Broken #2 (The Broken Series - Book #2) (4 page)

“Hey,
Coach, what are we doing today?”

“Well
I'm going to have you do your normal heavy bag rounds, but Brian is going to
join us today, so I'm going to switch off with the both of you, and do pads
with one, while the other remains on the bag. But we will start the first three
rounds on the bag.”

We
got into position as Coach went to set the timer for the rounds. We usually did
two-minute rounds to get the heart pumping. They weren't long rounds, but after
doing 10 of them you could get really gassed.

As
the timer went off, I immediately went into combinations, starting with the jab
and cross, and following with either a hook, or a hook and cross. It was
important to get used to opening up your opponent, and then landing some deadly
shots. Combinations were important in opening your opponent up. If you only
threw two punches, you were missing out on opportunities to knock your opponent
out. With a four-punch
combination, that
chance was
more likely, or you could at least have them running scared.

Throughout
those three rounds, I threw everything I knew. I landed flying knees, spinning back
fists, elbows and roundhouse kicks. By the time the third round ended, I was
dripping sweat and my heart was raging in my chest.

“Okay,
Jet, you are with me this round on pads, and Brian, you continue on the bag. We
will switch off when the round has ended.”

I
faced my coach, and he called out the shots he was looking for. He wanted to
see speed and power at the same time. I loved pad work; it was a lot of fun,
but it was not meant as a rest. You had to work just as hard at impressing as
you did on the bag.

The
pop,
pop, pop
sound was all I could hear throughout the gym as it cleared out.
There were always a few spectators who liked to watch the fighters train, but
for the most part, we had the gym to ourselves.

The
bell went off, and Coach turned to Brain, signalling him to come in.

“Good
work, Jet, get back on the bag.” We tapped knuckles, and I headed in for
another bag round. We continued this succession until we had done a total of
ten bag rounds.

“Okay,
Jet, I'm going to take advantage of the fact that we have Brian working with us
today, and focus on sparring. So let's take it light, we don't need any
injuries before the fight. Make sure you work on your defense, Jet; don't just
eat punches.”

He
reset the timer for a three-minute round, and when it went off I moved in
immediately, catching Brian with a four-punch combo. This was where I was going
to settle any confusion he might have about Natalie. We moved around each other,
and I slipped a couple of his punches, and returned with a straight, hitting
him square in the face. He caught me off guard with a low kick, and I missed
checking the kick.

We
continued on like this, each landing our own moves, but keeping things light.
It was practice, not a real fight. Sparring allowed you to experience a fight
without actually being in one. This was where you made your mistakes, where you
were humiliated and then built back up again. It was here you worked your
hardest, so that you wouldn't have to in a fight. There was no room for error
in a fight, so you didn't want to make your mistakes when it was real. It was
important to correct everything when you trained, so that you were a machine in
a fight.

We
sparred for four rounds before the coach stopped us.

“You
guys did a good job. You're getting up there, too, Brian. You should be able to
get your own fight soon.”

“Thanks,
Coach. Hopefully all this hard work will pay off,” he said.

“Oh,
it always does. Look at Jet. He's one of the stars of the show, and he's
relentless in the cage.”

“Yeah,
no kidding; he hits hard. You have a powerful right cross there, Jet.”

“Thanks,”
I muttered.

“Relax
for the rest of the day, Brian,” Coach offered.

“Sounds
cool, Coach, thanks for letting me train with you guys today.”

“Yeah, anytime.”

“See
ya, Jet,” he waved at me, and I waved good-bye back.

“He's
not a bad guy; he’s a decent fighter,” Coach said.

“Yeah,
he's alright.
Nothing to get bent out of shape about.”

Coach
chuckled. “Okay, tough guy, let’s hit the weights, and then you are free for
the day.”

He
tapped me on the back of the shoulder and we headed to the weight area. I hoped
that Brian got the message I had sent to him during sparring.
Don't mess with me, guy.

Chapter Five

Natalie

I
lay in bed, frustrated to no end. These days, school was getting the better of
me, and I was once again stumped on a project. At the beginning of the year,
all the professors had handed out the assignments for the year. So it wasn't
just the drawing class I was struggling with. I was also assigned projects for
my photography class, as well as my creative writing class. The creative
writing project was the one that plagued my existence on that particular sunny
Tuesday afternoon. The project was to create a story from scratch, not a
particularly long one. It wasn't like I had to prepare a full length novel, but
I did have to create a story, and it could be fiction or nonfiction. I had
realized throughout my creative studies so far that writing wasn't particularly
my strong suit. Certainly I could create something marvellous if I put my mind
to it, but it did not come naturally to me, as it did for others.

I
looked up as my bedroom door swung open, and Julie came in, holding a mug.

“I
brought you some green tea with lemon. Maybe it will spark some creative
juices.”

“Aw,
thanks. But you probably should have brought some tequila. This is so not going
well.”

“Hey,
that might actually work. Weren't most of the famous writers all drunks anyway?
That might be the key to it all.”

I
laughed. “I don't think drinking this semester has worked in my favor at all.
If anything, it's just made me dumber.”

“Well,
that is true in some cases.”

“Hey!”

She
laughed. “Well, enjoy your tea. I'm hitting the shower, so I will check on you
in a bit.
Happy writing!”

I
smiled as she left. I loved Julie; she was such a great friend. I sipped slowly
on the tea, to avoid burning my lips. It was the perfect addition to my morning―a
little bitterness with a touch of sweetness. I could never drink green tea
without lemon, it just wasn't tasty enough. Okay, I needed to focus. I took
another sip of tea, and set it down on the bedside table. I took pencil to
paper, and started scrolling down some ideas that I thought would be solid
starting points. Once I finished, I felt vaguely proud, and started reading
over the ideas one by one. As I did that, I started crossing them off one by
one. They were terrible ideas, and certainly not very original. Just like with
my drawing assignment, I really wanted to open the eyes of my professors
creatively. I wanted them to see I could make a mark on the world, that I
wasn't just another artist who stumbled through the school hallways, never
really going anywhere in life. No, I truly believed I was meant for greatness,
and I did not want to be lazy on any assignment. This was my future, and I was
determined to work hard for it.

I lay
back on my bed, and nestled my head into the pillows. I thought long and hard
about what I could do for my project. The last thing I wanted to do was wait
until the last minute to write the bloody thing, or I would be in real trouble.
I could just imagine myself with writer's block, the night before the
assignment was due. That would certainly impress the professor. And writer's
block was real, people, trust me. It had plagued my mind on more than one
occasion. My eyes fluttered closed, and I tried to focus on the things that had
occurred in my life up until that point. There had surely been plenty of highs
and lows in my life. Good times, and also some very sad times. My professor was
always giving us tips when it came to writing in general. She always said to
us, “Write what you know!” I had always thought it was excellent writing
advice. Many writers often struggled when they ventured outside the box and
their stories lacked genuineness. Your true passion for writing often dripped
through the crevices of your existence if you had a solid understanding of that
passion.

My
mind started drifting to my ex, and how we had originally met. He had stumbled
upon me at the library one day and abruptly sat down at my table. He actually
studied, unlike Jet. The thought made me smile. My ex had apologized for being
rude, but had been looking unsuccessfully for a quiet place to read. He had
been so handsome that it almost hurt for me to look at him. Although we had
both been there for some quiet, we ended up talking for hours. When he left me
his number, and the promise to see me again, I had actually felt an ache at his
absence. Sounded like the prefect love story didn't it? A lot of people would
eat that right up, and for three years it had been just that―perfection.

What
most people wouldn't expect, however, was the betrayal that came from the man I
loved, and my own best friend. The story could be harsh enough for the movies,
a real blockbuster. But the idea of recreating that story, and having to dig deep
in order to portray the characters correctly would require me to open old
wounds that I didn't want to open. When I thought about it, and all that it
would require, it made me a little depressed, and I nixed the idea immediately.
It could be a compelling drama, but it surely would be a humiliating one for
the lead character. No, it was best to lay that one to rest.

So
if I wasn't going to write about my ex, who
would
I
write about? It wasn't long; maybe two to three seconds before Jet came to
mind. He was one of those ruthless bad boys
that
girls (not me) seemed to swoon over. He was the classic breaker of hearts; eat ‘
em
up and then spit ‘
em
out.
Could I write a convincing story about him? Sure, I could look at what had
already transpired between us. It really was the perfect story, and I didn't
need to worry about any festering wounds opening back up, because there were no
wounds. I didn't care about him, and he didn't care about me. I could
essentially write a story based off of true events that were happening in my
life right now. It could almost be like a diary.

I
started scribbling furiously on my pad of paper. I tried to remember facts,
feelings and situations that had occurred between us so far. I was writing so
fast that my hand and wrist started to ache. But I didn't stop. I was on a roll,
and I didn't want to lose momentum. I had an idea, and I was running with it
before I lost it completely.

Julie
peeked into my room with a towel wrapped around her; wet hair fell messily down
her back. Noticing my furious writing, and my inability to look up at her, she
came into the room and sat down on the edge of my bed to see what I was doing.

“I
see you figured out your story. I told you that tea would do the trick.”

I
laughed as I looked up at her.
 
All I said
to her was, “Jet,” as I continued writing in a frantic manner.

“Really?
Why
would you do that?”

“Why not?”

“Isn't
it obvious?” She laughed nervously, not wanting to kill my writing buzz.

I
stopped writing, and sat up to talk to her. I set my pencil down beside my pad,
and waited for her to continue.

“Are
you falling for this guy?”

“No!
Are you crazy?
Of course not.
Why would you think such
a thing?”

“I
don't know, Natalie, but for someone who doesn't want anything to do with the
guy, you are really immersed in his life.”

“No,
I'm not.”

“Oh really?
He
is your subject for a very important art project, he teaches you self defense
and now he's the subject of yet another important writing project. Do you see a
theme here?”

I
stared at her, not saying a word. I really didn't have a response, though I had
to take note of the fact that she was incredibly perceptive.

“It's
just convenient, Julie. That's all. He makes my art projects easy because of
who he is, and he makes it easy for me to exploit his womanizing ways.
Now, the
self-defense
?
You were
right there; I don't want to experience anything like that again. Had someone
else offered to teach me, then I would be doing it with them. But it was Jet
who offered, so that's all it is, convenience.”

Julie
didn't appear to be buying anything I was selling to her at the moment.

“I
don't think this story that you are writing is going to have a happy ending. I
wish it would, I really do. But based on things that I have seen already, I
don't see it happening.”

“What
do you mean?”

“Well,
you guys have officially slept together now; it's not just a rumor anymore. Now
usually that's the crowning moment, when you finally get to see whether sex
turns into something else. Either you move on together, or he never talks to
you again. Oddly enough, neither has happened, and you two are stagnant
together, just waiting for something to happen. It's very unusual. I just don't
see it going happily ever after for you guys, and this weird dance that you are
doing with each other.”