Bobby's Fight-Chapter 1

The first section of Chapter 1 from my novella: "Bobby's Fight." Available in both paperback and digital formats.

Part 1: Pre-Fight Jitters

Chapter 1

1.

            January 27^th, 2007.

            Las Vegas, Nevada.

            8:51 p.m.

            Clint Gault wanted to be alone. He sat on a plush leather massage table, staring at a white wall. At his request, everyone"including his own crew"had cleared out of the locker room, leaving him in blessed silence. The other fighters and their crews might've resented his audacity, but Clint didn't care. He needed this time to think...to concentrate.

            If I can survive that, I can survive anything.

            At twenty-four, Clint bore little resemblance to the pudgy, unkempt boy he’d once been. Now devoid of body fat, he’d grown up to six feet, three inches of proud Celtic manhood. The freckles remained, dotting his cheeks and shoulders, and his flesh glowed with an athletic sheen. He wore a hooded black sweat-top, black shorts with the word:

Gladiator

emblazoned on the sides in dark green, and a steel cup beneath a black jock strap. A light coat of Vaseline had been smeared on his forehead and beneath his eyes to protect the delicate skin. A black mouthpiece cushioned his upper teeth. Athletic tape covered his ankles and feet. Black neoprene braces sleeved both knees. Beneath the hood, his bald head glistened from the pre-fight warm up.

            If I can survive that, I can survive anything.

            Clint’s hands rested in his lap. He looked down, considering how he intended to use them in the near future. Black, fingerless gloves protected his taped knuckles. These curious adornments allowed Clint to punch without fear of breaking his hand, and"unlike boxing gloves"allowed him to grapple his opponent. He clenched his fists, relaxed them, and sighed. His hands felt comfortable, as did he.

            If I can survive that, I can survive anything. 

            The calm fighter closed his eyes. Before each bout, he forced himself to relive the day his life almost ended. He pictured his ten-year-old self walking into the Twilley restroom; Bobby standing at the urinal; the lunchbox sitting on the counter. Emotionless, he recalled the haunting tone of Bobby's voice"

            Hi, Clint.  

"and the chill which had swept through him. Bobby hadn't seen him, but somehow knew who'd entered. Then Bobby turned to see him holding the lunchbox, and Clint remembered the fear in the boy's eyes. He used to cringe when thinking of how he'd enjoyed tormenting Bobby, but with Dr. Brix's guidance, he'd made peace with the little monster he'd once been, and learned gratitude for the lessons Bobby taught him.

              If I can survive that, I can survive anything.           

            With another sigh, Clint opened his eyes.

            Almost time. Almost ready.

            “Damnit, Bobby. I wish you were here.”

            No need at all.