Wham!
My head hit the floor, with a thud, as my sparring partner, Janice, pushed me to the mat. She jumped on top of me, her legs spread-eagle around my waist, grunting with effort. Anticipating what was coming next, I immediately brought my elbows up, to protect my face. Janice began raining punches onto my elbows, her breath hot on my face. I twisted my body from side to side, avoiding each punch, as I planned my next move.
The Brazilian Jiu Jitsu sweep
Quick as a flash, I reached up and clasped both of my hands around her torso, pulling her down, to bring her face closer to mine. The weight of her body was pressed against me and I knew that, as the heavier fighter, she had an advantage over me. But I could still get out. I kicked my right leg up to wrap around her left foot, then did the same with my left leg. Releasing my right hand, I hooked it over her left shoulder. Then I thrust my hips up in an explosive movement, while chopping up and across with my left arm. I simultaneously pulled her left shoulder down. The move swivelled her underneath me, before she even had time to realise what was happening. Now on top, and trapping her left arm, I pummelled her face with punches. She reacted by swiftly raising her right elbow to block me.
The bell sounded, signalling the end of the round and we got up and shook hands.
Janice grabbed her towel and undid her face guard to wipe her dripping forehead. “Nice work Bree - you almost got the better of me at the end there.”
“Don’t you mean I did get the better of you.” I undid my face guard, picking up my water bottle to take a swig.
“Naargh, I’d have got out of that hold if the bell hadn’t rung.”
“Yeah, right.”
Janice laughed as she raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Fighting talk. Okay, we’ll see how you do in the rematch tomorrow. You’re coming tomorrow, right?”
I twinkled my eyes at her. “Absolutely.”
“Alright, see you then. I’m off to get ready for work” She walked off in the direction of the showers.
My heart sank a little bit and I felt my brow crease, as she mentioned her work. But I wouldn’t want to do what Janice did. She was a hedge fund manager in the City. As far as I understood, it was well paid but very stressful and not fun at all. Plus she’d taken decades to reach her position. At forty two, Janice was twenty years older than me but she had the body and stamina of someone much younger. Like me, she’d been MMA training for years.
Frank walked over, readjusting his long blonde hair into a man bun. “Not bad at all, Sis. I think you could use a little more glute training though. It’ll give you more power in the hip thrusts. Some sprints or barbell squats in your next weights session. We could meet up and train together if you like?”
I scrunched my face up. “I don’t think so. The last time I did weights with you, I couldn’t walk for three days. If I’d dropped a fifty pound note, I would’ve left it on the floor. That was how much agony I was in.”
Frank chuckled then shrugged. “Only proves my point that you’re skipping too many leg days.”
Pouting, I rolled my eyes at him. But I knew he was right. My slight frame already gave me a disadvantage over almost every other fighter. If I didn’t build more explosive power, I’d always be weak. Frank was only trying to help me. He had this never ending desire to protect me. I understood the place where this came from. It was an obsession that we both shared: the drive to never again be vulnerable. To never again be in a place where we couldn’t physically defend ourselves. The familiar flutter of pain clutched at my stomach, in the way it always did when my thoughts nudged at the trauma of my past. I forced myself back into the room. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane. I had immediate problems to deal with in the here and now.
Frank studied me. “Aren’t you rushing off to get ready for work?”
“Yeah, about that…” I sighed. “I got fired yesterday.”
“Fired? Why?”
“The short version is I punched Rafferty in the nose.”
Frank’s blue eyes widened as a broad grin spread across his blonde-bearded face. Then he burst out laughing as he held up his hand. “High five.”
I slapped his hand and joined in his laughter.
He shook his head in respect. “That fucker has had it coming to him for so long. Honestly, if you hadn’t done it, I was ready to storm in there and do it myself. Consequences be damned.”
“Well, that’s what I thought - in the heat of the moment. But the problem is, now how will I pay my rent?”
Frank batted his hand, as if swatting a fly. “You’ll find something else. This is London. I mean, shit, you can stack shelves, like Agota does, if the worst comes to the worst. You still do the Eatsapp deliveries, right?”
“Yeah but that was to supplement my full-time income. You know that gig pays peanuts. Even if I work it all day, it’ll never cover my rent.”
Conor, walked over, swigging from a metal water bottle. “Did I overhear you saying you got fired, Bree?”
I nodded and smiled sadly at him.
His eyes swept up and down my body. “That’s too bad. Why don’t I take you out for lunch today, to commiserate?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I thought you were broke?”
He chuckled and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I was broke, before I pulled off my first sale yesterday. Booyah!” He did a quick jab and cross, then gave a playful grin.
I frowned. “Don’t you have to wait until the end of the month for the commission though?”
He shrugged. “Yeah but I can use my credit card. I know the money’s coming. Anyway, stop thinking of reasons why not to come. I’m offering you both free lunch and the pleasure of my dazzling company.”
“Well, if you put it like that, how can I refuse?”
“Good. Meet me outside Canary Wharf station at twelve thirty, okay?”
I nodded.
He looked at Frank and some of the other guys and raised his hand. “Guys, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed as he watched Conor wander off, towards the showers.
I met my brother’s gaze. “What? Say it, I know you want to.”
He shrugged. “No, I’m done talking about it. You know I don’t like him, I never have. What more is there to say.”
“He’s just a friend, Frank. A childhood friend, from our home town. I don’t have many friends here.”
Frank shook his head. “Yeah, see, that’s just it. Don’t you think it’s a little convenient that a couple of weeks after moving to London, Conor just shows up in your life?”
I folded my arms. “Not really. Lots of people leave Ireland and come to London.”
“He followed you here.”
I threw my arms down in exasperation. “He did not. He always wanted to come to London after finishing college - same as me.”
Frank wasn’t giving up. “But he chose to come and train at the same gym as you. He follows you everywhere. He could’ve made his own life here.”
“Well, maybe he wanted to be close to a friend. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”
“What’s wrong is that I wish he would just state his intentions.” Frank’s voice was getting louder.
I burst out laughing. “State his intentions? You sound like an over-protective father. And keep your voice down. He’ll hear you.”
His chest moved up and down as he took a few calming breaths. When he looked at me again his face was etched with sorrow. “Maybe I am over-protective but you and I both know why. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever…”
I interrupted. To stop him from straying too close to the unmentionable subject. “I can look after myself, Frank. Don’t you know that this is why I come here? Why I wake up at six most mornings and work my body hard, training to become as close as I can to being invincible?” I reached out and touched his tattooed shoulder lightly. The movement seemed to break his brooding and he flinched. Looking into his eyes, I softened my voice. “I’m not the little girl I was back then.” I bit my lip. Now I’d strayed into the unmentionable subject.
My brother and I stood, facing each other, bound as much by blood as by the pain of our past. We were close in physical distance, yet with an invisible chasm of things, left unsaid, separating us.
He nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’m going to back off and let you get on with your life. But if Conor, or any other man, hurts you - in anyway, I’m a phone call away. Got it?”
I half smiled. “I’m starting to see why Agota calls you the cave man.”
His eyes flickered. “Really? She said that? What else did she say about me?”
My mouth dropped open as I felt my eyes widen. “You like her, don’t you?!”
Frank shrugged as his face flushed. “No… not like that, I was just wondering.”
“Just wondering… how she’d look naked?”
He playfully slapped me on the shoulder. “Oh stop it. You’re killing me.”
“That’s my job. I’m your little sister.”
We walked off together in the direction of the showers, with me ribbing him the entire way.
Sitting in a booth at Crouch’s Steakhouse, I dipped the last piece of medium rare steak into the peppercorn sauce. As I put it into my mouth, I savoured the rich meaty flavour and slouched back into the banquette. A contented feeling of warmth and satisfaction spread through me.
Conor, sat opposite, smiling at me. “Full?”
I nodded. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Really?” He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow, picking up the dessert menu. “So you have no interest in looking at this, then. I’ll just put it over he…”
I grabbed the menu out of his hand. “I think we can just hang onto that for a little bit longer.”
Conor chuckled. “You never change. Where do you put it all, that’s what I want to know?”
I patted my stomach. “I’m a hard working girl. I trained like a maniac this morning.”
“So did I, but I couldn’t eat the size of steak you just did.”
“There is nothing wrong with having a healthy appetite.” I fluttered my eyelashes, playfully.
“Healthy? Yes. Obscene? No.”
I reached forward and whacked him in the chest. “Shut up.”
“Aargh! Waiter, please, she’s attacking me.” He looked around at the waiters, most of whom ignored us. One of the female waiters gave Conor a flirtatious look. I often saw women looking at him like that, especially here in London. He wasn’t actually good looking, at least I’d never thought so. To me, he looked like every other, dark-haired, pale-faced boy I’d grown up with. It was the Irish charm. London women couldn’t get enough of it. And if there was one thing I could agree that Conor had buckets of - it was charm. That was why he was good at sales. He had the gift of the gab. He could talk a bunch of teetotaling monks into buying a barrel of beer, if he wanted to. This was also what made him so much fun. Whenever we went on a night out, he’d persuade me to stay for ‘just one more drink’ and make it seem like the best idea in the world. And it would be - at the time. Then the next morning I’d be cursing him. Until our next night out came around and he was getting me drunk all over again.
I looked at him and corrected my expression. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated this lunch. This place was not at all cheap, and as much as he talked big, I knew he was still on the up, in London - the same as me. “Thank you, Conor.”
He waved his hand and looked away. “Ah, don’t mention it.”
“No really. You didn’t have to take me for lunch here. We could’ve gone to a ‘greasy spoon’ cafe.”
Conor chuckled. “Yeah, but I know you’ve always wanted to come to one of these fancy restaurants. And you looked like you needed cheering up so…”
I made my face as serious as possible. “Well, I appreciate it.” He smiled at me and I smiled back, before looking down at the dessert menu.
“Now, let’s have a look at this, shall we?”
As I surveyed the list of desserts, I felt the air shift. It was often a precursor to one of my rage episodes and I braced myself. The familiar feeling washed over me. It was as if I could taste something different in the air. A faint smell and metallic taste, similar to rust. I’d smelt that before, at the onset of every rage episode, going back as far as I could remember. Often, the visual hallucinations accompanied it. I didn’t lift my head, knowing that if the lights were there, I’d find them impossible to resist. Conor didn’t know about my visions. When this happened, in his presence, I often claimed I was feeling unwell and rushed off. Over the years, this had made him think I was vulnerable and sickly. I guess I was kind of sickly but it wasn’t a physical sickness. And I refused to acknowledge the other alternative.
As I sat, pretending to read the dessert menu, the metallic taste grew stronger. I clenched the menu, my knuckles turning white with the effort of controlling myself. This was the most powerful episode I’d ever had. Adrenaline surged through my body and I breathed deeply as a visceral ferocity caused my muscles to spasm. I wanted to lash out so badly. My mouth filled with blood as I bit my tongue, hoping that the pain would distract me. A gust of cold air interrupted my thoughts. I shivered and looked up to see a man enter the restaurant. Just as I’d suspected, intricate patterns of light swirled around my vision but this time I wasn’t transfixed by them. My thoughts were pulled in another direction. I couldn’t take my eyes off the man who’d just entered. All of my murderous intentions concentrated themselves, in his direction. A vision of myself, leaping over the banquettes, grabbing a knife as I went and stabbing it deep into his chest, flicked through my mind. I shook my head and blinked the urge away. The man smiled and shook the hand of the maitre d. He handed over his woollen, winter coat and adjusted his collar. His movements oozed confidence in a way that turned my stomach. I was both attracted yet repelled. He looked little different than any of the other rich, middle-aged guys, all around us. He was moderately handsome, in an obvious, slimy kind of way - with grey hair, a tanned complexion, average height and a slight paunch. But there was something different about this guy. Something that was beyond description yet unquestionably horrifying. I felt, in every fibre of my being, like I was staring at a monster.
As soon as this thought entered my head, his eyes locked onto mine. It was as if my hostile thoughts were a beacon, which had drawn him in - alerting him to my presence. My desire to inflict physical harm upon him intensified and I felt blood rush to my face. I ground my teeth with the effort of staying in my seat but I couldn’t stop myself from narrowing my eyes at him. He must think I was a lunatic - I didn’t care. In fact, I wanted him to hate me. If he attacked me first, I’d be justified in tearing out his throat. My gut told me that we were on opposite sides but in what war?
His smile dropped and his brow furrowed. I tilted my head and frowned in confusion. I didn’t understand what was going on. But it seemed that he did. An expression of terror crept onto his face. His left eye twitched and his lip curled into a slight snarl. In that moment, I was certain that he hated me too. But why? I’d never seen him before in my life. Yet, the powerful feeling of hatred, which surged through me, was the greatest I’d ever experienced. My reaction to him was animalistic - almost instinctive. I finally managed to tear my eyes away and back down to the menu but I still couldn’t take in a single word.
Now I really am losing my mind.
“Are you okay? You’ve gone red.” Conor jolted me from my thoughts.
I looked back up, my eyes flicking briefly towards the man. He clenched his jaw, then swept back out of the restaurant, without his coat. My entire body deflated and it felt like I could breathe again as all my rage instantly dissolved. I looked at Conor and smiled. “I’m fine. I just felt a gust of cold air, that’s all.”
Conor continued to study me and I smiled at him politely. From the corner of my eye, I saw the maitre d come back with the man’s coat ticket, only to find him gone. He exchanged words and gestures of confusion with the rest of the waiting staff. Conor’s eyes were still on me so I forced my attention back to him and plastered a smile on my face. “How about some tiramisu?”
He smiled at me. “Sure, good idea. I’ll have the brownie.”
As he gestured towards the waiter to come and take our order, my thoughts returned to the strange experience I had just had. Who was that man? And why had my reaction to him been so all-consuming? What was different about him that had caused me to have such an intense episode? Was it time to finally confess, to my doctor, that I needed psychiatric help? Icy cold fingers of fear clutched at my belly. I would rather die than go into a mental institution. But if my episodes kept growing stronger, I may soon have no choice.