Living to Die <-- Twilight Saga✔

Prequel

 
~January 24, 2017~

Stupid Bella.

Stupid Maman.

How do they have the right to judge my every movement?

How does Bella do something she knows isn't okay, but is let off the hook?

I was never let off the hook!

Why was Bella so God-damn annoying? Why was Bella so nosy? Why was Bella so. . . well, Bella!

I cross my arms and scowl as I stomped down the dirty streets of Paris. The sunset colors illuminating the Eiffel Tower, in the distance.

My feet are aching and throbbing, the stars now twinkling softly as the sun retreated, allowing the moon to make it's appearance. I shudder, rubbing my arms to fight off the cold. Ducking into one of the side alleys, I let out a sigh, not wanting a patrol car to see me. Maman, no doubt, reported my absents to the authorities by now.

I continue down the alley, taking the more isolated route home. My breath was coming out in visible clouds, the cold numbness of the night slowly spreading beyond my bare face and arms.

In the distance, I could see a mass mob of people, shouting, pumping their arms. I pause, wondering if it really was a good idea to engage in something so suspicious. After a moment, I take a few cautious steps forward, curiosity getting the best of me.

I know, I know. Curiosity killed the cat. But, the cat was resurrected with the satisfaction of the answer.

As I get closer and closer to the crowd, my heart beats faster, the intoxicating excitement of the crowd pumping through my veins. I felt ready to explode with impatience and curiosity by the time I reached the edge of the mob.

In the center of the ring was two men street boxing, blood gushing out from one's nose.

My breathing pattern quickens as I watch them dance fluidly, glares deadly as they circled each other.

I was in a trance, just watching them. The sweat that trickles down their faces, the intensity in their eyes as they circled each other like predators hunting their prey.

The only question, was who was the prey in this fight?

Suddenly, a thought hits me like a slap in the face.

This is illegal.

A grin stretched across my face, my blood singing. There was something about this being illegal that further drew my in, like a fly to a venus-trap.

I cheer along with the crowd, pushing forward to get a better look.

The one with the bloody nose was visibly growing tired, stumbling and throwing wild and clumsy punches. The opponent was quick to knock him down, throwing punch after punch.

He was obviously announced as victor, his labored breathing filling the "arena", which was really just two allies meeting at an intersection. He shouted, raising both arms into the air. We screamed louder, demanding more from the man.

As the next match started, I made sure to pay attention to the fighters. How they positioned themselves. How their punches were clean and swift. How their offensive and defensive stances were.

That match came to a slow end, the previous fighters having been more experienced, more intense. If I thought that the first round was vicious, I was in for a run for my money, for the third round was with female fighters.

The hair on my arms rose and goosebumps spread as I watched them fight. The women ripped at each other's hair, elbowed each others breasts, shouted at each other, did anything to ensure that their opponent lost.