Fight Like A Girl (Part One) by Dawn Pendleton

 
One

    Jeff was an ass.
    Despite the fact that we’d been training
together for over a year, I still found his ridiculous antics
annoying. Someday, he was going to get what was coming to him. For
the time being, I was stuck waiting around for him, literally. I
showed up over an hour ago, ready for some intense training, but
Jeff was nowhere to be found.
    I started alone, punching and kicking an
eighty pound bag for a solid hour before Jeff decided to show up. I
was sweaty and pissed off, not a good combo. He waltzed over to me
and I ignored him, focused on visualizing his face on the bag and
then delivering heavy hits to it. It made me feel better, even if
it wasn’t real.
    When he was focused, Jeff was an amazing
trainer. He was thoughtful yet demanding, pushing me to the very
edge of my physical limits. I liked that about him. But the rest of
the time, he was late, or worse, he showed up under the influence.
I didn’t particularly like him much, but I tolerated him because
finding a man to train a woman was difficult. The men in the
industry were egotistical and believed women’s fighting to be
inferior. Of course, if they gave me half a chance, I could prove
them wrong, but no one but Jeff ever agreed to even meet with me,
so I wasn’t in any position to be choosy.
    “Don’t be mad, Max,” Jeff laughed, standing
just a few feet behind me.
    Even at that distance, I could smell the
alcohol emanating from his skin. He disgusted me. “Shut it, Jeff.”
As pissed off as I was, I didn’t trust myself to turn around; I
kept my focus on the bag. I slammed my fist into it, imagining it
was his face.
    “Listen, you little bitch,” he started, his
voice rising along with my irritation.
    I whirled around, interrupting his
forthcoming tirade. “Fuck you. I don’t pay you to show up late, not
to mention still drunk from your repulsive efforts of last night. I
pay you to train. If you aren’t going to do your job, I’ll be more
than happy to dock your pay.” It was an empty threat, but it made
me feel better, at least.
    He grabbed me, his fingers encircling my
wrist without any effort at all. “You wouldn’t dare,” he seethed,
pulling me so close I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “In
fact, I know just how hard you had it last year before you met me, Maxine . You and I both know you won’t dock my pay or get rid
of me. Not now, and not ever. I’m the only man stupid enough to
train a fucking girl.”
    I didn’t move, gauging his grip on my wrist
as he spoke. As soon as he lightened his touch, I moved. I spun
toward him, dropping my elbow into his ribcage and then pounding
the hell of my left foot onto the toe of his sneaker. He dropped
instantly, one hand to the gym floor supporting his weight while
the other held his bruised rib. When he looked up at me, I didn’t
back down.
    “You work for me . And I’d rather train
alone than with a loser like you. So either get it together or get
the fuck out. I’m not paying you to be drunk,” I spat at him. I was
sick of his shit, but I knew I wouldn’t fire him. Not
yet .
    In two weeks, I had a fight, which meant I
needed a trainer more than ever. It took me a lot of time to break
into the MMA bracket, let alone actually qualify to fight. Women’s
fighting was still fairly new, but in the last few years, it had
blown up. That meant there were too many contestants and only the
best of the best were accepted. It had taken me a long time to work
up to the MMA; I’d fought in plenty of underground rings, but the
money wasn’t all that good. The rules also weren’t upheld, and
girls fought dirtier than men. I’d had my hair pulled, my leg
bitten twice, and my skin pierced repeatedly from sharp nails. I
considered those injuries lucky, as fighting could turn extremely
violent very quickly.
    I turned away from Jeff, back to the bag. I
took my stance and just as I was about to strike, he attacked me
from behind. We went down hard, with me pinned beneath him.