disconnected || calum hood

22 | Elizabeth

As I stepped further into the dimly lit old factory building, I couldn't help but question the wisdom of my decision. "This is a dumb idea," I muttered to myself, the words barely audible over the cacophony of cheers and jeers from the onlookers. The steel door had swung shut behind me, and no one had paid me much attention amidst the chaotic excitement of the fights unfolding before their eyes.

In the center of the room, a makeshift ring had been set up, and people were crowded around it, their voices rising in a cacophonous chorus of encouragement and taunts. The fighters within the ring were locked in a fierce battle, each trying to land a knockout blow on the other.

I had opted for a strategy of blending in as much as possible. Dressed in an oversized sweater and a beanie that concealed my features, I aimed to downplay the most feminine aspects of my appearance. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself and risk being identified as the lost woman amidst this sea of spectators.

As I moved through the crowd, my eyes darted around, scanning the room for any sign of Calum or his friends. Michael, in particular, would be hard to miss with his distinctive hair color, an eye-catching beacon in any environment.

The atmosphere in the room was charged with excitement as people cheered and watched intently as two men fought each other relentlessly in the ring. I couldn't help but feel a mixture of curiosity and unease as I made my way closer to the action, hoping for a better view of what was unfolding.

In the midst of the crowd, I noticed many spectators clutching pieces of paper in their hands. These were betting slips, a tangible testament to the gambling aspect of the underground fight club. The room buzzed with anticipation, and I couldn't help but wonder about the stakes involved and the world that existed beneath the surface of what I knew.

I watched the two fighters in the ring, their bodies glistening with sweat under the harsh glare of the club's lights. The intense atmosphere of the fight club never seemed to waver, as the crowd roared with excitement whenever a punch was thrown or a kick was attempted. I couldn't believe that this was what Calum did for a living. 

The room was filled with a sea of men who seemed to blend into one another. They were all burly and built, with the appearance of a motorcycle gang or hardened fighters, their bodies adorned with tattoos. I felt like a fish out of water in this gritty and testosterone-fueled environment. My presence couldn't have been more out of place among these rugged individuals.

My heart pounded in my chest as I inched closer to the ring. Anxiety coursed through my veins. No one knew I was here, not even Amy. I questioned my motives. What was the point of all this? To prove that Calum was a liar? To confront him? And then what? Find a new apartment, most likely. 

As I neared the ring, the cacophony of screaming men grew louder, and I finally had a clear view of the fighters. Instantly, I recognized one of them – the tall, blonde guy. It was the same man Calum was battling the first time I had come here.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his entire body was filled with tattoos.Tickets to my downfall  screamed from his chest, and the anarchy logo was inked just above his belly button. A cut under his left eye was bleeding, and his nose was crimson, but he showed no sign of surrender. It was a chilling and surreal sight, and I struggled to comprehend the brutality and intensity of the situation before me.

I carefully maneuvered my way through the dense crowd, but there was still no sign of Calum, Ashton, Luke, or Michael. However, my presence had not gone entirely unnoticed. Men began to chuckle and point at me as I passed by, attempting to cross to the other side of the ring. Some guys even attempted to approach me, but I hurriedly continued my search, ensuring I didn't linger in one spot for too long.