Tap Out (10 page)

Holy Fuck, the Blob's on top. If Rob was a truck, this dude's a fucking fleet of semis. I try to lock my ankles, but he's too big. He pushes down while I try to get up. No use. But he slips in his own sweat and slides back onto my legs. It's like a motherfucking zoo attack, and the hippo's got me. I wiggle, but can't find a way out. I press into the ground with my hands, like a reverse push-up and feel a leg slip loose. I look over his shoulder and then whip my leg around the Blob's neck.

His weight shifts, and I push up and squeeze. He shifts off my other leg and to the mat, grabbing at the one around his neck. I use the leverage and pull him toward the floor. Once he's there, I lean back and sit on his head. His meaty hand comes up and taps me twice. I release and he gasps for air.

Across the room, Dave's working a choke on Rob, but Rob keeps sliding his hand up through. Most of the room is watching, no longer rolling. I turn, slap hands with the Blob. He doesn't say anything, just nods and wheezes.

Dave pulls Rob's arm at the elbow, removing it from the space, and squeezes his hips and draws down on Rob. Here it comes. Rob squirms but can't get free. He taps the mat twice.

The room applauds, but it's not like last night. Not like when Rob beat Dave. Coach Dan says, “Nice work,” but even his voice seems softer, less enthusiastic. Both guys are spent though, and I doubt they hear much of anything.

Class ends and we head for our gear. I take my pants into the bathroom and my legs are covered in sweat. Putting them back on feels like sliding into a used condom. I'm tired and sore, but again feel good about it. I dig this shit. I walk out and, again, Rob's talking to Coach. He turns to me as I approach.

“Coach's got a beater of a truck that he'd like to get running for the winter.”

“That way I can plow the parking lot here and pick up some driveways.”

“All right.” I don't understand why I should give a shit about this, but I can be polite.

“So I told Coach that if we could use it for the Vo-Tec project, we'll get it back in shape.”

I have no idea why he wants to do this, but I'm sure Rob's got a reason. I smile. “Sounds good, but where are we going to work?”

Rob takes a step toward me, and his face pulls serious. “Greyson will let us bring it to the shop.” His eyes pop wide,
telling me to fucking agree, like we've done this shit before. Coach is eyeballing us, and his smile is gone.

“Right, right. The hell was I thinking?”

Coach's smile returns. “Great. I can barely drive my piece of shit hatchback through the snow as is.”

“We'll talk to Greyson tomorrow and then let you know at practice.” Rob's all business, and I remember the protégé comment. This is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense.

“Works for me. You want to go check out the beast?” We nod and follow Coach out back. The air bites at my damp skin. “Here she is.” Coach spreads his hands before a busted Ford 250. It's hard to see its condition in the dim light, but Coach's smile is obvious.

“Sweet ride, Coach.” Rob runs a hand along the hood.

“Had her forever.” He turns to us. “Do whatever you need. All right?”

“Absolutely.” Rob shakes hands with Coach Dan and then Coach shakes mine.

“See you tomorrow, boys.” He turns and heads back into the gym. We take off up the street.

Rob throws on his hood. I don't bother with mine; it's so fucking thin. “You need to pick up some gear.”

I nod. “You think Big O or Coach Dan will spring for that?”

Rob stops walking and looks at me, all disgusted.

“It was a joke. Come on.”

He walks.

“Hey, I understand what you're doing. It's cool. I was just playing.”

“Sure?”

“Hundred percent. Shit, if this works out, I'll have to figure out how to pay Big O back. Can't fix his ride, though. Drives a damn Escalade.”

We laugh and pound fists.

“Coach is a good guy, and I appreciate what he's doing. You know?”

I do. I want the same, someone to give me a way out. “If you like him so much, why don't you say anything about Dave and what he's up to?”

Rob stares ahead. “I've thought about it. Really I have. But it would just be my word against his. I don't have proof or shit.” He looks at me. “And what would Dave do then? You know how crazy he is. Outside the gym there's no one to hold him back.”

Shit, Rob's as fucked as I am.

We're quiet for the rest of the walk, but when we roll into the park we say the same fucking thing, “The hogs are back.” And there are more. Six altogether out in front of Charity's. We head straight to Amy's, and Rob knocks.

She pops her head out the door like some animal coming out of its hole, but sighs when she sees us. “Thought you might be Char.”

“Still ain't home?” Rob steps down the stairs.

“The fuck'd I say that for if she is?”

Neither of us answers. Amy comes out with a cigarette pressed between her lips, lights it, and holds the smoke for a long time. “I've been watching these guys. They rolled up with some nasty-ass bitches, all scabby on the face and shit. Must be fucking 'em for a score.”

“Maybe it's better that Charity's not with them.” Rob watches Amy.

She nods and we all look at the trailer. Every light is on, but the blinds are drawn. Laughter pops. Someone yells, and one thought screams through my head. “I gotta go.” I take off before Amy or Rob has a chance to say anything.

My trailer's dark, but the door's unlocked. I step inside
and hear voices in my mother's room. I'm uneasy but walk down the hall and tap the door. The bed squeaks, feet shuffle, and my mom's face appears. “'Sup?” She looks at the floor.

“You all right?” I reach toward her, but she pulls the door.

“Shut that fucking thing and come back!”

Every muscle tenses at the sound of Cameron's voice. “Mom, what's going on?”

She bobs from side to side and doesn't answer. I could just walk away, head down the hall, and forget about this. But I can't. That move has stopped working. I push the door back, and she stumbles then falls onto the bed. I move into the room and Cameron stands. He's wearing a pair of boxers, and every muscle is exposed, stripped of fat and roped along his frame. His neck is thick and strained, and his face is jumping off his body. “Get the fuck out!”

I step back but look at my mom. It's like her brain's been ripped out of her head. She's sitting where she fell, her chin resting on her chest. “The fuck's she on?”

“Get out!”

I crouch and look at her, but she doesn't see me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the nightstand. There's a glass pipe. I turn and see residue in the bottom. Motherfucker. “What did she smoke?”

Cameron's eyes bore into me. “This ain't none of your business, so don't go messing little boy.”

My body flames, and I look at her. Right now anything could happen and she wouldn't know it. He could kill me, and she'd wake up and wonder how. Damn it, I said I wasn't going to stand up to him again, that I have to forget that stupid fucking fantasy, but right now, I don't have a choice.

It takes all the energy I have left to speak. “Get the
fuck
out of my house!”

He laughs. “Who's gonna make me?”

I know I can't. I know I shouldn't. I know there's no chance. But maybe? Just maybe? I pin back my shoulders, and he pops into a boxing stance.

“All right, bitch. I heard you've been learnin' how to fight. Come on, let's see what you got.”

I don't know what the fuck to do. All the fights I've been in have been with guys who street fight like me—sloppily. We haven't learned about sparring at the gym, and I can't try and get in the clinch with this wiry ball of muscle.

He jabs and catches my cheek. It stings, and I step back.

“Ha, ha fucker. You don't know shit.”

The anger or the embarrassment or the shame sinks my body into position to match his. I look over the top of my fist and throw, but it's a wild punch, my nerves far too fucking jumpy. Cam steps out of the way. I'm carried forward by the momentum, and my legs wobble so bad I can't gain my balance.

He cracks me off the back of the head, right at the base. My vision goes blurry, but I find a corner and use it to turn and regain my position. Cameron bobs in front of me, smiling. “What do you think, you gonna even land one?” He's not even breathing heavy. “Doubt it.” He drops his hands and laughs harder. Fuck, he's right, I can't take him. Not like this. I lunge.

He catches me with a solid upper cut to the jaw on my way into him. Everything jars, but I continue forward and into him. We topple, and I land on top. But my face feels busted, and I can't think of what to do. Cameron doesn't give me the chance, just starts throwing hooks at my ears and neck. I put up my hands for cover, and he pops me in the throat. I jump off and clutch my neck. I can't breathe.

I suck the air as hard as I can but get only a mouthful. My face feels shattered and my throat like I've got a fist jammed
inside it. I wheeze while Cameron gets to his feet. Fuck, what's he going to do now? I'm done. I can't fight. I can't even breathe. I turn to my mother for help, but she's nodded off on the bed.

“A fucking bitch. Just like your mom.” He stands over me and I cower. Cam leans, and over my wheezing, I hear the throat grating sound of him churning a hawker. Please, no.

He spits and it lands in my hair. I cannot describe how dirty I feel. I see him adjust his feet, and I know what's coming next. I close my eyes and take the kick square in the ribs. It doubles me over. He steps away, laughing, and takes two jumpy steps like he's going to do it again, but stops his foot midair. “Try that again, and next time I'll take your head clean off.”

I watch him squat down next to my mother and whisper in her ear. She doesn't move, barely seems to breathe. But he smiles and kisses her, and I tuck into myself.

“Look at me, boy.”

I move my head and feel his spit slide across my scalp. I'm on the verge of tears but know that if I don't do what he says, this will get worse. I look at him.

He's wearing his jeans and holding on to his shirt. “I ain't going nowhere.” He slides the shirt on and then points at me. “You remember how that feels before you go fucking around again. Got me?”

I nod because I have to.

He jerks his head quickly, looks down at my mother and then turns out of the room. A moment later the door slams, and outside, I hear him draw another hawker. It smacks the window.

I use my sleeve to wipe away the spit on my head and feel more anger than I've ever felt before. But I also feel
more like a pussy than ever before. I can't even slip into my fantasy about killing him because I know, without a doubt, that it's just that, fucking make-believe.

I sit up and look around the room. It's littered with laundry and garbage. My mother is passed out on top of the piece of shit she calls a mattress. A fucking meth pipe sits on the dresser. And here I am, in the corner, like some dog. There is no point in playing pretend: my life is worthless.

E
verything hurts. I roll out of bed and pull on the nicest gear I own, because maybe it will distract from how I look. When I showered last night, I only glanced at myself in the mirror, but that was enough. I've never looked this bad.

My muscles scream, and my heartbeat bounces inside my face, which is so swollen it doesn't feel like it's a part of me. There's a clamp around my throat, and I'm not sure I can speak. Shit, just breathing hurts. I don't think the rib's broken, just cracked.

I shiver in the cold, and my bed calls to me as I tuck the comforter in, but there's no way in hell I'm staying home. Staying here means I'll have to nurse my mom back from the pile of shit she fell into. Taking care of myself is enough.

I pause at her door to make sure she's still breathing and then hit up the kitchen. There's milk, but not much else. I fill a glass and drink. The cold feels good, but I have to grab my throat when I swallow. The pain is just too intense. For once it might be a good thing that there's no food here. Eating would feel like swallowing sand.

I finish the milk, take a piss, and brush my teeth. I don't look in the mirror. There's no point.

“Jesus Christ, Tone, the mask is a little early. Halloween's
in two weeks.” Amy walks over and examines me. She exhales near my face but waves the cloud away. “I heard it. The fight.”

I look at my feet and will them to move, but my body is uninterested.