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"That was one hell of a punch, mijito. You sure you're alright?"
No. I'm not alright, the fucker punched my fucking nose.
The hit came a lot quicker than I expected. I couldn't pinpoint exactly how it happened, only remembering my quick jab at his stomach before feeling a fist collide with the bridge of my nose. It wasn't enough to knock me down, but enough to have me stagger around the ring.
Saved by the bell, I squinted my eyes as I stumbled to my corner.
It was a mean old punch, not gonna lie, but I wasn't about to say it out loud.
"Don't give up just yet, Morales. One more round than you can collapse." The voice chuckled, gripping a firm hand on my shoulder.
Connor O' Riley, my coach and mentor since 2015. I associated myself with his underground clubs when I was 14. I walked in with a couple of friends looking for a hobby to do. I wasn't the least interested in learning to fight till' I stepped into the same ring I'm in today. I enjoyed analyzing a boxers technique as they pranced around the ring with big, padded gloves to prevent from fracturing or breaking a hand. Connor essentially took me in after one practice match between my friend, Michael, and trained me ever since.
I grunted in response. I felt a cool sensation against my skin, dosing my eyes and mouth. I gladly accepted the water, feeling the cool liquid run down my throat and down my chin. I gulped down a bottle of water that one of Connor's assistance handed to me.
Each round, we get at least a minute before heading back into the ring. Medical drop-outs attended to your needs after each round, handing you water, cleaning up any cuts or marks left by the other competitor, and just really making sure you're still breathing. It was a fast process I've never gotten used to.
I felt warm, fragile hands examine my ( probably broken ) nose. Cupping my chin, she dabbed a wet cloth on the bridge of my nose and pinched, like when a child is told to tilt their head back and squeeze to stop the blood from rushing down.
"Don't fuss. Luckily, you don't have a broken nose, but it's a bit bruised. You sure you can go back out there?" the woman asked, still mending my bruised nose. I nodded my head. A bruised nose wasn't going to stop me from beating the shit out of this guy and leaving with some sense of pride once I realize I've knocked his teeth so far down his throat, he'll be able to stick a toothbrush up his ass to brush them.
"Of course. I'm not completely useless, Miranda." I scoffed, taking the wet cloth and holding it against the bridge of my nose tightly. She only rolled her eyes.
"ONE MORE MINUTE!"
"Alright, mijo, time to show that motherfucker what you got." Connor encouraged, gripping my shoulder and patting my back. My nose stung more than ever, but I've dealt with worse pain. I've had my wrist fractured, arm broken, eye bruised, lip busted, and so on.
