Friday December 26th 2014

Cesare was camped out on the sofa when Candy walked into the room. Following her boxer clad ass into the kitchen, Cesare steadied the wobble on the rickety chair as he took a seat at the table. They’d settled into a routine of sorts with her making breakfast before locking up for the day. This being fight night, Cesare wondered what would change.

He’d learned Candy wasn’t what anyone would call a morning person. She could fake it, like she did that first day, but he’d quickly found she liked to ease into the day. His presence wasn’t welcome, it was in the muscles that tensed when she saw him first thing. He was a grating itch she couldn’t scratch; a violation she couldn’t make right. The only reason she put up with it was because he was money on legs.

They ate in silence with Cesare handing bits to the wolf next to him. He’d tried to give the wolf a plate of its own, but the avalanche of misery that flooded the bond when he’d set it down had him quickly taking the plate back. He wasn’t sure why it made a difference, but it was painfully obvious from the pleasure that spilled through the bond that it did.

Candy bit her lip with indecision as she finished her breakfast. “I have work today, but you can stay in the house, if you want.”

She’d been the one to insist he couldn’t stay in the house unless she was home. Yesterday, she’d said he didn’t need to take his bag with him, that he could leave it in the house if he wanted. She thought he’d run. That’s why she wanted him to keep his bag in the house yesterday, so he had to come back for it. And that’s why she wanted him to stay in the house, even if it put her home at risk. She was looking forward to a payday tonight, and she wouldn’t get it if he split.

He knew what he was to her, and she knew what he wanted. This was just business. That it was his flesh she was selling didn’t change that. On the street, your body was the only thing you owned, just another bit to sell to get by, the only one that sold over and over. Staying inside would make it a lot easier to practice. Shrugging, he gave her the answer she wanted. “Sure.”

“Good … that’s good,” Candy said, already turning to the sink to start the dishes. Cesare kept his mouth shut. Her words weren’t for him. She was only trying to convince herself.

She left with one last look at Cesare as he moved the furniture against the wall. The first time she’d seen it, she hadn’t quite gone off the deep end, but it was close. She’d settled down when he put it back where it belonged. The only reason she let him do it at all was that it improved his chances of winning.

With dragging steps, she left him alone in her house. Uncaring of her feels, he closed his eyes, sinking into himself. The minds eye turned inward as he fell into the mind space of Ashtanga Yoga. He wouldn’t push it to the edge when stitches turned red with blood and each breath went razor sharp. He wanted to be warm and confidant for tonight, not burned to coal.

The hours warped together, lubricated with sweat and heat, the rhythm of the fight guiding him into another world, one that felt more and more like home. The rest of his life faded into twisted dreams as he existed in a realm of murderous intent. Sweat slick hair brushed his shoulders, his shirt a second skin molded to tortured flesh, violence spilling from his body.

He was a weapon, beaten into shape through agonizing fights, sharpened by brutal pressures. Shaped by bloody needs, jagged with the desire to rend, he was less than human. Deep in the moment, he felt his Kundalini rustle, soft scales brushing each other, the sweet sound washing over ragged nerves. Instead of pushing him out of his fighting trance it deepened it, his body melding with his mind, meditation and the moment fusing into a whole.

He spiraled up from the depths, exploring the new state of mind he’d stumbled into. It wasn’t like meditation that divorced him from the body. But it wasn’t the trance he fell into when he fought. An evolution of both, his body was there, beating flush with hot blood and lusting for violence, the animal surging in his soul hungry to prove its strength. The mind rode the hot tide of lava with cool detachment, perfectly in tune with each other.

He hit the shower to the continued disgust of the wolf. With Candy gone, he could do what he’d planned since that first night. The wolfs acidic hate burned away as Cesare left door open. The wolf watched from the doorway without stepping a paw into the cancerous clouds of bleach that saturated the bathroom.

Candy’s body was tensed and ready as she walked into the house, eyes darting over the living room, taking quick stock of her home. Sitting on the sofa with the wolf laid out along the floor at his feet, Cesare eyed her knowingly. Brushing aside her hair with an irritated flick, she gave him a measuring look.

“I thought you’d rob me blind and take off. So, sue me,” Candy said, tossing her purse onto the chair as she headed for the bathroom. “I need to get dressed and take a shower. You need one?”

“Nope,” Cesare said to her back. As soon as she was out of sight, he started going through his stuff. He didn't know if he'd be back. All he knew for certain was if he lost, he wouldn’t be welcome here.

Candy came out of the bathroom wearing hooker gear. A hot pink skirt rode high on her thigh and a black halter top that was painted on more than worn, the purple fuck me heels rounded out the ensemble. She gave him a weighing look, like a soldier going to war measuring her back up. It was a war she was used to fighting and winning, even if the cost got higher every day. But now, she was taking an unknown into the fight, and she was deciding if she needed to cut him loose or see if the gamble paid off.

Cesare met her judging eyes with blank neutrality. He was going to the fights. If she wanted to cut and run, he’d still go. They were using each other; like every relationship birthed in the gutter, need twisted intimately with unescapable betrayal.

Candy broke first, looking around the room. “You can leave your bag here.” The statement filled the air with hidden intent.

“Thanks, but I’m used to carrying it,” Cesare said dryly, already making for the door. He didn’t want any illusions between them. They were nothing more than two users getting ahead the only way they knew how, by using up the people around them. It wasn’t pretty, but the truth never was. Truth was ugly, the disfigured brother cast aside for the beautiful lie. People loved a good lie; they lapped its sweetness up, forging friendships of its twisted blessing, its grace soothed the searing burns of honest words.

The wolf leapt onto the bed of the truck. It might as well be a feather for all that the old steel shifted. Cesare smiled at the rush of humor threading the bond. No matter what happened tonight, he’d leave the fight with one friend beside him.

The truck rumbled to life with a horrific bang, glass rattling under the sonic hammer. Driving down the street, Candy looked over at him, mouth opening before shaking her head and focusing on the road.

Warmth and empathy die early on the streets; innocence sold for food, warmth, and drugs, the things you can’t live without. A survivor is born not by what's added, but the parts skinned from their bones. A soul hardened and scarred by life; a mantra carved across their souls ‘Better him than me’. Candy used as she’d been used, flesh sold for money, his ass was just another investment.

Run-down houses gradually gave way to the hulking warehouses from the other night. Dark and staring, they eyed the lone truck with menacing distrust, sleeping giants wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. Barbed wire smiles shined with glittering viciousness on every side, ever hungry for soft flesh.

The gate guard popped out of his shack, the dim moon enough for him to recognize Candy. After a nod of greeting, he went back into his shack and the gate opened along well-oiled tracks. The gates of hell welcome all comers, they never close to those that find their way to them. But those that pass, find the iron doors covetous of anyone trying to leave. Cesare wondered as the gate slid open, barbed wire glowing under diseased florescent, if they would open easily when he wanted to leave.

The headlights flooded the small lanes created by the steel loading containers. Reaching the cul-de-sac, they pulled to a rattling stop, the truck's engine giving a lone ping in the cold night air. It hadn’t changed from the last time he’d been here, a shadow within a shadow, darkness hiding the lethal lines of expensive cars. Only the single window of light ate at the tapestry of shadows.

Waiting outside the car door, the wolf looked around with interest, eyes glowing softly with feral intent. The bond brought Cesare a coiled feeling of anticipation, flashes of midnight hunts saturated with savage images of torn flesh flickered through the bond.

Walking to the door, Candy leaned back before sending a kick pounding into metal. The thump echoed, resounding around the two of them and radiating back from metal containers. Yanking the door open, Vince’s words were layered with anger. “Listen, you cock sucker .…” The words trailed off as his eyes landed on Candy before leaping to the wolf at Cesare’s side. With a cut off curse, the door slammed shut, the bang of steel hammering into the three on the landing. “You don’t enter here! They got another door, follow the wall to the right.” The click of locks falling into place sounded in the still night.

Cesare shared a look with Candy before they both started walking along the side of the warehouse. The door was a replica of the one Vince manned, except for the crimson cloth covering the window. Candy took the steps up to the door with effortless grace, so used to hooker hooves she didn’t even wobble. Leaning back, she blasted the door with a resounding kick. A tight, satisfied smile bloomed on her face at the echo.

Pulling the door open, Rocky faced them. Candy’s smile withered and died under his knowing leer before she rallied and gave him back an appreciative look. “Well, well, well, nice to see you, sweat meat. Come on in,” Rocky said as he opened the door for them.

Even as the big man moved to let them pass, his eyes stayed on the massive predator next to Cesare. A gun rode the bruiser’s hip, anchored by a high-powered Taser on the other side. Amusement bubbled from the wolf as it watched the man rest his hand on the gun.

Raw cement walls met Cesare’s eyes with only one door visible. Small, brightly colored plastic chairs littered the stripped floor, they looked as at home as a child’s party in a slaughterhouse. A table sat in the middle, assorted odds and ends spread across it, water, bandages, oil, towels.

Cesare swept up a chair as he passed through clearing in the center of the room and headed for a lonely piece of wall. Setting it down, he made himself comfortable as he cast a calculating look over the competition. They were in that nebulous age when boys become men, in their prime but without the hard strength of a mature man.

Spread out through the room, the guys met his stare. They were a mixed group, professionals thrown in with street brawlers. This wasn’t a place you looked for; it was a hell that found you. Its doors only opened for the fucked beyond fixing. Looking at the damp cement walls and the closed faces of the other fighters, he knew only the damned belonged here, and only the forsaken found themselves in these chairs.

Shadow boxing in a corner, easy punches darting through the air, a man warmed up while his fluffer looked on with gleaming needy eyes. Another fighter bounced from foot to foot, never in one place, mercurial as a weasel. Standing behind him, his fluffer ran hands down his back like a rider measuring his horse, seeing if it would go the distance. In varied stages, the boys were lead along the fine line between keeping their bodies supple and tiring them out.

Over in a corner, another fluffer massaged her fighter’s shoulders, cooing into his ear her tongue traced along the sweat soaked cartilage. It was the same for everyone in the room. With poisoned words and addictive touches, fluffers kept their fighters enthralled. Vultures guarding the corpses of their scavenge, warning off other birds with queerly shining eyes of spite.

Candy watched the fighters with cold calculation carving lines of cruelty in her face. They looked impressive, hands wrapped tight in bandages, a skim of sweat covering young muscles, bodies flush with health, living avatars of Aries. Young boys, ready, even eager, to fight and kill for a few dollars and a dash of pride. Stripped down to garishly colored shorts and bare skin, they were bound to sameness in this place of sweat soaked, violent need. Slabs of meat with diseased souls, each straining to consummate unholy desires.

Cesare watched as Candy turned her mercenary eyes on him, already knowing what she’d see. He sat in the kiddy chair with his back against the wall, eyes half lidded. Baggy hoodie pulled over his head, he was a shapeless gray ghost of a boy. Dull and common, he didn't fit with the bright and shiny fighters, a misshapen boy in the company of the pretty.

“This was stupid.” Cesare met her cold eyes, knowing the contempt behind her words. “There’s no way you’re going to win."