Fight for You Read online

  A Novel

  By: Charisse Spiers

  Copyright 2014 Charisse Spiers. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means such as electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  I take a deep breath as I get out of the small, silver Honda. I place one foot on the pavement when she reaches for my hand. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me? You don't have to do this, Haddox. We can get out of here, run away, and never look back. We can start a new life for ourselves. We don't always have to live under their control."

  I look into her eyes. That plan would be great if I loved her like she loves me, but I don't, not in that way at least. Brianna and I have been best friends since we were kids. It kind of became easy when we realized we both lived shitty lives, and only two houses apart. We've both been through the ringer with our parents, so we found solace in each other. It started out just running off together for hours at a time, attempting to break free from the hell on earth we lived in. Then, when we were older it became more.

  We were both sixteen at the time. She wanted to erase the filth of what her stepdad did to her each time her mother went to bed early or worked the night shift. She needed the emotional replacement and I needed the release, the escape from the piece of shit I was, and still am. "You know we can't do that." I reach over and kiss her lips. "I love you, Bree, but not in the way you love me. You know I'll never love a girl that way."

  A tear runs down her face. "I don't care. If it gets us out of this shit-hole Minnesota town, I'll never ask to change things between us."

  She can sense things are different this time. The finality in my tone verifies it. "After tonight you don't need to be around me. I'm doing this for us. I'll get you out of here, but we have to go our separate ways, Bree. I'll never forget you. You’re my best friend."

  "Please, Haddox, I'm begging you. Don't do this. He isn't worth it. They aren't worth it." I wrap my hands in her hair and kiss her one last time. This is goodbye. I've made up my mind. I'm finally going to stop being a scared coward and protect her, protect myself.

  "I want you to leave and never come back. Got it?" She begins shaking her head as she continues to cry. "I need you to say it. Fucking say it, Breanna. Follow the plan and he can't hurt you anymore. The piece of shit will be fine, but he won't follow you. Just leave."

  She begins nodding. "Good. I love you, Bree. You'll always be my best friend. Never forget that. When you get out of this, you'll get a job and go to college. You'll meet some rich guy and have a dream wedding, and then, he'll give you lots of babies. You'll get your fucking happily ever after if it's the last thing I do." She becomes hysterical, but I have to tune her out. I won't endure hearing about that sick son of a bitch putting his hands on her again.

  I kiss her forehead and step out of the car, slamming the door behind me. She pulls off, spinning her wheels in the dirt of the driveway. As she disappears from my sight I turn to look at the small wood framed house before me. The shutters are rotten and hanging by one rusty hinge. The white paint is chipping and dingy. This is the dump I've lived in all my life. The place it is now doesn't even resemble what it looks like in the few photos I've found, before my old man lost it all.

  I walk through the screen door and instantly I can smell the booze. It's stale and it reeks. Same ole shit, different day. I barely even come home anymore and that only pisses him off more, causing him to further punish me. I get punished whether I'm here or whether I'm gone for days at a time, so I might as well prolong it for as long as possible. I touch my still sore jaw from my last visit here.

  What he doesn't know is I've been training. I've dealt with his fucked up lifestyle for eighteen years. I'm so numb to the pain it scares me. My mind is so full of darkness that the light is no longer searchable. I can't do this anymore. I won't. It's time to put my fucking foot down. I just turned eighteen in April. The prick can't report me as a runaway anymore. I kept my grades high enough to graduate last month so I can at least get a decent job.

  The creak of the door rouses him in his rickety recliner. I hear the footrest click as he locks it in resting position. "Come here you little shit," he screams, but stands in front of his chair. My jaw steels and my eyes become distant. I try and push everything into the dark fortress I've created in my mind, leaving me emotionally shut down. I walk over to him as he says, "Where the fuck have you been, you sorry bastard? Didn't I tell you this is where you belong? You're running around with that little tramp again, aren't you?"

  My jaw locks at the sound of him speaking of Breanna that way. He knows what that does to me; therefore, he continues to instigate me with it, filling my head full of toxins. He wants me to fight back. He gets off on it.

  Shove it back, Haddox.

  "No, sir."

  "Don't lie to me. You going to be a coward like your mother? Grow some balls. Does it anger you when I refer to your little whore that way?" I shake my head, trying to prolong him from getting the fight he wants, so he'll pass out like he does every time he gets this way. "Well she is. She gives that pussy away freely I hear. Bart says she's one fine piece of ass, though." He laughs. "I can't say that I blame you. You're a Hayes. You like getting that dick of yours wet." His laugh takes on a sadistic form.

  "Don't ever call her that again!" I seethe, holding my breath.

  "You don't like it, hit me," he says, baiting me. This is what keeps his conscience free of guilt: me making the first physical contact. I continue to stand here, counting to ten. The rage is building from my feet and rising. I can already feel the transformation beginning.

  He takes a step forward. "All you'll ever be is a loooooser," he says, drawing out the word. He grabs me by the neck, squeezing and cutting off my circulation as he backs me against the wall. "Hit me." He growls, digging his nails into my skin, breaking through the surface.

  He pulls me forward and slams me into the sheetrock, adding another hole. My head hurts now. Something is happening. I can't explain it. Everything around me starts to blur. I close my eyes, trying to figure out what's going on. I inhale and every thought vanishes but one: death. I open my eyes and I see nothing but red. I hate him. I growl through clenched teeth. I have no control over my body. I shove him back until he lands on the floor.

  He laughs and then I snap, causing everything to black out as if the lights went out. My eyes refocus and I look down at my bloodstained hands. They start to shake and I stand. There's so much blood. I can't find the will to think. Running my fingers through my hair in a panic, I scream. "Fuck!"

  I wipe my hands on my jeans and rush to my room, throwing everything I own in one duffle bag. Tearing through the door I run, never looking back as I head in the direction of the bus station. I pass Breanna's house and notice her silver Honda in the driveway. What the fuck? What are you doing, Breanna?

  "Shit! Why can't you just listen to me once," I ask to myself. I can't leave her here...with him. I'm the only person she has. I'm the only one that cares enough to protect her. Her dumb-ass mother can't look past her own self-absorbed behavior to notice that her husband is raping her daughter repeatedly.

  Running around to the back of the house,
I make it to her bedroom window. My plan is to knock on the window and bring her with me. The blinds are pulled, revealing what's inside. What I see causes the demon inside to resurface, blinding me to everything but what lies on that bed. The screaming and crying coming from the only form of love I'll ever have for another human being pierces my ears, causing me to want to scratch my skin off.

  I've never witnessed it firsthand before. Seeing that versus hearing about it creates a monster I never knew existed until tonight. My fists clench by my side and my vision begins to cloud. I can feel the veins in my body constricting with each beat of my heart. Rage, anger, and hatred consume me, causing my muscles to twitch. Everything around me goes black once again.

  "Haddox! What have you done," she whispers in question, bringing me back to the present. I'm standing in her room, yet I have no idea how I got in here.

  "What's happening to me?" My whole body quakes as I stare at the gun in my hand, the handle wrapped in a tee shirt. I drop it on the floor and stare at her.

  Her face is soaked and red. She stands from the bed, bare from the waist down. "I'll never tell," she whispers. "I'll never tell," she repeats. "But we have to get out of here."

  I stand here, staring off into space as if I'm dead inside. I barely even notice her running around the room throwing things into a bag. She comes back to stand in front of me, fully clothed, and wipes my hands and face down. "Give me your clothes." I do as she says and discard my jeans and tee shirt, handing them to her. "Put these on. You left them in my car a few weeks ago. Don't touch anything. I'm supposed to leave for college in a week. No one will even notice I'm gone."

  She bends over and picks up the gun through the fabric of the shirt, before inserting it in the palm of his hand, closing his fists to ensure leaving fingerprints. She rushes out of the room and all I hear are shattering sounds as if things are hitting the floor. I'm still staring at the effects of my rage on the floor.

  She returns with her bag strapped over her chest. Grabbing my hand, she looks into my eyes. "Your clothes will be burned to ash by the time we hit state line. No one will ever know." I can't move. I can't do anything but stand here.

  "Haddox, let's go. Do it for me." That's all it takes and my feet begin to move, following her to her car. She knows I would do anything for her.

  I allow myself to think all the way to the bus station. She thinks we're going together, but we're not. I haven't changed my mind. Now, more so than ever, she has to get away from me. She opens her door and I stop her. "You aren't going with me."

  "Haddox-"

  "No, Bree," I say in my most final tone. "We can't be together. It's too dangerous and suspicious. You will never have a shitty life again. I won't allow it."

  "Please," she cries. "I can't lose you. You're everything to me. You're all I have."

  I grab her face in my hands. "I'm no good for you, for anyone. I will live a life in solitude." She is shaking her head and crying like she was earlier today. "Dammit, Bree, you aren't going. You're going to school and you're going to be happy. You're going to fall in love. Never again will you have it taken from you."

  "I don't want anyone else...but you." She is crying so hard she can barely breathe. I have to hurt her. I have to hit her below the belt to save her.

  "If you love me, you'll let me go. If you want to prove how much you love me and care about us, then go and drive until you can't drive anymore. When you find the place you want to be, be happy...for me. Never speak of this day again. I want you to know that wherever I am, I'm always going to love you in the only way I know how. You're my best friend, and that's why I'm letting you go. Goodbye, Breanna." I lightly kiss her lips and release my hold on her.

  I grab my duffle bag and exit the car, leaving her crying hysterically as she watches me walk away. Today is the last day I'll ever see Breanna Walley before I vanish into the unknown, forgetting everything I've come from. Haddox Hayes in the form of today and prior will cease to exist, and a new Haddox Hayes will be born; a soulless man with no emotions and feelings toward another human being. I will never lose control again. I will dominate everything and everyone around me.

  9 years later...

  I crack my neck to the side and allow the pain to spark through my jaw. One hit is all I need to put my ass in gear. I've been taking it easy on the fighter across from me. The blood draining from the gash in his eyebrow is only the beginning.

  The spotlights focus down in the ring and the crowd is screaming wildly. I can hear the chants flowing in unison around the coliseum, shouting my name. Houston Walley is the name I go by in the ring. I came here to escape the shitty life I left back in Minnesota and I don't want it following me. It has meaning behind it and that's the only thing that matters.

  When we were kids, Breanna and I always said we were going to run off to Houston. It's a big city and we were sick of small towns. I wanted to stick with my first initial to keep a part of myself, and I chose Breanna's last name to always remember the best friend I left behind that day. No one will ever put the two together. Where I come from people are too busy watching football or meddling in everyone else's business than to watch professional fighting, and the man I am today, looks nothing like the eighteen year old that I was.

  Very few people know my real name. I'm selective in those I let into the depths of who I am. I am one of those people that don't belong to anyone but myself. I reside in New York, although, I come and go based on where I'm scheduled to fight.

  My face is covered in sweat beads as I watch him bounce around on the balls of his bare feet in front of me. He thinks he's on his way to victory by one lick across my jaw. Yeah, well think again asswipe. It's going to take a lot more than that to defeat me. I've been to places the bottoms of his shoes don’t even want to go. I've had to survive in the lowest of low conditions. Places I've seen, it's fight or get fucked, metaphorically speaking in most cases, but not all.

  I guess you could say in the game of survival I found something I'm good at, fucking great at. I've been known to have the strength of a bear, the speed of a cheetah, and the aim and reflex of a sniper; I had no option but to be. I go into battle every day of my life. The shit I bear deep inside is enough to bring down an entire army. If I let my guard down for one second all could be lost. Lives can tarnish in that amount of time.

  The bald wannabe beast in front of me swings, but I duck. He loses balance due to his over-swing and I take advantage of the opportunity by wrapping his neck in the bend of my arm. I tighten my hold and begin hitting him across the jawline repetitively. He elbows me in the stomach as hard as he can. It stings, but nothing more than a distraction.

  He pushes backward as hard as he can until I'm pinned against the cage. I thought I told you not to run off any more you little shit.

  Everything freezes. It's as if I'm in slow motion. His face. My hold loosens and my opponent frees himself from me. The crowd sounds like a tape slowed down in speed. I feel my muscles transcending their normal size by instinct at the sound of that voice in my head. A fist comes flying through the air smashing into my cheekbone, snapping my neck to the side. Spit flies out of my mouth. I can't focus. I need to focus.

  I look at my opponent and for a brief second a flash occurs. I can feel my body transforming into the beast it cannot become. Smother it. Take it by the fucking neck and strangle it. Bury it where it belongs. I close my eyes and endure the hits until I can flush the surfacing memories from my mind.

  Control. I need complete control. His hits; they feed the frenzy that is occurring. Physical blows are nothing. It's the combination with the mental that sends me spiraling into a blackened hole. Each hit pumps me up for what is about to come. The crowd knows it and he knows it. He's just biding his time. Since I started professionally fighting under contract I haven't lost but one fight. This is why I fight; the reason I need it.

  When I feel the beast is contained, I open my eyes. I stare into his, letting him know his time is up. This win is mine. It's time to fi
nish this. I lick my bottom lip: metallic and salt. The taste of blood and sweat are two ingredients I thrive on in a fight. The difference is that I control the amount of blood that is shed and no one else.

  He tries to get in one more lick, and I let him; a front hit to the eye socket. That’ll probably bruise. He's strong, but not as strong as me. I absorb the pain; I welcome it, because it keeps me numb inside. My hands quickly draw up into fists and I push off the cage, shoving him backwards with my shoulders. When I get enough space between my body and the metal, I draw back with all my might and swing, hitting him dead center in the temple. I watch his body go limp as he falls back onto the floor; a knock out, it's what I'm known for and the very thing that got me a spot here.

  The referee grabs my wrist and raises my arm into the air, symbolizing my win. The adrenaline rush is still coursing through my body. It's in its heightened state. Now, I need to release it. For that I'll need the fine body of a woman screaming my name as I watch her come beneath me. Yeah, I'm going out tonight. I just have to figure out where.

  ***

  I walk out into the dark parking lot with my duffel bag strapped over my shoulder. The parking lot is mostly clear, and that's why I always shower in the locker room, giving the guests time to leave; less groupie women hanging out waiting for fighters to emerge. They are easy to take to bed, but my taste is a little more complicated than taking a woman into the backseat of my truck. I sure as hell am not taking them to my place. That's my sanctuary. Besides, I like to pick mine out the same way one might pick out fruit at a grocery store; the ripest one available.

  Reaching into the pocket of my jeans, I pull out my keys and unlock the doors as I approach my Chevy truck. "I was starting to think someone was actually going to be able to beat your ass for once," says the familiar voice in a high-pitched southern accent.

  I smile. I wasn't expecting her to be here tonight since her tickets were unclaimed at will-call. "Where would be the fun in that," I ask sarcastically. "You know, Alyvia, if you would actually start betting on me instead of the sorry sap in the other corner of the cage you'd actually have some of that money you keep losing. Don't you need it to sew shirts or some shit?"