Bad Girl Diaries: Baby Liz
It’s a different feeling… you know; when they’re not with you… they’re just; they don’t give a shit about you. I mean, nobody gives a shit about me. I’m looking at her and she’s down with her face in the dirt and the bruises on her stomach and back and they’re just saying, “Come on, Laurie!!” and I’m thinking to myself that if she keeps getting up, I’m gonna kill her out here. Now, I’m looking in the mirror at the big ass swelling I have over my right eye and my stomach still hurts from where she kicked me… we were fighting and she kept on coming and I kept on knocking her short ass down and I guess, she wore me out. I wanted to turn around and walk away and just let a win be another win, but Laurie fucking Breeze… she wouldn’t quit. Now, she’s got everybody from the town to the reservation kissing her ass and acting like she’s the fucking queen because I got tired. And I get to sit here with a beer pressed against my cheek on my front porch while people walk by and talk about how much of a disgrace and bitch I am. Whatever…
It was always kinda like this, you know… my Mom always hit me when I was a child. Typical bullshit story, my father fought in Operation Desert Storm and came back with psycho tendencies. She had him committed, but he passed those tendencies, and an addiction to meth on to her. She beat my ass over and over again and the elders on our reservation wouldn’t care less… or maybe they did; I have no idea. You have somebody like that telling you that you’ll never be shit, you know, the woman who fucking gave birth to you telling you that you ain’t shit and you never will be shit, and Daddy’s never coming back and he didn’t care about you… you grow up thinking that it’s true and you start popping the pills and drinking and you punch a bitch for looking at you the wrong way. I’m from Des Moines, Iowa, and I hated that experience because I was the only hard bitch in Des Moines, but it only got worse when we moved to Badlands, South Dakota… that’s when my mother thought I could understand my heritage more. By then, my hair had darkened black and I was a good 5’8” 150 lbs, solid in the arms and legs, a BIT soft in the lower middle gut due to beer and a hate of ab exercise, and big soft titties and ass.
My name is Elizabeth Lakota… but it used to be Elizabeth Taylor and now, I go by Baby Liz; it kinda stuck with me better than the other two and their isn‘t any confusion. My mom named me after her father actress and she always said I had a nobility about me… when I was a baby. So, she started calling me Baby Liz. But when we moved to the reservation in South Dakota, she wanted our names changed to “Lakota” after the tribe. So, she dumps my fucking dad and has him committed because she couldn’t deal with his shit, but she wants her name and mine changed to a name of his heritage. I used to hate being called Baby Liz as a kid back in Iowa, but guys started calling me that and you know, my mom’s one of the biggest and most useless flirts I’ve known, and I picked up some of her traits. She was a natural blonde with hazel eyes, but her hair went white when she turned 40, the fucking bitch. I’ve got my mother’s hazel eyes, but my father’s black hair and skin; my father was Sioux and I read all that stuff about our history and culture when I was younger, but you know, mom said I wasn’t shit… so I just picked up on the stereotypes and became a drunk and a rager.
I remember all the fights I’ve had… no, that’s bullshit. I remember some of them. I’m a tall girl and I’m bigger than most of the girls I’ve fought and I use my size well. A couple of punches, a knee to the gut, that was all I needed back then. My favorite combo was a left hook to the face, right cross to the face and a right to the stomach. You have no clue how many girls didn’t make it passed that. I mean, I was and still am a bitch; I don’t apologize for that. I don’t have to be on television or anything, faking it; I am a straight up bitch and I will hurt you or if push comes to shove, I’ll pull out my Bowie knife and scalp your ass… not that I’ve ever scalped anyone, just cut their hair and cut a little skin. That’s what drugs and abuse will do to you. They used to make fun of my nickname… I wanted to be called Elizabeth; but after I started showing them that I wasn’t to be fucked with, I demanded they call me Baby Liz. That singer Meatloaf didn’t like being called “Meatloaf,” but he made a killing with that name. Not that I really think I could make money doing anything… not that I’d want to.
I studied a fighting style invented by a Sioux martial arts master named Chief Iron Horse, Adrian Roman. It’s called Red Warrior and it mixes some of our Native American fighting forms with the American version of Kenpo. I found some of my father’s books and I read them because I didn’t really know who he was and mom made him out to be a fucking psycho. But if that’s what she thought I’d become, then whatever, I’d figure out how to be one by reading the same shit he read. I was really good at throwing bitches to the ground and punching and kicking. I used to go to the boys club and… here’s a funny story. I wanted to learn how to box, so I stole some gloves from the club. Dude caught me with them behind the club and I told him I’d suck his dick or box him for the gloves. He was gay, so I had to box him behind the club and I got him in the liver and won the fight. I was surprised I beat him and I wanted to be a fighter. I figured that was the only thing I was good at, but mom knocked me around when I got home. She really thought I had a boyfriend who was beating me up. And that continued because after that, I was coming home with bruises from fighting the whole fucking neighborhood. Red Warrior is a style that I was really trying to get into, but I didn’t realize how spiritual it is. I could break boards and I’d broken a lot of glass out of anger and shit, but I couldn’t meditate and I could shut my mind down. I would rather just mop the fucking floor with your ass, and that’s not how the style works, especially when you’re drunk or high, like I was most of the time I fought.
I remember I was fighting this Black girl named Desiree in a little pretty suburb neighborhood and she was popping me in the face and moving and I couldn’t catch her. She was this princess looking girl with a round face and slanted eyes and she spoke with that obnoxious I’m smarter and better than you are attitude. I don’t remember how we got into the fight; we probably said some shit to each other at school and I told her I was going to kick her ass and I figured you know, little princess bitch can’t fight and she was moving and hitting me and making me look stupid. I thought I could time her, but when I was going at her, she kept moving and every time I got ready to throw a fucking punch, she’d hit me or she wouldn’t be in range. Her friends were laughing at me and I got discouraged. It’s one thing if you just get beat straight up; it’s another thing if a bitch is hitting you and running and you know, her punches weren’t hurting that much, but they were still hurting me. The fact that it was a little prissy bitch who was only throwing to my face was really getting me down.
I didn’t even know the girl was a point guard on the basketball team and her nickname was “Dizzy” because she could dribble the ball and fake you out so fast, you’d be dizzy for days. I didn’t know she had studied tae kwon do since she was four years old and was a black belt and a fencer. I didn’t pay attention to any of that shit; I was in my own depressive ass world where I ruled over people who were smaller than me and weaker than me. Everybody knew who I was because if I wasn’t beating somebody, I was fucking somebody and it didn’t matter if it was male or female. I just didn’t really give a shit, whether it came to knowing who I was fucking with or knowing who I was fucking. I don’t know how I’ve never been preggers or caught an STD, because I didn’t care about protection either. Well, I had birth control pills and patches, but those were prescribed for hormones. I was a freak and I had so much energy in me, I needed to release it. A lot of times, I’d peel those patches off when I knew I was gonna get into to a fight; I thought I’d get those sonic boom rush and I don’t know if I did or not, but that shit worked every time.
Dizzy busted my lip; she almost knocked me down with a right to my chin and she had the most annoying fucking jab, but it was hurting me every time it landed. When I finally brought my arms up, she came in on me and hit me in the stomach, right above the bellybutton… my arms came down immediately and I almost threw up. That was the first time I’d ever been hit in the stomach and I couldn’t stop shaking and I didn’t tell her I didn’t want to fight anymore, but the fight ended. Really, I couldn’t tell her anything because I couldn’t breathe. I don’t count that as a loss because she chose to stop fighting me; I figure I would’ve gotten her eventually and I wasn’t so lit up with booze and weed, I would’ve wiped her out. They all said she beat me, and even if only a handful of people witnessed the fight and the youtube videos were blurry, I still was pretty pissed off about it. When we were fighting, they were cheering for Dizzy; she was only going for my face and I start blocking her shots and hitting her back. My punches were stunning her and I got her with a good shot to her solar plexus, but they were like “Hit her in the body, Dizzy!!” and she landed that combo that got my arms up, and she got me in the gut. That punch really stopped me cold and I’ve hit enough girls in the stomach to know the face I was probably making… but I didn’t realize it hurt that bad… or that losing would feel so… good. But I had to regain my reputation, even if I still had it. Like I said, I was really fucked up on drugs and alcohol. I didn’t give a fuck what people thought of me, but I did. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but neither do I, right?
So I went and picked a fight with another short blonde girl who was really mouthy and loud… the kind of bitch nobody hardcore likes simply because she’s trying too hard to be liked by hardcore people. I beat her ass, punched her all in her face and had her crying and I finished her with a knee to the stomach. She didn’t know why I was doing it; I just wanted to beat her up. And if a bitch was talking loud about how she could beat somebody’s ass, I’d go up to her and make her prove it. And if she backed down, I’d hit her anyway. I would be drunk off my ass, but focused enough and intimidating enough to beat a wimp. But you know, shit, I’d go home and mom would be waiting for me with that fucking belt or a broomstick or just her fists and she’d beat on me. I used to write poetry and I used to paint… she threw all that shit away because she didn’t want me to become a “hoarder like my fucking pussy ass cognac sipping dad.” She’d always tell me I’d grow up to be just like him… a war veteran? No. A drunk who went crazy? Yes. People were telling me that I looked like Shannon Doherty, that actress who’s known for being a bitch on set. I could see that, but it only made people shit on me more, though they did it behind my back.
When we moved to the reservation, I had to get used to that lifestyle and all the pride and shit; it was a new experience for me and one that I hated. If you farted, the whole reservation knew, and they all talked to me and tried to get me into the culture, tried to make me feel like I’d somebody, but it’s hard to break that cycle, you know. It’s fucking hard when you hear all this stuff about you’re beautiful and you can be a symbol of pride and I was learning how to focus and meditate and I was writing again too, and my bitch of a mother just threw my shit away again. I’d sit on the porch and smoke weed and drink… I’d go to sing-a-longs drunk or go off the reservation grounds and find some bitch to pound. I ran across folk at the campfire late one night when I was pissy, pissy drunk and pissed off. There was this girl there with long almost black hair, hazel eyes like mine, and dimples. She was singing some song and they were saying that she looked some Native American actress, Alex Rice… I still don’t know who the fuck that is.
Her name was Wynona; she was one of the elders’ granddaughters and she’d lost both her parents when she was a child. She was everything that I’d come to hate about the reservation; she was polished and smart, beautiful and bold; when she spoke, it was with an authority, even if she was only eighteen, and when she smiled, as much as I wanted to fight it, I wanted to smile with that bitch because her whole face lit up. I sat at the fire and watched her sing; her voice was beautiful and her body swayed with the trees being blown by the wind. She talked about nature and the history of the Sioux people and all this stuff that I read about when I was younger and wanted to know so much more about, but my bitch of a mother talked me into being a fucking stereotype. Wynona, as I’d find out later, is a Sioux name and it means “the first daughter.” This bitch was all that. She was a living Pocahontas and I hated that. We made eye contact because I was breaking my beer bottles on the ground instead of throwing them away. Do you really think I gave a fuck about her, in her ridiculous outfit? Well, maybe I did, but I wasn’t gonna let her see that. Get in the 21st century, ya dumb bitch.
“You must be the one they call ‘Baby Liz,’” she said and I took a swig of beer and nodded.
“You must be Wynona,” I fired back, “But it ain’t like I give a shit about the reservation princess.”
“You should show more respect for this ground,” she said with some stern in her voice, “This is your home too. We are your people.”
“Yeah, well none of you fuckers treat me that way!” I said standing up and moving towards her. She was even with me at 5’8” and she looked like she may have weighed a little less. She had on blue plaid, blue jeans, and blue moccasins with green leaf trim to match the blue dream catcher earrings she was wearing with a shining metal green leaf hanging from each one.
“What are you gonna do, Wynona?” I said, bumping her with my breasts. I was in my usual, black tank top, black jeans, flip flops with black toenail polish. Fuck her.
“I don’t want to do anything,” she responded and I could swear that bitch almost laughed, “I just want you to clean up after yourself. That’s all.”
“Bitch, do you know who I am?” I put my forehead against hers and I didn’t know if I wanted to hit her or kiss her. And she stepped back… I smiled.
“Please don’t ever do that to me again,” she said, “Your breath reeks of alcohol and is very offensive to my peers and I.”
I decided I’d take a swing at her, but when I threw the punch, she blocked it with her left hand while ducking and grabbing my left leg with her right. The next thing I knew, the bitch had yanked me off my feet and I was on my back in the dirt.
“I’m gonna kick your fucking ass!!” I said as I got to my feet and dusted myself off. She just stood there with her hands on her hips while her friends chuckled at me.
“I don’t want to fight you,” she said… as if she had a choice. I swung at her again, hoping she would duck so I could knee her in the stomach, but she sidestepped it, grabbing my arm and putting me in a hammerlock. I was able to slip out of it by turning with it and I finally got her with a right hand to her rounded jaw. I heard her make an “Uhh” sound and I saw her close her eyes and grit her teeth, but she rolled with the punch and threw her palm right into my solar plexus… I heard a “UFF!!!” come from me and I froze. I couldn’t breathe… and she knew it… she knew she hurt me because after a few seconds, she relaxed and turned around, which was a mistake. I rushed her and clubbed her over her head with one of the smaller logs nearby. She went down on her face and I stepped on her head with my bare foot and rubbed her face in the dirt.
“Eat it, bitch!!” I said, “Fuck you, and fuck this reservation!”
I sat on her back, grabbed her head and slammed her face into the dirt over and over again. She was strong; she fought to buck me off and she actually was able to do it, but she had expended too much fucking energy and I was able to rip her shirt off of her and I started punching her in the stomach. She had nice abs, smooth and a belly button that only stuck in a little and looked like a coffee bean, as opposed to my small, round deep one. At first, she could hold her groans in, but I knew she was hurting from the stomach shots because she was turning away, so I turned her back towards me and kept on hammering her gut. I wanted her to quit and tell me I had won. I wanted this bitch, who was the personification of everything I could’ve been, to submit to me, the evil bitch, the real fucking deal… but she didn’t. Instead, the second I took a breath, she got her foot on my stomach and kicked me off of her. I went back a good ways…
I couldn’t believe how strong this bitch was and I got up and went right back at her. I nailed her in the jaw with a left hook but on the follow through, I was off balance and she got her arms around my waist, lifted me up and dropped me on the small of my back, then she locked her legs around my legs and wrestled me onto my right side, making my right arm useless and trapping my left arm under her legs too. I could feel her hands rubbing across my stomach and I knew she felt how soft I was there. She could’ve hit me, but she got her arms around my neck and I knew she was going to choke me out… but for whatever reason, once she got the choke on, she let me go. I got up and we looked at each other.
“Thank you for helping me disgrace myself and my people,” she said, frowning, “This is sacred land and I only fight to defend myself.”
“Fuck you,” I said, and I kicked her full force in the stomach… my foot may have hit an inch below her bellybutton and she went “WOOOOFF!!” and doubled over and got on her tiptoes at the same time before she went down. She looked at me while holding her gut and I smiled. I saw her win several prizes about a week later… girl won the grappling, wrestling, leg wrestling, arm wrestling, and bar wrestling competitions at the reservation games. I was impressed and I guess I had to see it for myself. When word got around that Wynona and I had a fight, people hated me even more, but they didn’t express it verbally and my mom was more abusive than ever. I just hated nice girls or any bitch who actually was about something. I was a hater and I didn’t give a fuck either. All my life, I was told that I wasn’t shit, that I wouldn’t be or couldn’t be who I wanted to be… and I was told this before I even knew who I wanted to be. Bitches go through life and don’t hear that type of shit, and they get everything handed to them… but the catch is that they’re weak or they suck up or they’re REAL whores. If you go through life with no paranoia and no sense of any fucking body giving you any adversity, you’re gonna suck hard when you’re challenged. Wynona didn’t beat me because she didn’t finish the job when she had the chance. There’s no bell ringing in a street fight; it’s over when it’s over and I didn’t say it was over.
And that’s kinda how I met Laurie Breeze. By this time, everybody around the badlands knew who I was. The people my age called me Baby Liz out of respect; the older motherfuckers called me that name out of spite. Wynona and Laurie were friends; Laurie would come on the reservation and sit at the campfires and sing with Wynona or try to wrestle her. It was so stupid; I hated them both. Smiley happy people holding hands… fuck them. And that’s another thing; Wynona was acting like the fight with me didn’t affect her. When she saw me, she would nod and sometimes, we’d stare at each other for a good long time without saying anything. The way that girl dressed… I felt like I was looking into a time portal or something. And Laurie was all in it too. She always was talking about how Wynona stuck up for her and everyone else. But the first time I really noticed Laurie was one evening in the summer.
Laurie was fighting some blonde girl at a bowling alley and I was kinda looking at her and laughing. She was 5’1” maybe a little over 100 lbs and she had curly brown hair with sky blue eyes and fat cheeks and a figure that was soft, but fine. Some blonde girl, a little taller than Laurie, was trying to punch her out, but Laurie was giving as good as she was taking. It was hard not laughing when I’m seeing someone who smiled so fucking much looking all mean, like she was gonna rip Lake Michigan off the map or something. I whipped out a cigarette and walked behind the counter, fixed myself a beer and dared the geek working to do anything about it, then I sat down. It was, on paper, a complete mismatch, but Laurie had a fighting spirit and got the last shot in to the blonde’s nose. I laughed out loud because everybody went “Oooooh” when the fight stopped and the blonde bitch grabbed her nose before the workers broke it up and kicked them out. I got so drunk that night that I passed out in the bowling alley. When I woke up, two guys were holding me down and another one was pulling down my pants… they were telling me that I was just a whore and to take it and shut up. I don’t fucking want to say anything further about that, but I came home fucked up and furious.
My mom was injecting heroin between her toes when I walked in. Bad enough, so many people on the reservation were looking at me when I got back, my hair all over my face, my feet were bare and my pants were ripped and I was holding my crotch with one hand and wiping tears from my eyes with the other while they just looked at me and shook their heads from side to side. Some of them were even spitting on the ground as I was going by… just a fucking whore who got fucked against her will. Just a fucking bitch who pushed and bullied other bitches around and now, she got what was coming… why should anybody feel sorry for Baby Liz? Why should she feel sorry for herself? She’s a cxnt… I could read their thoughts as they were a reflection of how I viewed myself and I went home and my mom threw a wine bottle at me. I was scared; she was really high and speedballing because I saw the heroin, but I saw cocaine lines on the table. Some guy was passed out on the other couch and she started yelling at me and threatening to kill me and saying I was a nobody and all that other shit… I’d never stood up to her before. I could fight anybody and she was the only thing I was afraid of… well, other than being afraid of what I might become, whether negative or positive. But on that night, I hit her in the chest, right on her heart and she went down on that couch. I choked her and I could feel my nails digging into her neck… I could feel all the anger and hate I had for her… I could feel all her words and curses and beatings and all that shit she threw away… I could feel her dying… and then, I came to my senses. I just beat the shit out of her instead of killing her. She was already killing herself… and so was I.
I’d see Laurie Breeze with her friends at the bowling alley or somewhere else and I’d watch her from a distance. I’d see how nice she was and it made me sick inside. I hate nice people and I don’t give a fuck. I don’t think that Laurie’s big ass smile or her round nose or blue eyes or any of that shit got her anything but good. And that’s not fair. I simply began to hate the bitch because she always spoke to me when she saw me and she was nice to everybody. People like her piss me off because they’re the reason why shit is so fucked up in the world. Laurie was somebody; no, I don’t think her job was about anything. She wasn’t some life changing person sacrificing herself to make the world a better place. She was the type of person who could change your life if you really got to know her because the bitch was legitimately a good person. And I hated that; I could’ve been Laurie; I could’ve been the girl next door, but fucking fate chose to put me in the position I was in and I think I did pretty fucking well with it. I didn’t want to be understood by anybody; I didn’t need to be liked… I had to tell myself that it didn’t fucking matter; fuck it all because I was never gonna be anything anyway.
There’s nothing to smile about, bitch. Don’t ask me how the fuck I’m doing; I hate everybody. And everybody liked her… I mean yeah, there were girls who would try to pick on her and be sarcastic and shit, but she held her own and most of the time, she ignored them. Those same bitches were terrified of me… well, that’s after I slammed their girl’s head on the curb. I wasn’t getting into fights as much but I was getting my practice in… on my mother. I had gotten a job at the bowling alley with the same fuckers who had fucked me and I was getting along fine with them. Like I said, it doesn’t take much to make me stop giving a fuck about anything, even having that happen. But I hated my mom and I had every right to beat her up when I got home the same way she’d beat me yup when I came home before. She’d stay inside all day and night, snorting and injecting, drinking… she’d lost about 40 lbs and I was slowly cutting back on my own drinking and drug use… Laurie had one of her friends with her, a guy named Daniel who they called “Danimal” as a joke because he was really a lame tame ass… he even talked like that cartoon dog Droopy. I saw them at an ice cream parlor and he tried to hold the door open for me, so I told him to fuck off. Laurie turned around and looked at me with a sneer… or maybe it was a “huh?” look… I didn’t give a fuck.
“Don’t waste your time. You’re not pretty enough to fight me.”
That’s what I told her.
“I’ve heard that enough times before. Who said anything about fighting? I was just wondering why you copped an attitude with Dan. He was just trying to be a gentleman,” she said
“He was trying to look at my ass,” I told her and I stepped in, bumping her face with my big breasts and looking down at her. She looked up at me and she swallowed as I smiled. Then, the little bit… no, the little BITCH pushed me. I actually tripped over my own feet and went back out the door, but these dumb bitches always turn their backs and I grabbed her in a side headlock from behind and pulled her right back out the door, all the way to the field behind the parlor.
“I’m gonna fuck you up for that,” I told her as I tightened my grip, “You fucked with the wrong one.”
This girl was pretty popular because everyone in the parlor seemed to be casually following us. I could see the mountains far off in the distance… it was a beautiful day and people were flying kites and shit, but here we were with a crowd around us, about to throw down. I figured I’d just drop her on the ground so I tried to pick her up, but she gave me a shot to the stomach, right above my bellybutton and I went “Uh!” and she got free, but I hit her with a left hook just above her right eye and she went down on her back. I had seven inches on her and more than forty pounds, and I was buzzed, but I could look at her and tell she wasn’t the type who could win a fight against me. She was way too innocent looking and Wynona was nowhere in sight. I made sure that when I picked the fight with Laurie that Wynona wouldn’t be around to talk Laurie into backing down. But Laurie got back up and I laughed at her… then I was surprised when the dumb bitch charged me. I put my hand on her forehead, but she kept coming forward and that jammed my wrist. I felt her left fist hit the point of my chin and I grabbed her to stop myself from going down, not because she hit me hard enough to drop me, but because I tripped over my feet. She got her arms around my waist and tried to take me down, but I’ve got strong legs and Laurie ain’t the grappler that Wynona was, so I started punching her in the sides of her head and to her eyes and she started moaning and groaning. Then she let me go and started to cover up. I made her go “OOOF!!” from a shot to her stomach and because she was soft, I could see where her belly button was through her shirt, but I got those sides with some shots too and when I stopped punching, I could hear her exhaling and making these funny noises.
“Come one, bitch!” I said, “You wanna fuck with the big girls? You ain’t shit!”
She stuck me in the stomach with a right hand and my mouth opened, but I didn’t make any sound. I grabbed her because the punch took more out of me than I thought; then, I pulled her head down and brought my knee up.
“Ahhhhh!!!” music to my fucking ears. The bitch was gonna go down, if I didn’t hold her up and when I held her up, I slammed a right hand to her left side, then ripped her shirt up, revealing her soft stomach and tiny oval shaped innie bellybutton, and I fired an uppercut to that soft stomach, making her go “OOOOOF!!!!” and crumble to the grass. I could here the people around us rooting for her and that just made me want to hurt the bitch even more. She was down, looking at me and holding her stomach like she was trying to figure out if she wanted to continue. The mind says one thing and the body says something else. I could tell by her body language that she was beaten already, but she dove out of her crouch at me and drove her shoulder into my stomach, forcing an “UUULLLFFF!!!!” from me and knocking me down with her on top. That wasn’t a good feeling; the bitch was so much smaller than I was and here she was, trying to pin me down; she really should’ve spent more time with Wynona on the wrestling because I punched either side of her head simultaneously with my fists and she fell right off of me.
I got up and that sun was beaming down on me and I was in all black. She got up and came at me again and I dropped her with a right to her eye. She got up again and came at me; she got me with a left to my right breast, pulled my hair and hit me with two uppercuts to my face, but I shoved her back, kicked her in the crotch, and dropped her with a punch straight into her stomach, right on the bellybutton. I heard the crowd go “Awwww” when that shot landed and I started to turn around and walk away because I was sweating and I thought I would just “breeze” right through Laurie, but she got back up and when I came in on her to try and drop her again, she ducked my right hand and hurt me with an uppercut to my stomach… “OOOOP!!” was the noise I made as I went up on my toes, then she came down on those toes with both her feet, forcing me to jump a bit, before punching me with a right hand to my jaw, a left hook to my jaw, grabbing both my arms and kneeing me in the stomach and driving much of my air from me, then clubbing me in the back of the head and knocking me down. I could hear the crowd chanting her name… I turned my head hard as I saw her sandaled foot hit me right in the jaw. I scrambled to get to my feet… Laurie was a mess of bruises and cuts from her eyes to her nose to her mouth to her stomach and sides. But she looked more refreshed and she looked like she wanted it now. The thing is; I didn’t. I started towards her, but I doubled forward and put both my hands on my knees, trying not to throw up.
“Hit her, Laurie!!”
“She’s tired, Laurie!! Now’s your chance!!”
Laurie couldn’t fight her way off the toilet… I knew that because any smart fighter would’ve gone after me. Instead, she was looking at the people in the crowd as if to make sure it was okay to hit me… the same way a baby who’s about to pick something up or eat something off of your plate looks at you for approval. She came in cautiously and I was still doubled over with my mouth open, looking at her, and she hit me in the temple… hard. “UUUUNNNNHHHH!!!!” was the sound I made as I went down on my right side… it hurt like hell and they convinced her to start kicking me in the stomach. At first, it was just one kick… but it turned into more than one and I can’t remember how many times she kicked me. The next thing I remember, I was in the grass with pain all over my body, but especially in my stomach and it was dark and no one was around. When I got home, we got a call from some people who could’ve thrown me in jail if Laurie wanted to press charges… but she didn’t. I beat the hell out of my mom that night and I shot up so much heroin, I can’t tell you whether I passed out on the toilet, in the bathtub, on the porch, in the dirt, with my head in the toilet… I was everywhere. But when I woke up… Wynona was looking at me and I was flat on my back in the stables with no clothes on…. I was so cold and so hot at the same time… it was a cold that was white hot… or a hot that was so hot, it was cold… I don’t fucking know. I just saw her and it was like her face was the dream catcher and I couldn’t focus on anything but that face and her eyes. And those words…
“Thank you for helping me disgrace myself and my people.”
Was this who I was? A disgrace? That’s what it looked like. When I got up, I was back home in my bed… fucking drugs, you know. I did that shit so hard, I wasn’t in control anymore and I didn’t like that. Then for a few days, I was crying for no reason at all… I could see myself in black and people hugging me and the cemetery, but I didn’t know what the fuck was going on… and one day, I couldn’t find my mom. I was walking around, asking people where my mom was and that’s when Wynona told me that my mom died a week ago of a drug overdose while I was streaking across the reservation, and that I had a funeral for her and buried her and everything. I took a swing at that bitch with all my might and I know I missed… I woke up in the chair on my front porch. I couldn’t remember anything but flashes and I knew I had to change. Wynona came to my house and talked to me, but I wasn’t listening to her. She would come by every day and bring me water and talk, on and on and on… but I wasn’t listening. I started painting again and I started writing my poetry again. Wynona had won a grappling tournament and was going into mixed martial arts to earn money for her family and to better her skills as a fighter and person… oh fuck her, you know. Fuck Wynona and her principles and all that shit. I couldn’t figure out why she was telling me that. But she kept coming.
When I was strong enough physically and mentally, I got up and walked out of my house. I hated everything, the sun for draining my energy, my mom for convincing me that I was a nobody and then dying… and I hated bitches like Wynona and Laurie Breeze for being good people, the types of women I wished I could be, but could never be. I’m Baby Liz; that’s who I am, and if you think I’ve changed, you’re right. I’m not doing drugs that much. I’m cutting back, slowly but surely… I’m doing my own mixed martial arts training, but I’m training myself. I found all the books my dad read because the internet has just about anything, and giving a hacker a blow job will get me whatever I want. I’m training, not as hard as I should be, but I’m training and I’m knocking any bitch out who gets in my way. All I know how to do is fight and I’m gonna fight them all too; I don’t think I’m a bully, even if I push bitches who are smaller and weaker than I am around. I can’t be what you want me to be and I sure as fuck can’t be Wynona or Laurie Breeze or one of Laurie’s friends like that Joanne girl she was bragging about or the Emily chick. I’m a nobody and if I want to succeed, I’ve gotta take bitches like them, goody two shoes bitches, and pull them down to my level. I’m not a bully; I’m a bad girl and I’m in control. I shoot up right before my fights and I’ve got ways to hide it. I’m now 9-0 in cage fighting and no one has gotten out of the first round with me, but they were all weak and had more losses than wins. Does that make me a coward? If you say so, but I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t tell me that to my face, would you?
THE END?
