MISTRESS OF THE CITY (CITY SERIES 1)

Thank you for giving this story a chance. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination; any resemblance to real people, places, or other stories is just a coincidence. This is a trilogy: The Mistress of the City (The City) The Shooting in the City (The City 2) Love in the City (The City 3) One has to pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while one is still alive. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche When you lose your heart, you lose control of your head, too. Nietzsche has never been more right than when he said those words. Balancing between what your heart wants and what your mind wants is the biggest struggle ever. Some people choose the heart, others the mind. Me? I choose both. Without one, you lose control of the other. Every time you breathe, be ready to sacrifice something in return. That's how I see life: to wake up, you must sacrifice sleep, step out of the house, and sacrifice your comfort zone. I offer those two every day to come and have my body experience all types of soreness. Every time you do something, you have to think of the sacrifices you have to make. I give my best in every aspect of my life because it would be a shame to sacrifice my gifts and capabilities. I take one step backward and slide to the left, my eyes glued to the man in front of me. All my senses are alert, and adrenaline is surging in my blood like electricity. The energy is in my fisted hand, at my heels, urging me to use it to the fullest. It makes me feel alive and makes me live in that moment. I decided to live my life to the fullest when I realized that people would judge me no matter what. I bounce on my heels as I squat and stay down, ready to use my short height against him. I throw a punch underneath his right elbow near the bottom rib, and he does not even stumble. Being the experienced man he is, he saw me move. He is fast and precise, and as he throws two straight punches to my head, I raise my hands to block him. I realize my mistake, which allows an opening in the body to be exploited with a powerful left uppercut to my stomach. I stumble back but regain my stance almost immediately. My mind is a maze. If you entered, you would need a map. I have a lot of things going on, and at the top of my mind is tomorrow's dinner. I tend to overthink everything. I do not like surprises. If any problem arises, I like being on top of it and not being surprised. Never again! I continue sparring, with tomorrow still lingering in my mind. Do I know how tomorrow night will end? Hit. Almost. Hit. I have a rough idea of what might happen. Hit. All I know is that the outcome won't come as a surprise to me. Hit. What's tomorrow, you ask? Hit. Dinner with my boyfriend's family Hit. I should be excited, right? Hit. I get to meet the family of the remarkable man I am dating. Hit Dinner should be memorable and smooth, and if you come from a family full of drama like mine, you should always be prepared for drama. Hit. Being nervous is normal. Hit. Hit. Hit. Letting my emotions show up is not something I like. Hit It's a mistake I am making, and my opponent can see that. Hit. I have learned to control or fake my emotions when they come in handy. Observing people and surroundings is critical before becoming comfortable. Controlling my emotions is one thing I am not doing right now because I am pouring out my frustrations about the dinner in this fight. Hit. My sparring partner gives me a look I know very well. Never let emotions control you while you are in a fight. That is a well-known fact, but it's easier said than done. I need this; I need to let my emotions out. I don't want my nerves to be all over the place during dinner. I predict some of the hits from my sparring partner. It was hard initially, but I learned some of his moves in the last few weeks. It started as a way of working out. It's not like I want to become an M.M.A. fighter like him. It's a suitable form of exercise when looking for a change in routine. The beauty of boxing is that it's an all-in-one exercise. I can feel my body wanting to give up and tiredness creeping up on me slowly. I take two small steps to the side as my partner goes in the opposite direction. We cycle each other like prey and predator, except I am no prey, and my partner is no prey either. What does that make the two of us? He throws the cross punch, and I slip, throwing a jab that lands in the middle of his chest. He doesn't stumble or look surprised, but he throws a left uppercut, which I dodge. I do not give him a chance to make a move as I punch him in the same spot in the middle of the chest. We circle each other several times and dodge each other's punches; I land a few points. He gets a chance to pin me on the ground, and I find a way to escape. Our daily routine for the past several weeks lasts twenty more minutes before our time is up. "I am getting better," I say while taking deep breaths. He does not stop walking toward the bench where his belongings are. He scoffs at my statement. Luke Madden is an M.M.A. fighter who retired one year ago. I do not know all the details, but I know that he is good at what he does. His career-appropriate physique is muscular and toned, and he has short, curly, brown hair. He has a gorgeous eye color, sea green. We are both instructors at the Darhk Sports Center. Luke, of course, has people's respect, while I am just getting used to working here. He is now a martial arts trainer. He is training some people in the M.M.A. and others who are not. D.S.C. specializes in many Olympic sports and has an M.M.A. gym that Luke runs. As for me, I am a fencing coach. I only have a few clients since only a few take fencing seriously. The majority of my clients are seven-year-old beginners, as well as several teenagers who require extra credit. I have a few who are participating in competitions. Either way, I take my job seriously. I have been under the microscope since I took over from Peter, the previous coach, who is still recovering from an accident. "You know, one of these days you will admit that I am getting better," I tell him, keeping steady eye contact. Luke is one of those people who can make you cower away in fear just by looking at you. His tattoos and scars make him intimidating, but I have come to know him in the past few months. He is a guy who likes to keep to himself. He communicates very well in the ring compared to small talk. "Beat me then, and then I will admit it," he said inflexibly as he walked away to get ready for his training sessions. "I look forward to the day you eat your words, Madden." He is about to say something, but he stops at the familiar voices outside the room. A little blonde-haired girl races into the gym, screaming, "Daddy!" Mabel Madden is a wild five-year-old replica of her dad. She has her dad's green eyes; they also have the same heart face shape, broad forehead, and pointed chin. Luke squats down, picks her up, and tosses her in the air, letting out a giggle that fills the entire room. Amara, or Amy, as Luke calls her, leans against the door as she watches Luke and Mabel with a smile. Luke walks over to her while still holding a giggling Mabel and gives her a soft, warm kiss. "What are you guys doing here?" he asks as he looks between his wife and daughter. "She is driving me crazy; her primary goal is to make me crazy." Amara says in frustration, "She didn't want to go to school until she saw you." She says it with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. "Why are you giving Mommy a hard time?" Luke asks his daughter as Amara moves to sit on the seat near me. "Hi Kylie, I am sorry you always have a front seat to our family drama," she greets. "Oh, please, this is nothing," I said. It's the truth: I am well-versed in family dramas. Families are different, but mine is the definition of drama. "Wow, you are showing already," I gush as I glance at her cute baby bump. She is either five or six months pregnant. "Thanks; the media will have a field day when they find out," she grumbles while she moves around the seat, finding a comfortable position. She tucks a strand of hair back with the rest of her wavy blonde hair. I can hear Luke and Mabel having a conversation. I cannot hear the words exactly, but I can see how invested he is in the conversation. "It was great seeing you, Amara," I tell her as I pick up my stuff to get ready to shower so I can attend my training sessions. She wishes me a good day as I head out of the room. I enter the black, and white washrooms, ready to shower. If I were at home right now, I would prepare myself a bubble bath and lie in my thoughts. Right now, though, I have to give my all to this job. The water roars out from the shower head as soon as I turn the silver-coated knob; the water droplets hit my body angrily, immediately calming me down. I sigh as I close my eyes to relish the feeling. *** This fencing hall is vast, with high ceilings stretching endlessly upward. It has a dimly lit space that exudes a sense of ancient grandeur. A nostalgic feeling emanates from the room due to the walls painted with a pre-dawn sky hue and the antique weaponry adorning them. The hall's ceiling is high and vaulted, with exposed wooden beams that create an open and expansive atmosphere, towering above the fencers who train below. Every time I look up, it gives the impression of endless possibility, as though the sky is the only limit. It also helps me appreciate how far I have come and how far I am going. The light fixtures were antique brass and cast a warm, yellow glow over the hall, illuminating the fencing strip that ran the room's length. The floor of the hall gleams like rich honey under the bright lights hanging from the ceiling. They made it out of polished hardwood. The wood is rich in a honey color that seems to glow in the dim light, and it is smooth to the touch, almost like glass. Every step in the hall echoes audibly, adding to the grandeur and drama that permeates the space. The texture of the walls is rough, giving the area a rustic feel, and the dim lighting cast deep shadows around the room. I have been into sports since I was little. Something that did not please my mom at all. She wanted a girl to doll up and take to the beauty pageants. We have always been at each other's throats; choosing not to be her Barbie doll to prance around did not sit well with her. She would have preferred that I have a regular job. Her mouth says she is a modern woman, but her actions say something very different. In this class, I do not force them to have the same routine; their bodies are different, so I let them be during warm-up. They are six of them, and they are very determined and want to be here. I walk around the hall as they do their lunges and parries. Some are going through stretches and footwork drills. This is the most serious class that I have. Their presence isn't for their parents or extra credit. They are here because they want to. A group of eager young fencers, all suited up and ready to learn. Their bright eyes and energetic demeanor are infectious, and I can't help but feel a sense of pride as their coach. I can relate to their drive, having been a fencer for several years. But there's something different about teaching others and passing on the knowledge and experience I've gained. It's a responsibility I take seriously and am honored to have. "Good morning, everybody," I say, steadying my voice. "Are you ready for today's practice?" They all answer in unison with so much vigor, making me happy. As we move on to exercises with the weapons, I can see the determination on their faces. They want to learn, grow, and become champions. As the session progresses, I see my students honing their skills and techniques. And as the sweat drips down my face, I can't help but smile. This is why I do what I do—to see the joy and satisfaction on the eager faces of my young students, all brandishing their shiny swords. I know how important it is for them to have a strong leader, someone they can admire and aspire to be like. So I square my shoulders and step forward, ready to lead them in today's practice. I'm a professional, of course, and I would never let my feelings interfere with my coaching duties. I do not know them personally, but I am giving myself time to study them differently to know their strengths and weaknesses. Their white gear with black and red writing looks good on them. Today we are using epee. It is the heaviest of all three weapons. The epee is similar in design to the foil but slightly larger. Its features are a curved guard and a thick, triangular blade. In épée fencing, the target area is the entire body, from the top of the mask to the tip of the toes. It is also a thrusting weapon, so fencers only use the tip of the blade to score points. I am not supposed to choose, but this is my favorite class. They are quick and easy to work with. They know that in every session, they should exchange partners to improve their skills. I approach the ones on my left, Mark and Ruby. They are competing in the Regional Junior Cadet Circuit (RJCC). It is designed to promote and develop strong regional tournaments for junior and cadet-aged fencers who seek competitive opportunities beyond the local and division levels but below the NAC junior and cadet levels. This will be the first time my students are in any competition. They both participated last year and decided to try again. Tyler and Derek are joining this year, while Amelia and Jack decided to wait for next year. I am all for supporting them. In the next hour, we go through several moves to improve their speed. We exchange the swords from foil to Sabre. The competition is in less than two months. I will make sure they are ready by then. I have Ruby and Tyler spar while the rest watch. Ruby is a very promising fencer; she has been fencing since she was young. I am confident my students will do well in the competition, but Ruby will blow everyone away with her skills. I compliment them, correct them, and guide them throughout their class.