"C'mon Laila!" screamed Ray as Laila bobbed around her enemy. "Yeah, c'mon Laila!" Chad teased. Laila narrowed her gaze and dodged a right hook to the jaw from Chad. Her opponent smirked then punched her in the gut.
She gasped and fell, her knees hitting the canvas. Ray oohed, looking away. Laila rolled rolled onto her side, panting heavily.
"I advise you stay down," Chad advised, smirking. Laila disregarded the advice, pulling herself onto her knees. She grabbed the ropes, helping herself up.
He waited for her to compose herself before swinging a right which she dodged but he caught her jaw on the left. "Damnit!" Ray said, hitting the canvas. Laila fell hard, stunned as Chad stood over her, a smug smile on his face.
A crowd had gathered around the ring in the gym, mostly made up of men who were working out. The scent of sweat was strong in the building.
"Looks like another loss for Laila," Bernard shrugged, smirking. "Come one guys, give her a break. Maybe this time she'll win," Marshal smiled.
"Ah yes, and finally achieve her dream. Honestly, she should give up. It's been three years and she hasn't won any private matches," Henry said, shaking his head.
"Start the countdown," Chad smirked, winking at Ray, The back girl, hair pulled into an afro, frowned. She glared but reluctantly started.
"One.....Two....."
Laila pushed herself up, gradually getting to her feet, which earned a sigh of relief from Ray. She spat out her mouth guard and stared right him.
"I'm ready," she said, putting up her hands. The two bobbed about, waiting for the other to make a mistake.
"I'm tired of this," she thought.
Chad charged, aiming for a liver blow but she swerved out of the way. She thanked him by smacking his face with a jab—then another, and another.
He stumbled back, shaking it off and shooting a glare. She smirked cockily, winked at the blonde. Gritting his teeth, he launched a right—
She countered with a left and swung her own right.
However, he put his guard up which was just Laila needed. She redirected her punch to his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled back, gasping, the breath knocked out his body.
Laila, seeing her chance, charged forward, cocking her fist back—
Chad recovered in time to block her blow and send a devastating punch to her jaw, sending her right to canvas. She fell hard, her body bouncing off the surface.
Chad stumbled over to his stool and Ray sadly announced, "Knockout!"
Laila washed her face, ignoring Ray who stood behind her in the doorway. "You almost won," she offered with a small smile. Laila looked up, glaring at Ray's reflection. "I know. The men out there will never let me live it down," she spat, Ray recoiling from the comment.
"You did better than last time," she murmured.
"Last time?" Laila shouted, turning around. Her eyes were wide and filled with fury. She stormed up to her, pointing at accusatory finger up in Ray's face.
"Don't you dare talk about last time. Last time, that man costed me my ticket! And don't dare say 'Chuck warned me. I was ready!"
Ray smacked the hand away. "No you weren't. You lost the 'ticket' because you were impatient, impulsive. Just like today. You're not in the UFC because of 'your build' or whatever lie you tell yourself. You're not there because of you," she glared.
"And don't blame me or Chuck. It's just you."
Laila pushed past, shoving Ray out of the way as she stormed off. Ray sighed and headed off in another direction.
"Nice job," Marshall shouted at her. "Shut up," she murmured, the man scratching his head as she walked past. Slinging her gym bag over her shoulders, she stormed out of the gym.
The next day, Laila slammed her hand down on her alarm and groaned. She got up and headed into the shower.
The cold water made her shiver and relaxed her tense muscles, freezing the anger away. She exits the shower shortly and wraps a towel around her body, another towel for her head.
Wetting her toothbrush, she places the toothpaste on the cleaning tool and brushes her teeth thoroughly. Finishing, she exits and picks out her clothes for the day: a black sports bra and leggings.
Dressed, she slicks her hair into a tight ponytail and slips on some socks and white Michael Jordan sneakers. Winking at her reflection, she jogs to the door and opens it.
She pauses.
She forgot something.....
Snapping her fingers, she jogs over to the counter in the kitchen and picks up her pink water bottle. Now content, she jogs out the door and locks it with her key.
Sprinting up the walkway, she takes a sip from her bottle and sighs as she presses on. Nothing like a good jog to get the brain flowing. Even if she skipped breakfast—
"Laila?" The sweet voice made her skid to a halt. She turned and spotted a blonde girl, skin fair and spotless. She was clad in a pink sports bra and leggings assemble.
"Oh My God. Hi. I haven't seen you since..." the girl counted in her fingers. Giving up, she lowered her hands, and scoffed. "Forever."
Laila turned and continued jogging with a word.
"Hey!" The girl shouted. The pounding of feet mingled with chirping of the birds but soon the sound another pair of feet joined Laila's as the blonde gradually caught up to her. She soon ran beside her, shoulder to shoulder with the brown woman.
"How you've been? In in the UFC yet?" She asks. "Go away Leah," she gritted out. "Come on...." she panted. "Don't be like that...."
"No, you don't. You don't have the right to talk to me," she spat as she pressed forward. Leah pulled the breaks, glaring as Laila continued.
"Why are you so mad?" She asked, causing Laila to stop.
Laila turned on her heels, a look of incredulity on her face.
"Oh I don't know. My best friend, just casually show up in my life and expects me to be cool with it!" She snapped. Leah glanced away, squeezing her eyes hut. She then popped them open, gazing right into Laila's brown irises.
"It was a long time ago."
Laila let out a scoffed and muttered, "I can't believe this...."
"I mean it. Besides, how was the UFC?"
Laila dropped her arms and stared right at her. "I'm not in yet," she said flatly.
"Oh...." Leah said, her fingers fidgeted. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah I know. You said that twenty years ago too," she scoffed as she turns and resumes running.
As she lost sight of her, her stomach growled and she groaned, taking a sip of water.
On second thought, she should have breakfast
Exiting the Starbucks, she munched on the muffin in her hand and sipped on the hot, bubbling coffee, enjoying its (mostly) rich taste.
A man wearing a black trench coat, his black trousers strained against his crossed legs and a fedora worn neatly on his head, sat there, sat outside on her bench. He had a neat greying English moustache.
He flipped a page of his chosen literature when he noticed Laila walking down the sidewalk.
"Young lady?" She jolts at the sound. Turning around, she sees the man sitting there. "Um...Can I help you?" Her voice went an octave higher, her eyes looking around. He folded the book and set it aside. "Come closer, dear," he beckoned, his British accent rich.
She reluctantly went towards him, only stopping a mere inches away. "If this about my Uncle Larry...I swear to God, we've told him many times that if continues gambling, we won't help him," she said.
"No. What's your name?" He asks.
Laila looked at him strangely. "You....just want to know my name?"
The man nodded. "Yes," he grinned at her.
"You're weird," she scoffed, turning on her heels.
"You have such a great build my dear. Why aren't you in the UFC?" His comment made her stop in her tracks. She stopped and turned around, narrowing her gaze at him. "The hell you just say?" She asked, marching back over to him.
"You're quite muscular and her foot work.....impressive, so why not in the octagon?" He repeated, tipping his head a little.
She scoffed, shaking her head. "I suggest you take your British ass back to England or I'll...." she immediately sets her muffin down on the nearest table and raises her hands up, hopping on her toes. The man chuckled at the sight.
"There's no need—"
"Shut up and box, goofy!" She demanded.
The man sighed, muttered, "Always the hard way...." and got to his feet. He took off his fedora and set it down. He revealed neatly combed grey hair.
Without waiting for him to swing, she swung first—aiming right for his head. He caught her fist and turned his body, twisting her wrist and evoking a cry of pain.
He sweeps her right foot from under her.
"What the hell....." she thought.
She loses her balance but he catches her and ends up dipping, her head inches from the ground.
People outside gasped at the display but some clap, mistaking it as some dancing.
"What...the hell? You've got some moves for a geezer," she panted, befuddles. He helps her up and hands her a card. "Your name miss?" He asks her as she glances at it.
Seeing the name, "Maximoff Inc." she glances up at him. "Laila....Edwards," she replies, her brows creased in uncertainty.
He bows. "I shall see you soon, Miss. Edwards," he said as he straightened. Retrieving his fedora, he walks away, moving through the crowd that gathered. The clapping stopped and the people dispersed.
Laila glanced at the card once more before taking up her muffin and coffee. She headed for the gym's direction.
Then it hit her.
She never got that man's name.