Broken #2 (The Broken Series - Book #2) Page 3

  My stare became hard, and the look caught Brian off guard. “Yeah, actually I do mind.”

  Brian put his hands up in defense. “Sorry, I didn't know. No problem, man.”

  “What are you two pussies doing over here? We have a training session to do.”

  We both laughed as our Coach walked up to us. He was grinning ear to ear, so we knew he had pain in store for us that day. I finished wrapping my hands, and tried to cool my temper from the conversation I had with Brian.

  “Hey, Coach, what are we doing today?”

  “Well I'm going to have you do your normal heavy bag rounds, but Brian is going to join us today, so I'm going to switch off with the both of you, and do pads with one, while the other remains on the bag. But we will start the first three rounds on the bag.”

  We got into position as Coach went to set the timer for the rounds. We usually did two-minute rounds to get the heart pumping. They weren't long rounds, but after doing 10 of them you could get really gassed.

  As the timer went off, I immediately went into combinations, starting with the jab and cross, and following with either a hook, or a hook and cross. It was important to get used to opening up your opponent, and then landing some deadly shots. Combinations were important in opening your opponent up. If you only threw two punches, you were missing out on opportunities to knock your opponent out. With a four-punch combination, that chance was more likely, or you could at least have them running scared.

  Throughout those three rounds, I threw everything I knew. I landed flying knees, spinning back fists, elbows and roundhouse kicks. By the time the third round ended, I was dripping sweat and my heart was raging in my chest.

  “Okay, Jet, you are with me this round on pads, and Brian, you continue on the bag. We will switch off when the round has ended.”

  I faced my coach, and he called out the shots he was looking for. He wanted to see speed and power at the same time. I loved pad work; it was a lot of fun, but it was not meant as a rest. You had to work just as hard at impressing as you did on the bag.

  The pop, pop, pop sound was all I could hear throughout the gym as it cleared out. There were always a few spectators who liked to watch the fighters train, but for the most part, we had the gym to ourselves.

  The bell went off, and Coach turned to Brain, signalling him to come in.

  “Good work, Jet, get back on the bag.” We tapped knuckles, and I headed in for another bag round. We continued this succession until we had done a total of ten bag rounds.

  “Okay, Jet, I'm going to take advantage of the fact that we have Brian working with us today, and focus on sparring. So let's take it light, we don't need any injuries before the fight. Make sure you work on your defense, Jet; don't just eat punches.”

  He reset the timer for a three-minute round, and when it went off I moved in immediately, catching Brian with a four-punch combo. This was where I was going to settle any confusion he might have about Natalie. We moved around each other, and I slipped a couple of his punches, and returned with a straight, hitting him square in the face. He caught me off guard with a low kick, and I missed checking the kick.

  We continued on like this, each landing our own moves, but keeping things light. It was practice, not a real fight. Sparring allowed you to experience a fight without actually being in one. This was where you made your mistakes, where you were humiliated and then built back up again. It was here you worked your hardest, so that you wouldn't have to in a fight. There was no room for error in a fight, so you didn't want to make your mistakes when it was real. It was important to correct everything when you trained, so that you were a machine in a fight.

  We sparred for four rounds before the coach stopped us.

  “You guys did a good job. You're getting up there, too, Brian. You should be able to get your own fight soon.”

  “Thanks, Coach. Hopefully all this hard work will pay off,” he said.

  “Oh, it always does. Look at Jet. He's one of the stars of the show, and he's relentless in the cage.”

  “Yeah, no kidding; he hits hard. You have a powerful right cross there, Jet.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  “Relax for the rest of the day, Brian,” Coach offered.

  “Sounds cool, Coach, thanks for letting me train with you guys today.”

  “Yeah, anytime.”

  “See ya, Jet,” he waved at me, and I waved good-bye back.

  “He's not a bad guy; he’s a decent fighter,” Coach said.

  “Yeah, he's alright. Nothing to get bent out of shape about.”

  Coach chuckled. “Okay, tough guy, let’s hit the weights, and then you are free for the day.”

  He tapped me on the back of the shoulder and we headed to the weight area. I hoped that Brian got the message I had sent to him during sparring. Don't mess with me, guy.

  Chapter Five

  Natalie

  I lay in bed, frustrated to no end. These days, school was getting the better of me, and I was once again stumped on a project. At the beginning of the year, all the professors had handed out the assignments for the year. So it wasn't just the drawing class I was struggling with. I was also assigned projects for my photography class, as well as my creative writing class. The creative writing project was the one that plagued my existence on that particular sunny Tuesday afternoon. The project was to create a story from scratch, not a particularly long one. It wasn't like I had to prepare a full length novel, but I did have to create a story, and it could be fiction or nonfiction. I had realized throughout my creative studies so far that writing wasn't particularly my strong suit. Certainly I could create something marvellous if I put my mind to it, but it did not come naturally to me, as it did for others.

  I looked up as my bedroom door swung open, and Julie came in, holding a mug.

  “I brought you some green tea with lemon. Maybe it will spark some creative juices.”

  “Aw, thanks. But you probably should have brought some tequila. This is so not going well.”

  “Hey, that might actually work. Weren't most of the famous writers all drunks anyway? That might be the key to it all.”

  I laughed. “I don't think drinking this semester has worked in my favor at all. If anything, it's just made me dumber.”

  “Well, that is true in some cases.”

  “Hey!”

  She laughed. “Well, enjoy your tea. I'm hitting the shower, so I will check on you in a bit. Happy writing!”

  I smiled as she left. I loved Julie; she was such a great friend. I sipped slowly on the tea, to avoid burning my lips. It was the perfect addition to my morning―a little bitterness with a touch of sweetness. I could never drink green tea without lemon, it just wasn't tasty enough. Okay, I needed to focus. I took another sip of tea, and set it down on the bedside table. I took pencil to paper, and started scrolling down some ideas that I thought would be solid starting points. Once I finished, I felt vaguely proud, and started reading over the ideas one by one. As I did that, I started crossing them off one by one. They were terrible ideas, and certainly not very original. Just like with my drawing assignment, I really wanted to open the eyes of my professors creatively. I wanted them to see I could make a mark on the world, that I wasn't just another artist who stumbled through the school hallways, never really going anywhere in life. No, I truly believed I was meant for greatness, and I did not want to be lazy on any assignment. This was my future, and I was determined to work hard for it.

  I lay back on my bed, and nestled my head into the pillows. I thought long and hard about what I could do for my project. The last thing I wanted to do was wait until the last minute to write the bloody thing, or I would be in real trouble. I could just imagine myself with writer's block, the night before the assignment was due. That would certainly impress the professor. And writer's block was real, people, trust me. It had plagued my mind on more than one occasion. My eyes fluttered closed, and I tried to focus on the things that had occurred in my life up until that
point. There had surely been plenty of highs and lows in my life. Good times, and also some very sad times. My professor was always giving us tips when it came to writing in general. She always said to us, “Write what you know!” I had always thought it was excellent writing advice. Many writers often struggled when they ventured outside the box and their stories lacked genuineness. Your true passion for writing often dripped through the crevices of your existence if you had a solid understanding of that passion.

  My mind started drifting to my ex, and how we had originally met. He had stumbled upon me at the library one day and abruptly sat down at my table. He actually studied, unlike Jet. The thought made me smile. My ex had apologized for being rude, but had been looking unsuccessfully for a quiet place to read. He had been so handsome that it almost hurt for me to look at him. Although we had both been there for some quiet, we ended up talking for hours. When he left me his number, and the promise to see me again, I had actually felt an ache at his absence. Sounded like the prefect love story didn't it? A lot of people would eat that right up, and for three years it had been just that―perfection.

  What most people wouldn't expect, however, was the betrayal that came from the man I loved, and my own best friend. The story could be harsh enough for the movies, a real blockbuster. But the idea of recreating that story, and having to dig deep in order to portray the characters correctly would require me to open old wounds that I didn't want to open. When I thought about it, and all that it would require, it made me a little depressed, and I nixed the idea immediately. It could be a compelling drama, but it surely would be a humiliating one for the lead character. No, it was best to lay that one to rest.

  So if I wasn't going to write about my ex, who would I write about? It wasn't long; maybe two to three seconds before Jet came to mind. He was one of those ruthless bad boys that girls (not me) seemed to swoon over. He was the classic breaker of hearts; eat ‘em up and then spit ‘em out. Could I write a convincing story about him? Sure, I could look at what had already transpired between us. It really was the perfect story, and I didn't need to worry about any festering wounds opening back up, because there were no wounds. I didn't care about him, and he didn't care about me. I could essentially write a story based off of true events that were happening in my life right now. It could almost be like a diary.

  I started scribbling furiously on my pad of paper. I tried to remember facts, feelings and situations that had occurred between us so far. I was writing so fast that my hand and wrist started to ache. But I didn't stop. I was on a roll, and I didn't want to lose momentum. I had an idea, and I was running with it before I lost it completely.

  Julie peeked into my room with a towel wrapped around her; wet hair fell messily down her back. Noticing my furious writing, and my inability to look up at her, she came into the room and sat down on the edge of my bed to see what I was doing.

  “I see you figured out your story. I told you that tea would do the trick.”

  I laughed as I looked up at her. All I said to her was, “Jet,” as I continued writing in a frantic manner.

  “Really? Why would you do that?”

  “Why not?”

  “Isn't it obvious?” She laughed nervously, not wanting to kill my writing buzz.

  I stopped writing, and sat up to talk to her. I set my pencil down beside my pad, and waited for her to continue.

  “Are you falling for this guy?”

  “No! Are you crazy? Of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”

  “I don't know, Natalie, but for someone who doesn't want anything to do with the guy, you are really immersed in his life.”

  “No, I'm not.”

  “Oh really? He is your subject for a very important art project, he teaches you self defense and now he's the subject of yet another important writing project. Do you see a theme here?”

  I stared at her, not saying a word. I really didn't have a response, though I had to take note of the fact that she was incredibly perceptive.

  “It's just convenient, Julie. That's all. He makes my art projects easy because of who he is, and he makes it easy for me to exploit his womanizing ways. Now, the self-defense? You were right there; I don't want to experience anything like that again. Had someone else offered to teach me, then I would be doing it with them. But it was Jet who offered, so that's all it is, convenience.”

  Julie didn't appear to be buying anything I was selling to her at the moment.

  “I don't think this story that you are writing is going to have a happy ending. I wish it would, I really do. But based on things that I have seen already, I don't see it happening.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you guys have officially slept together now; it's not just a rumor anymore. Now usually that's the crowning moment, when you finally get to see whether sex turns into something else. Either you move on together, or he never talks to you again. Oddly enough, neither has happened, and you two are stagnant together, just waiting for something to happen. It's very unusual. I just don't see it going happily ever after for you guys, and this weird dance that you are doing with each other.”

  I was shocked by everything that she had said. I hadn't realized that Julie had put that much thought into what was going on between Jet and me. I didn't want to go into great detail with her at the moment; in fact, I didn't want to talk about Jet at all. I just wanted to get my story down as a rough draft, so I could peel away the layers of it another time.

  I smiled at her. “Well it's a good thing that I don't care about a future with Jet, then.”

  “Really, you don't?”

  “No, it is what it is.”

  “You don't think it might be wise to write about something else? You have a great family life, write about that. Or if you need some drama in your life, write about our experience with the mugging; just make Jet's character look like Ryan Gosling.” She had a sparkle in her eye when she said Ryan's name. “I'm just saying I think it's a mistake to devote so much emotional and mental energy on Jet. He's not worth it. You have lots of good stories to tell, Jet's not the biggest thing that has happened in your life so far.”

  “You're the one who tried to get me to talk to him that first time at the bar.”

  “Yeah, I know. He's hot, and I thought he would be a good way for you to get over that asshole, but I made a mistake. I think he's just going to hurt you, and I don't want you to get hurt by another guy. It's obvious it's not going anywhere, so just distance yourself from him.”

  “No, I like this story, and this project has been driving me nuts all day. Now that I have a good idea, I don't want to go back to stressing about finding a new one. It will be fine.”

  “I think you're making a mistake.”

  “Julie, it's not like we are dating. I'm not going to write actual events. It will be more of a based-on-a-true-story sort of thing. I can change whatever I want. I can have whatever ending I want. It doesn't have to end badly. I could have the happiest ending I want, if I choose. If I don't feel like being happy, I can kill off Jet in the end,” I started laughing, and Julie just shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  “Well good luck with that,” she got up off the bed, and wiped at the water drips that had found their way on her shoulder from her hair. “I have to go get ready for class, I'll see you later.”

  I nodded, and watched her as she walked out my door, closing it behind her. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked down at my notes that I had already made for the story.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  Chapter Six

  Jet

  Fight night was tonight, and I was determined to keep focused, to make sure my head was in the game. Game only, this was not the time to think about Natalie, or worry about my grades. It was not the time to get angry over my father's lack of enthusiasm when it came to my career choice, or the fact that he was still determined to have me work for the company. It was also not the time to obsess over the pass Brian had made at Natalie, o
r the fact that there were a million other men out there who were far more deserving of her than I was. No, this day was only meant for me to focus on the fight ahead, and what the game plan was, in order to leave as a champion. Because if I didn't leave as a champion, then my father was going to start having a reason to tell me to give up what he calls my “pipe dreams.” So I had a lot riding on these fights; they were no joke, and I certainly didn't look at them as playtime. This was about the rest of my life, and I planned on going to war tonight, and sending my opponent home, thinking twice about getting in the ring with me again. Killa Killa, it was time to fight.

  I started getting things ready to go. Coach always took care of things like Gatorade, first aid kits, ice, tape―all the things I needed in order to stay hydrated and safe. I always brought my lucky gloves, though no one used shin pads or head gear in professional MMA fights. I wouldn't need much else except my fighting outfit, which consisted of shorts and a T-shirt that had the school sponsorship logo on it. I put everything I needed in my gym bag, and set it by the door. Now it was “me” time. Kyle was hanging out with video games, and that wasn't the scene I wanted before heading out for my fight.

  I headed back into my bedroom, and closed the door. I put some meditation music on my iPod, and lay down on my bed. I got in a comfortable position, and placed the earphone buds in my ears. I turned on the iPod, and the music found its way into my head. I needed to zone out to experience my win in my head before I ever got into the ring. I needed to be a winner before I ever got out there. My goals would be realized before I even left my apartment; it was all part of how I won―not only in fighting, but in life, as well.

  As the music took over, I imagined myself warming up with Coach, getting my head in the game, moving the way I was taught, throwing punches and kicks. Next, I imagined what it would be like to hear my opponent’s name called out in the ring. I imagined what it was like to know he had already lost, and was only going out to meet a good, old-fashioned beating. I then pictured my own name being called, the music that I had handpicked for my walkout playing through the speakers as I broke through the curtains, my team following close behind. I imagined my team, and how hard they, too, had worked to make sure I arrived that night prepared for the fight. To know that I was ready to knock out my opponent. They were there to support me, and would have my back no matter what.