In His Corner

ONE: "Backgrounds" [THIRD PERSON P.O.V: - - -] It was cold at first. Then it got warm. Truthfully, it was hard to discern between either sensation. She couldn’t see clearly, and neither could he. The world was swirling around them in a haze. Her inhibitions had long lost its grip on her, and he was too drunk off his right mind to realize this was wrong. The handprints they left on each other over the marks they exchanged with hasty lips, reaching for sloppy kisses. All of it was wrong… It was a rather normal night, for the most part. She went to a club for the first time with her friends to celebrate her wins for the year, one of which was passing the bar exam. Something to mark new beginnings for her. On the other hand, he was wallowing in self-pity from all the sh*t he’s been through for the past few days. She was so kind; she listened to him. He was so interesting and mature; he seemed like a good man. They hit off. One by one, they downed shot after shot, and their giggles turned into laughs. She was ecstatic, and he was thrilled. Both of them were fully immersed in the person in front of them. It was the first time he ever met a woman so uptight yet so tolerant. She was a contradiction in itself. It was the first time she ever met a man who didn’t try to demean her achievements. For a stranger, he seemed proud and happy she had that going for her. By now, the alcohol had done its job. They rushed out of that club and ran along the dark streets, laughing at how ridiculous they both were. They booked a hotel initially to have a place to rest, but the following scenes were… blurry. So when morning came, and only the fragments of memories were there, along with the painful, heavy, and ringing pain in her head as a result of the hangover, she realized how grave the events of that night were. A wave of anxiety washed over her, understanding that it was just her in this empty hotel room. Traces of the man from the night before, gone… as well as the memories of his identity. It was almost cruel. But compared to confronting the man in an awkward interrogation, she figured this must be the better end of the deal. Still in absolute shambles, with a million thoughts running through her head, she gathered herself, or what was left of her after such a torrid night. Shame filled her throat as she left the room. Even then, she bore the responsibility to check with the receptionist if the room they used had been paid for. It was. Perhaps serving as the only evidence that she was with someone last night. She left and went home to the apartment she shared with two of her close friends. Not even able to look at her friends, or answer their questions. She just marched her way into the bathroom, scrubbing her skin until the uneasy sensation subsided into little stinging patches. The more she thought it through, the heavier her heart felt. Of course, she would end up confiding in her friends. They offered her comfort and assurance as much as they could, that is. After a while, she did reach peace. It was nothing more than a one-night stand. While that night seemed hazy, she trusted herself when she admitted to consenting and playing a part in how that happened. She slept well at night, thinking that it was ‘not a big deal’ once she calmed down. Moving forward into the next couple of weeks, she felt different—No, she felt off. Right after she started having some peace of mind, a new issue arose. She was nauseous; she started feeling dizzy out of nowhere. Her appetite is at an all-time low. She would have fevers that would subside after a day, and she would crave the most awful of foods, happening within the span of one month, right when she was the busiest with job applications. Something had to be done to make these spontaneous health and diet issues disappear. It ruined her routine and schedule. Her friends accompanied her to the hospital, fearing for the worst. She just wished whatever she contracted would be easily cured within a week’s timeframe. Simply put, there was no window for a break in her mind. … “Congratulations, you’re 3 weeks pregnant,” the doctor announced with a smile, and there on the hospital bed, she lay stunned. Her friends were not so much, they were more worried than shocked. “A-Are you sure?” Beatrice asked, The doctor retained her polite smile, tapping on her clipboard with her fingertips, nodding as she spoke. “Yes, Ms.Nuestro, the test came back with all the findings. If you’re still skeptical, I’d like to schedule a follow-up check-up next month for an ultrasou—” “Excuse me, doctor—uh, how do I say this… actually, can we talk about this, for a second?” one of her friends, Simone Yang, cut off. Speaking for Beatrice Nuestro, simply frozen solid over the fact that she was pregnant. If sudden was an experience, this would be it. The doctor nodded, “Right, I’ll leave you at it then,” giving each of them a glance before leaving the room. Mareba Willis, Beatrice’s other friend, was the first to speak, “Okay, let’s all collectively have a deep breath—” “Mari—No, stop—this is not something we could take deep breaths about,” Simone interrupted, a habit of hers, apparently. Brows furrowed as she turned to Beatrice, just now gaining consciousness of her surroundings, “Bee… oh sh*t, Bee, are you alright?” she asked, knowing full well what the answer to that question is. Beatrice replied by dragging her hands over her face. Immediately thinking a million steps ahead on how she should make her move regarding this issue, and in her frantic thought frenzy, none made sense. “I… I don’t know, Simone!—I–what do I—I don’t know!” she groaned. Panting as a tight feeling grasped at her chest. The familiar feeling of having her heart plummet to her stomach in a mix of confusion and regret bubbled from within her. Simone sighed and raked her fingers through her scalp. “What are we going to do?” she whispered. Mareeba blew a deep breath, shoulders raised in a grimace, “Oh—I don’t know, Simone! I don’t know! We’re not miracle workers here, Monnie! We all just knew this at the same time,” she rambled, making Simone’s frown even deeper than before. “Yeah, I know I’m just—at least I’m trying to come to a solution,” Simone pressed, Mareba squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay–I know… I know… maybe it’s best if we go home for now. This is not the place to have this discussion,” she noted, finally earning an agreeing nod from Simone. On that note, they packed up and had an awkward drive back home. While on the other end of the story, things had just started turning out better for the underdog and underground cage fighter, David Creed. Superficially. His repute had him dubbed as ‘Cujo’, a name well-earned and well-fitted. His skills? Commendable. His origins? A mystery. Unlike the other fighters, he has no ‘sponsor’ to back him up, no gym to represent, and no gang to work for. Nothing. To others, it seemed like he only fought for money. They would be right. No one knows how he even found the ring, how he learned to enter, or where he trained. Very few knew his full name, but if more people did, then maybe they’d find out about his day job. That he’s working as a waiter, and that all of his winnings are used to fulfill his duties as a filial son. Or at least he used to be. That night at the club, all he ever wanted was to forget for a second that he had truly lost his mother, his sole living family. Despite the thousands of money he earned with literal blood, sweat, and tears. There was nothing else they could do to save her mother. He did everything for her. He would do anything to save the one last blood relative he had. His only parent, the only person who ever truly loved him. But even that was taken from him. He couldn’t recall what the doctor called this ‘blood disease’ of his mother was. He’d forgotten the word along the way. All he knows is how the damned disease was slowly eating her away. In turn, he just gave her doctor a very simple proposition. David would keep the cash flowing in the doctor’s pocket as long as he kept her alive. But even with all the money in the world, no doctor could play God and do miracles. The days that passed after his little endeavor with one of the most tolerable women in his life went by in a blink. He abandoned his day job completely and tried to blow off steam in the ring. The fighting turned into something therapeutic for him. Letting out his rage on people who knew exactly what they were getting into was just what he needed. Letting out all his rage with no repercussions. A good three weeks had passed and all he had was money and a new unhealthy coping mechanism. Like an ironic twist of fate, he was scouted by someone who wanted a winning fighter in the MMA world. He fit the shoe, every nook and cranny. “You’re a genius, Cujo! It’s a shame you’re down here… this is your level, son,” That man’s voice was vile, deep, almost demonic as each crack and growl spoke with such certainty and greed for his limitless potential. He refused, thinking that being in an octagon cage held together by rules would just hinder his warpath. He was assured this would not be the case by being placed in the most lenient of rings. Promised with more money than he could ever need. Money was not something David wanted or needed, but if it was there, he figured he’d take it. Now, this broken husk of a man is on his way to stardom in the athletics world as a force to be reckoned with, armed with nothing but his fist thinking he’s the only one he’s got, the only life he’s going to ever care about is his… So he’s going to live it as much as he could.