My cocky opponent smirks at me, stretching each of her arms to the side before positioning herself in a fighting stance, glancing at the curious looks of the male soldiers surrounding us.
"I bet you can't even fight with that tiny sports bra you have on." She comments loudly, clearly proud of her fickle attempt at an insult as she looks for the approving chuckles of these men.
I roll my eyes, sweeping my hair back up into a ponytail, blood from a picked scab on my knuckle dripping onto my cheek, hard evidence from my first round several hours ago.
I wipe my bloody nose with my bare forearm, grinning at her through the pain, my mouth metallic and blood shining through my teeth, the sight making the color drain from her face.
The mock-referee stands in the middle of the ring as I crouch down and position my fists in front of me, blocking my face and peering over my hands to see the considerably less confident expression gracing my opponent's features.
Exactly ten days.
Today marks ten days since Christmas.
I shut my eyes tightly, flashes coaxing my mind, my wrists bound, blood dribbling down my chin, twisted limbs, pleas...
Snapping my eyes open, I hear the familir ring of the referee's whistle, zoning in on my opponent's face, we begin to circle each other, she sends a few jabs, all of which I avoid, ducking, leaning, launching.
She throws an uppercut, but I catch her fist with my palm mid-air, throwing her body stumbling back again.
Frustrated with her boring antics, I channel my rage and propell forward. I land a fist to her face, throwing her off center, her nose evidently broken based off its now crooked structure.
Smirking, I throw myself backwards, landing on my palms in a tabletop position, successfully dodging her lazy attempt at a roundhouse kick. She seems to think she has the upper hand now that I'm on the floor, but I only let her bask in it for a moment before I sweep my foot under her ankle, causing her to tumble over mere seconds after.
Her eyes widen as her head smacks the ground, a little bit of blood already trickling from the back of her head. Ensuring my undefeated streak today, I throw a leg over her two and straddle her, she tries to shove me off, but I simply wrap my hand around her throat.
I watch the life slowly draining from her eyes, her hands stretching at my wrist, begging me to let her go. She hasn't given the forfeit yet though, whether that's from choice or simple incapability, I frankly don't care.
I revel in the feeling of power washing over me, being able to control one's life, whether or not they'll live to see another day, if they'll succeed...
"Ivy!" My father's voice rings in my ears, and I have no choice but to get off the writhing girl.
Rolling my eyes, I swing my foot back over and stand up from my crouching position. I wipe the sweat off my forehead while walking to the ropes. I duck between the top and middle one and hop of fthe platform, looking back to the onlookers with a wink. "Duty calls." I muse, throwing a coy wave at my still panting opponent, who shoots a distasteful glare right back.
I walk over to my dad, who is immensely frustrated with me but I can't find it in myself to give a fuck. "Hey, Boss." I grin at him, taking a swig out of my water and throwing a t-shirt on over my sports bra.
I see his jaw tick in reaction to the name, his irritation at my "carelessness" and "crass actions", as he puts it, amplifying with each dying moment. I simply shrug at the response, and set my water bottle down on a wooden bench.
