazing up into his blue eyes. “Did you see him Ryan? He looks… so… so... shit!” my voice quivers as I run my hands over my face.
“I didn’t know your father Lea but it seems as if there’s more you need to learn about him.”
“He doesn’t even look or sound like the man I knew.” I say softly, not needing any eavesdroppers to hear.
“You can’t just jump to any conclusions right now love. Just calm down and try and focus on your upcoming fight. We’ll have time to find out more about him.” Ryan lays a gentle hand on my knee, squeezing it.
I draw in a deep breath and nod my head. “You right.”
For the next hour we wait as fights are alternated between males and females. The crowd remain loud and strong, showing no signs of leaving anytime soon. So far five male fights have been fought and four female. That means nine competitors have already been kicked out of the competition. Ryan watches every female fight and takes notes. I sit in the locker room and watch as fighters leave and then return. Snake eyes is sat in her place, quietly conversing with her manager, a middle-aged man. He has a ugly face, his demeanour screams stern and authoritative.
The locker room quiets down as the announcer calls out the next fight. A speaker in the corner of the room projects the sound loudly across the room.
“Our next fight will be fought by Carla Mitchell and Lea Anderson!” I draw in a big breath and stands up. I feel the eyes of the other competitors as I walks out of the locker room. No one offers a sentiment of good luck. I flex my hands, stretching the material of the glove on my hand.
Ryan is the first person I spot as I enter the arena. People cheer as I make my way towards the cage. Ryan meets me before I reach the cage.
“Good luck love.”
That’s all he says before I am ushered into the cage and I get a good look at my first opponent. She is slightly taller than me. Her muscles are more defined and her crop top shows off her ripped abdomen. Her brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, similar to mine. Under other circumstances you could call her pretty but the scowl on her face and excessive muscle puts a halt on that thought.
“I want a good clean fight.” The referee shouts over the crowd.
We both nod our heads before shaking hands. I turn back towards my corner where Ryan is standing, outside of the cage. My gaze automatically strays towards the seating area. My eyes connecting with eyes I once dreamed off. His gaze is steady and assessing as he listens to the man next to him.
I turn away, feeling my chest ache. I take my position in front of the girl named Carla and wait for the referees call.
I watch her as she takes her position, her stance is strong but rigid. Her legs placed firmly on the ground. She is a stiff fighter. One who relies on power more than skill, completely opposite to me. While I possess a good amount of strength in my attacks, my greatest strength is my agility and speed.
“Fight!”
I begin my ritual of movement. Shifting and turning from side to side, never standing in one place for too long. This is a strategy Ryan has specially created for me. Move around, force my opponent to lose concentration and balance, cause some irritation before attacking all of a sudden.
Carla follows me in my movements but it is obvious she struggles with her footing. I see her irritation snap just before she lunges. I block her right hook and side-step, skipping around her to the other side of the cage. She comes back at me, her attacks filled with power and precision. Each punch and kick aims at specific area of my body. I dodge most, but can’t prevent the jab to my cheek. I wince feeling the sting just below my right eye. I carried on with my movements. Carla is tiring and I know my time is now. She hates the moving around, it puts a strain on her attacks, forcing her to use more of her energy.
It’s obvious that the crowd is getting frustrated with my dodging. I probably look like a scared chicken trying to run away from the wolf. I choose to hear only Ryan’s voice which encourages me to stick to my game.
I shift one more time, from right to left and when I watch Carla falter in her steps I pounce. My attacks consist of combinations I have used for years. My movements are fast and effective. I dodge her counter attack, striking out with my right leg at her ribs. She stumbles back from the blow giving me the perfect opportunity.
I have her in the air and on her back in less than five seconds. I force my weight onto her abdomen, securing her legs with my own. I attack her head as she tries to block my hits. Once I can see her energy draining I push off, grabbing her left arm and performing an arm-guard submission. I hold onto her arm, using my legs to keep her body down and to apply pressure to the top of her arm. This was one of my favourite submissions. The pressure and pull on the arm is always too much to fight and it’s one of the hardest locks to get out off.
I can feel the sweat trickling down my face as I force all my strength into my legs. I clench my jaw, keeping hold of her arm. I don’t want to do any permanent damage to her arm so I choose not to apply more pressure on her arm. I can hear the crowd cheering and Ryan’s voice louder than all.
“It’s over!”
I let go immediately, even though I don’t hear her tap against the mat. I feel the referee grab onto my arms and pull me away. Carla is holding onto her arm, a look of pain and frustration on her face. I stand up as the crowd cheers. I walk towards Carla and offer her my hand. She gazes at it for a moment before sighing in defeat and grabbing onto it. I help her onto her feet just as her manager walks in and helps her out. I smile at Ryan as he walks towards me.
I was about to walk towards him when I feel a pull on my right hand. I gaze at the referee, who promptly raises my hand into the air and shouts, “Winner!” The crowd’s cheers ring out loud in the arena.
I don’t stay long in the cage, I never liked boasting about a win. I walk out to pats and nods of congratulations from the crowd. Ryan holds onto my arm as he pulls me through the crowd.
The dressing room is the same as I had left it. The fighters gaze at me as I walk to my space at the back. Some nod, while others just stare, long and hard.
I sink onto the bench, taking deep breaths and sipping from the bottle of water Ryan hands to me. Ryan sits next to me and I feel him apply some gel to my cheek. I gaze at Snake Eyes who is looking at me with a new glint in her eye and I swear there’s a smirk playing on her lips.
“That was one hell of an arm-guard.” Ryan says softly, while un-taping my hands.
I smile, “I learnt from the best.” I wipe the sweat from my forehead.
“You in the next round.”
“Mmm…”
“Thinking about your dad?”
I gaze at Ryan, nodding slowly before looking down at my knuckles. He was here, right here and I was too afraid to do anything. I can go up to him right now and talk to him. Ask him all the questions I want. But something is stopping me. I don’t know if it’s because I want to find out things first before hearing him lie to me, or because the look in his eye doesn’t scream ‘I would love to have the daughter I abandoned come and ask me a hundred questions about my life’. Talking to him now is out of the question that’s for sure. I guess I will just need to trust Ryan and Mike to help me get some answers. All I need to do now is convince myself that the things I am about to find out might not be the prettiest of things.