Roses & Ruin

Chapter 37 (Anthony)

      I could feel the heat just below my flesh, the slick sheen of sweat forming down my back and over my face. My hands were wrapped tight, but that doesn't stop the burning feeling of punching something. Or in this case someone.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot keeping my muscles loose and warmed up. I controlled my breathing so I wouldn't fade out too fast.

Fight to forget. That's my line, and tonight I have something to forget.

        I have to shed Lexi and leave her in the past. Even if she'll also be in my immediate future. She's Aleksandra now. Enzo's soon to be wife. That's how I gotta look at it. Sure, I didn't know her for very long, but I haven't been that intrigued by a woman in a long time. She was different to what I usually went for in a woman.

Hot is one thing, but hot and intelligent and interesting is quite another. I found all those things in her. Lexi. But that's over now.

As weird as it may feel right now, I guess she'll eventually just be some girl I share a secret with, but nothing more than that. In time it'll be like a faded memory, like an odd dream you can't quite remember all the details of.

    Those beautiful, pink, plush sexy lips need to be forgotten. Her soft moans, her creamy flesh. How tight she was. How good she was for it being her first time. It's shocking how well she took my cock when she's never taken one before. 

Something deep inside me feels satisfied with that fact. Though I'll never admit it out loud.

      I can't get lost in thought right now. Not when I have a 200 pound man scowling at me from across the garage lot, ready to beat my face in. It's been a longer fight than usual. We're both tired, but both determined. I don't often lose fights and with the stress of the last several days I have plenty of ammo to keep me going. 

To motivate me to punch until the burning in my knuckles fades into the throb of a fist hitting my face or the sting of smacking onto the ground, concrete to flesh.

    "GET THAT MOTHER FUCKER, AYE RIZZO" I heard my buddy Bianchi hollering out from the crowd. He was many beers in, with a fist full of cash willing to be spent. He was sweating too. All of us were even if they weren't fighting. A lot of bodies fill that one lot. A lot of adrenaline coursing through us all.

 "DROP THAT WOP" I heard a non Italian shout from the masses. He better be careful. There are a lot of damn Italians in here for him to be dropping offensive terms, but then again we all talk a lot of shit and most don't take it personally.

Like barbarians it's how we bond. Hitting fists and swearing mouths.

          But fuck that. He isn't dropping any fucking wop. I went for the big swing. The shot that'll either rock him to his core or give him an open shot to my face. I faked a left swing, he anticipated the right, so I faked a second swing from the right, but to the body. And when he quickly went to block the body shot I swung higher and CLAP.

Bone to bone, the sharp smacking sound of fist hitting jaw. It swung far in the opposite direction to the punch until the 200 pound man, built fleshy on top, went tumbling down.

Our guys counted him down. 1, his arm splayed out at his side. 2, his eyes were shut. 3, he never sat up. And the crowd went nuts.

"RIZZO" my name was shouted out by many voices, but mainly the ref who deemed me the winner.

     Somebody went and tapped the guy's cheek to wake him up. Our street kid quickly swiped any blood or sweat that may have reached the ground to prep for the next fight. Somebody grabbed my arm and lifted it high above my head. People were cheering and hollering all kinds of things.