THE FIGHT
As I drive to the fight, I wonder why Mrs Howard didn't call or text me at all Friday night or Saturday morning. Was she letting me get a good night's sleep? Was she doing something with Mr Howard? I think of someday soon being Cal's actual wife. Cal playing in the NHL for the Minnesota Wild. Us living in a big house, me sitting in the stands with the other players wives. Then Cal going to med school and becoming a doctor. Me going to fund raisers with him in the city, dressed in black tie. I can't allow Krista to live that life.
I pull into the parking lot at the Forest Preserve. There's only a few cars here. I'm pretty sure I see Krista's black Audi. Or, should I say, Krista's parents' black Audi. I wonder if that's who she's going to have luck her up from the fight if she's too beaten to drive home.
I walk to the shelter. My knees are shaking. I look ridiculous holding the 4 hockey gloves. I hope nobody stops me.
When I go into the shelter, the gloves, and our mutual agreement to fight while wearing them, are the only things which prevent Krista and I from immediately tearing into each other. We sense each other's presence before we even see each other. Our mutual loathing and disgust is complete and total. Krista is dressed much less casually than me, and begins stripping off her shirt as I approach her and the 4x4 cage we will shortly enter. I notice there is fluorescent lighting inside the shelter, which is more pronounced in the gloomy November morning dimness than it was yesterday in the mid-afternoon sunshine. The effect is to give a shininess to Krista's long blonde hair, white top, white bra, and pale skin which causes me to stare at her as she strips. Her breasts, as they appear, are huge and round. I'm angered at the comfort she has in her own skin, the uninhibited abandon with which she must have when sher fucks Cal. She removes her boots. They're leather higher than mine but have a flat heel. I break my silence to reassure myself that this Nordic Ice Bitch has a pulse.
"I'm leaving my shoes on. This floor skeeves me out."
"We'll look ridiculous. Naked except for boots and hockey gloves?"
"We're about to fuck each other up and you're worried about how we look doing it, princess?"
"No, wise ass, if I had known about the foot wear situation I would have worn something better suited to kicking your teeth out. But fine, the boots stay on."
Hateful bitchniness oozes out of our voices. Confessing my aversion to the filthy floor was a mistake. Krista is going to rub my face in it, literally, if she gets on top of me in the fight. How is someone 2 years younger than me standing up too me like she Is? Where does she get off?
Krista enters the cage first. I follow, shut the door behind us, and we face each other, putting on the gloves. "Hairy slob," she hisses, meaning my unshaven pits. I've been comparing our nude forms as well, as my mortal enemy and I are now eyeball to eyeball, literally inches apart. I notice Krista's thin and compact pubic hair and assert, "Real men like Cal like a full bush, little girl." Our bodies push together, the cage rattling ominously as we jostle in ther tight space. My skin tingles with anticipation. The steely firmness of Krista's body is inviting, begging for a beating. Which I'll be more than happy to provide. "No man who can have a blonde ever says no, sorry ass bitch." I explode, "Well. He. Can't. You." "Fuck you, Nicolette."
The tension between us finally releases, as we simultaneously use our left gloved hand to pin the others right shoulder to the cage. The space in the cage is so tight, and the fence so strong and inflexible, that we are able to simultaneously block each other from raising our right hand. Learning what it's like to get punched in the face by a hockey gloves will need to wait, as we are already stalemated, seconds into the fight. We both went for the exact same move, the one that Mrs Howard taught me. Is that coincidence? As recently as yesterday, I would have never thought to do that in a fistfight. Something doesn't seem right.
Krista and I are fully exerting ourselves, trying to free our right hands to get a punch in. We strain and emit primal groaning sounds. The frustration is tanglibe. We try to kick and knee each other, but there is no space inside the cage to masked any sort of backswing motion, so our knees hit kneecap to kneecap, achieving nothing. The rattling of the cage reinforces the exertion we are expending to inflict almost no damage. Our bodies slide against each other as they begin to sweat. I become self conscious of my own b.o.
I lean back, then jerk forward, heaving my tits into Krista's. We both grunt in agony, but removes quickly as I remember Mrs Howard teaching me yesterday to tune out any sounds of pain in Krista, to fight the urge to assess what is happening. I quickly value that lesson, as Krista instantly realizes I have discovered a rare effective tactic in our unusual environment. She responds in kind and escalates, first ramming my tits in the same manner I did hers, and then one-upping me with a sideswipe that stings my chest to the core. We continue tit ramming, the cage rattling as if a tornado is passing thru.
I remember Mrs Howard telling me she and her rival were crying during the fight. Right now, I know exactly what she meant. I'm in agonizing pain. But I'm also frustrating between the chasm of what i want to be doing to Krista versus what I'm accomplishing. Every fiber of my being wants to be on top of Krista, thrashing her mercilessly. But Krista has a vote in that decision, and she's not only successfully defending herself--she's inflicting torturous pain on me. During one such pang of agony in my chest, I unwisely drop my left hand from Krista's right shoulder. She alertly connects to my face with a right cross, the glove raking my face like sandpaper, before I quickly and desperately reapply the pin and regain my balance. Shit, the bitch has landed the one punch of the entire fight.
We both pause, my chest stinging like a thousand hornets have been on it for an hour. Krista and I are breathing heavily. We stare spitefully at each other. I was hoping her face would be shredded by now--instead it's unmarked.
"Krista, where'd you learn to block my right shoulder like that. Did Mrs Howard teach you?"
"She may have given me some tips, once you flapped your trap to her about where and how we were fighting. Which you weren't supposed to do."
Damn it, how could Mrs Howard do that to me?? Now i really want go cry?
"She's my ride after this fight, if I need one, Krista. That's the only reason I told her. Who's your ride? Your mommy?"
"Mrs Howard is my ride, too, dumb ass. She's been wanting this fight to happen since last summer."
My head is spinning. Several puzzle pieces from the past months start to fall into place. Krista's utter lack of hesitation to any fight challenge I've laid down to her. Krista's cocky stripping earlier this morning. Mrs Howard's I-think-she-doth-protest-too-much "You two mustn't fight. I can't help but feel responsible."
"But, but.....why?"
"You really don't know, Nicolette? Nicolette, Mrs Howard is a sick fuck. She's Cal's STEP mother, not his mother. And she's in fucking love with him. She's done sick things with him, use your imagination. I finally got him away from her. She said she would let me have him if I could prove i would fight for him. That's why she hired you as tutor last summer. It was just a set up to this fight. You actually suck at teaching AP Chemistry. Just so you know."
I try and process everything I'm hearing. I certainly picked up a weird vibe between the Cal/his mom/his dad triangle. The Cal and his sterpmom were inappropriate with each other certainly rings true. But Krista isn't painting a complete picture for me either. Her "Mrs Howard is a sick fuck" quip has projection written all over it--she's no Angel, sexually or otherwise. No one forces her into something she doesn't want to do for herr own reasons.
But I'm not particularly interested in getting to the bottom of this story. Something tells me Krista gets her jollies from shocking me with her depravity. I'm not going along.
"So? What do we do now, bitch," I ask.
"You walk away, and I let you," Krista offers.
I consider my options.
I can't leave Cal in the hands on these 2 bitches.
And the comment on my AP Chemistry tutoring ability stung.
But, I answer Krista in language I know she'll understand.
"Krista, I don't know about you. But if we don't finish, I'll always wonder who between us would have been the one to walk out of this cage."
Krista looks at me. "Then let's find out. Bitch."
To be continued....
