Werewolf Love Story (4 page)

“Thanks,” Sasha said to me.

“No problem!” I said, stoically, then turned around and walked back to my car.  Now, that's the story of my life—bad decision after bad decision. I meet someone great, and she turns out to be a cheater, a liar, and most importantly a bed wetter.

For the next three weeks I trained my butt off and lost the weight I needed to by eating a 1400 calorie diet and kicking my ass in the gym. My opponent was a fighter named Jorge Vasquez; he was an established pro and had a 16-6 record with twelve knockouts. He was the opposite kind of fighter as me, he was a striker and I loved the ground game. I worked on some standing techniques with my trainer, Mo. For the most part, my job was to take him down and pile on the elbows and maneuver him in a way to do one of my infamous submission moves.

I had a light workout the night before my fight. I was going to be on the under card at the Staple Center and was the first fight out of the gate.  I knew I needed to get some rest, so I got home and went to straight to bed. I wanted eight solid hours, no more no less. I quickly fell asleep, as I usually did after taking a Benadryl with a warm glass of milk.

I had started out in a very deep sleep and then I began to hear a constant beeping in my dreams. It didn't matter what I was dreaming, from unicorns to bikini babes there was this damn beeping sound in the distance.

Finally, I woke up and right beside my hand was my cell phone. I stared at my cell phone screen—23 missed calls. Are you kidding me? They were all from a (714) number I didn't even recognize.

I got up and went to my bathroom to wash my face. I was apprehensive about calling the number back. Whoever it was didn't mind blowing up my phone in the middle of the night before my big fight. 
Maybe it had something to do with my grandma.
I knew I needed to call the number back, but I was groggy and tired and needed at least four more hours of rest.

I went into my kitchen and sat at my table.  I knew I needed to call the number back because it could be an emergency. It wasn’t every day I got 23 missed calls in the middle of the night. I sighed and I pressed ‘call back’ on my cell phone. The phone rang once and a woman answered the phone.

“Tommy,” the woman yelled.

“Who is this?” I asked. My voice was louder than I wanted it to be trying to match her volume.

“It's Sasha!”

“Who?”

“Sasha! From a couple weeks ago.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. I was pretty shocked that, of all people, she was the one blowing up my phone.

“No, I'm not. I'm stuck in Balboa Beach. I have no money and my boyfriend left me.”

“Why are you in Balboa Beach?”

“I was having drinks with a friend, and he turned out to be a freak. He fell asleep and I slipped out of his house and I've been walking around in circles and have no idea where I am.”

“What do you want me do?”

“Could you come get me?”

“Don't you have someone else you can call?”

“No, or I wouldn’t have called you so many times.”

“How did you get this number anyhow?”

“I got it from your phone when you fell asleep the other night.”

I really didn't want to help her, and I wasn't quite sure if she truly was broken up from her Bohemian boyfriend, but for whatever reason, she did call me. So she probably didn’t have too many options to be helped.

“Listen, I have my fight tomorrow and I need my rest.”

“Tommy, please! I’m almost to the point where I am going to hitchhike.”

“Don't do that,” I said.  Shit, I was never one to leave a damsel in distress hanging out on the streets in the middle of the night—even one who lied to me. “Where are you exactly?”

“I'm on PCH near Harbor.”

“I know where that is.” I have gone down there plenty of times.

“I'm at an all night donut shop called Cakes. It's on the corner.”

“Ok I'll be there in a half an hour.” I ended the call and just stared at the clock on my microwave. It was three in the morning.
You have got to be kidding me. I was running out in the middle of the night before a big fight.
Part of me wanted to turn off my phone and let her rot at the donut shop. I should make her whore herself out for a ride home, but I wasn't that kind of guy.  I'm a man of my word, and in the end, that's really all you’re left with—your honor. I went to my bedroom and put on a pair of basketball shorts and a Lakers T-shirt, and slipped on a pair of shoes then headed out the door with keys in hand.

It didn't take long to get there and I pulled into the donut parking lot.  There she was sitting in the front of the donut shop.  I motioned for her to come to my Mustang from my car. She got up and walked over to my car. I unlocked the passenger door and she got in the passenger seat.

“Thank you, Tommy. I was running out of options.”

“You must have if you’re reaching so far back in your rolodex that you’re calling one-night stands.”

“You know you were more than that,” she said, in a flirtatious way that I was definitely not in a mood to hear.

“No,” I said. “I was definitely just a one-night stand. That’s all it was and nothing more.”

I slowly backed out of the parking lot, turned my lights back on and pulled onto Harbor Blvd. I stopped at the light and sighed. I didn't feel like talking to her but I needed to know where I was taking her. “Where to?” I asked.

Then the most bizarre thing happened. Someone jumped on the hood of my Mustang. “What the fuck?” I yelled out.

Then the same guy punched my front window with his fist. I jumped out of the car and saw that there were three of these assholes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I yelled at them.

“Why don't you ask your friend?” The person who had just punched a hole in my windshield said.  He had long brown hair and looked really dirty.

I looked at Sasha, “You know these fuckers?”

“Oh she knows us. We heard from a little bird that she was stranded out here. But it looks like she got herself a cub scout to come help her.”

“Did you call these guys to come pick you up?” I yelled to Sasha who was still sitting in my car.

“No, I called Gina and she must have told them!” Sasha yelled back.

I could give a rat’s ass about who Gina was. This piece of shit just busted my windshield, not mention put a big dent on my hood. This guy wasn't that big and I definitely could take him in my sleep. His two friends weren't much bigger. They were all in their mid twenties, and all of them could use a shave and a shower.

The guy who slammed my window was to the right of me and the other two were on the left.

“Look, dick,” I said. “You're going to pay for my window.”

“What are you? A lawyer?”

“No, I’m a guy who is about to kick your teeth in for fucking up his Mustang.”

The long hair guy looked at Sasha and said, “I guess a guy who runs a surf shop wasn't good enough for you.” Great, this douche bag was a scorned lover.

“Eddie, we dated over a year ago. Get over it,” Sasha yelled, from inside my vehicle.

She was still sitting in the passenger seat expecting me to just get in and drive off. That isn't how I handle my business. No one screws with me, and especially no one touches my Mustang.

“OK, Eddie. You're going to find out real quick I'm not a lawyer and you just made the worst choice in judgment anyone ever has by thinking you can smash my car.”

I was a professional fighter and I needed to be discreet about that specific detail cause this guy could sue me once he realized he just got floored by a professional.  But I didn’t care; this guy was going to pay for his discretion.  I charged to my left and grabbed Eddie and threw him on the trunk of my car. He was a lot stronger than I expected. He was like a little ball of iron.

He bounced off my hood and then did a back flip in the middle of the street. 
Cool,
I thought
. I got an athlete on my hands
. This will be fun kicking his ass. Luckily, there was no traffic at 3 o'clock in the morning.

Eddie made a hand motion to his friend, basically telling them to back off and that he would take care of me. How little did he know what a bad-ass he’d just run into. Eddie charged me, and tried to kick me in the nuts. It's the most predictable technique move in the street-fighting handbook. It’s a bitch move—you kick your opponent as hard as you can in his package, and just unload on him. But I was far too savvy to let a twerp like this get over on me.  I easily blocked his kick, using the karate kid wax-off technique
. It actually really does work.
  I smacked his leg down and that relentless little turd tried to kick me again.  I caught his leg and lifted it straight up forcing him to fall on the ground. I knew grappling and wrestling this guy was a risky move because his friends could jump on me in seconds. I figure I would choke him out fast until he saw stars.

On his back, Eddie came up at me. I took my left arm and wrapped around his head in a reverse head lock. I just cranked that baby down and it was lights out for Eddie.

Suddenly I felt an elbow crack into the back of my head. It was one of Eddie's friends. Then I felt a sensation I had never felt in my life. The motherfucker bit my right shoulder and not a minor bite; he bit it like he was biting into a rack of lamb. I never felt that sensation before.
What the hell just happened?
This crazy asshole just bit a giant gash in my shoulder. I literally heard him spit out my flesh.

Motherfucker! That fucking hurt!
  I did the only thing I could; I threw my head back so hard that the back of my skull cracked the guy’s nose. I heard his nose break as I connected with it like a bowling ball hitting a walnut.

I turned around and the guy who bit me fell straight back onto the asphalt. The third guy came at me and I grabbed his head and knee-kicked him in his scrawny little chin, then I slammed his head on the back of my car.

All three guys were semi unconscious and crawling their way to the sidewalk. I could have stuck around and finished them off old-school, but I was better than these street thugs. I got back into my car where Sasha was still sitting in the passenger seat looking on with exhilaration in her eyes. I obviously just made her wetter than a slip-n-slide.  I was the ultra bad boy in her eyes and just proved it by kicking some serious ass. A girl like this was probably more turned on than she has ever been in her entire life.

I sat in my driver seat and looked straight ahead at the spider crack in my windshield. Luckily the putz wasn't that strong so he didn't break through the glass. I still had to drive back Ace Ventura-style with my need sticking out of my window.

I decided to just go down PCH towards Huntington Beach. I looked over at Sasha, whose eyes were still locked onto me like she had just discovered a million dollar diamond.

“Really?” I said. “Really? Are you kidding me? That's the kind of people you associate with? Grown men jumping on cars?”

Sasha leaned over and touched my bloody shoulder. My shoulder hurt in a way I never felt before. I knew I had just jeopardized my fight tonight and that made me more pissed than she’ll ever know. “We are going to the E.R. I need stitches. What the hell did you get me into?”

“I'm so sorry, Tommy. Those guys had no reason to be there.  He is just a jealous boyfriend and he was really drunk.”

“Oh, really? That's suppose to make it better?  I have a professional fight in nearly 12 hours. That’s my livelihood.  That’s how I make my living! I can't even raise my arm. Do you know how hard it is to get a shot in my sport? I'm fighting at the Staple Center! Do you understand how huge that is? The Lakers played there.”

“I'll pay for your windshield.”

“Your damn right you're paying for my windshield.  I could give a rat’s ass about my windshield. What I give a shit about is the two inch gash in my right shoulder. I'm right handed Sasha. Seventy-five percent of my coordination and strength comes from the right side of my body!”

“Can I go with you to the E.R.?” she asked.

I looked at her and she seemed as concerned as anyone could be in a situation like this but my Spidey senses were out and this girl was a world class con-artist.  That is the only explanation, and why she is running around with guys that jump on cars and try to fight strangers in the middle of a busy street.  “Yeah,” I said.  “You're coming with me because I don’t have time to drop you off.”  I saw a hospital from the distance near Beach Boulevard.

I turned right and made my way around the block to the emergency room. I hobbled into the back and filled out the necessary paperwork and waited almost 5 hours for them to fix me up. I didn't say a thing about my fight later on. There was no way I'd be cleared by this guy to participate in my match tonight. I was not going to let anyone know about my injury.

I had already been checked out by California Commission Doctors and cleared to fight yesterday. They would have no idea that some idiot would bite a chunk of my shoulder off the night before my fight and there was no way I was going to say anything.  I will fight one handed if I have to.

It was 10 in the morning by the time I got out of the E.R. I was scheduled to fight at 6:00 pm tonight. I could go home and get 4 to 5 hours of sleep in and still be reasonably refreshed. I purposely didn't take any of the pain medication that the E.R. Doctor had prescribed for me because I didn't want to be loopy. But damn my shoulder was killing me. I figured I could use the pain as motivation for my fight.

I started driving down Beach Blvd. “Okay, where do you live?”

Sasha was quiet.

“Where do you live,” I repeated

Sasha sighed loudly.

“I'm waiting,” I continued.

“I don't really have a place to stay.”

“Huh? When did your boyfriend break up with you?”

“He didn't exactly break up with me.”

“Did you break up with him?”

She paused, “No”.

“Well, where is he?”

“I don't know, he’s kind of missing.”

“You mean he just up and left!”

“That's what I'm hoping. My boyfriend was married himself and was putting me up at an apartment in Brea. About a week after I met you he just quit contacting me. I called him several times and even drove by his house. I can't exactly call his wife or go to the door and ask her where he is.”