Chapter Text
The roaring crowd had her head spinning. Weed here, alcohol there, nothing new. Smoke filled the arena, smelling like a sewage system that could envy Killer Crocks’ stench.
Cheap ass drugs. She cursed, her mind clear but her body ached. Did she eat enough? Probably not. But, hey, at least she won again.
The thick, slightly discolored blood of another meta painted the arena, the metal bars barely containing the audience as they cheered and shouted. Some shoving each other while others laughed, watching as Angel's opponent's body twitched. The older man lay dormant, breath coming out in broken heaves. Angel put her scuffed, black shoes to his head. “Do you give?”
The slang almost got caught in her throat, her eyes trying to not look down at the man’s chest heaving heavily. “I said—“ she shoved her foot into the man’s face causing his eyes to roll to the top of his skull, his brown hair pushing back as his nose leaked a dark crimson, “do you give up?”
She really did not want to kill him. It was unnecessary. She waited for the man to speak, adjusting her black neck gaiter back over her own nose.
This fucker had almost exposed her face. She glared at the man, although she paid attention to his breaths. He’s going to need medical attention at some point soon.
The man let out a gurgle. “Give! I give.” He pleaded, hands flailing to her ankle in a last attempt for reprieve, only for his arms to lock as he continued to mumble begs for mercy.
She glanced over the crowd, a rectangular, tinted glass room hovered above them all. The deformed figures seemed to smile at her, and she shivered slightly. She pulled her foot away as the crowed whistled and shouted, chatting.
Angel moved to fix her uniformed outfit. All of them had to wear it. Maybe it was to show off the blood better? Because a plain white T-shirt and black shorts were not the look.
She stepped through the gaping opening on her side of the concrete arena, the cracked cement grooves on the floor filled with new blood from the bottom of her shoes. It made her stomach churn as the squishing sound resounded around her.
Soon she steps into the opening, the faded green door in front of her already slightly ajar. She sighs, blood had gotten in her fucking hair! She pulled the black hair tie fiercely out of her amber locks, ripping a couple strands out of her scalp in the process before she walked in and shoved the door shut, stared at those ugly, green lockers. Revolting.
She never got used to it, the locker room she means. It always had an uncanny feeling to it. The smell of blood and puke lingering like the seats of an ex-smokers car.
You can try and mask it, but you will never truly get rid of it.
Her nose scrunched under her neck gaiter. She glanced to the opposite wall, her dim hazel eyes meeting her reflection off the small, cracked mirror above one of the many sinks, also smelling like vomit when she got to close. She glanced at her hair through the cracks and sighed.
Angel messed with her hair for a bit, flipping it all forward in front of her face before shoving her head under the faucet and turning on the water. She held her nose through the gaiter, feeling the ever freezing, metallic liquid run through her stands. After about thirty seconds of holding her breath she flung her hair back behind her, the damp curls flinging cold water onto the tiled surface of the floor. Before more of the droplets dripped through her thin, white shirt, causing her to shiver.
She took a deep breath once she was far enough from the sinks, and began to change. She didn’t dare to look into the broken glass again, not here. Never here.
She slipped off the T-shirt, throwing it into a hamper basically filled with more blood than actually cloth.
She walked up to one of the many disgusting lockers, locker 27. Her lucky number. She opened it, its a miracle no one stole from her, especially with no lock she could use in site. She pulled out her wadded clothes, and began to place them out on the small, wooden bench that sat conveniently near her locker.
She slipped on a maroon hoodie first, pulling at the draw strings before sliding out of her shorts and throwing it into the same, crappy hamper. She put on some black ripped jeans as replacement, doing the buttons on her waist and zipping up the fly. Next were her shoes.
She glared at the black material. Kicking them off and replacing them with some black and white Converse.
Much better.
She ran her hands in her hair again, fixing her middle part while the water seeped onto the hood of her top.
She clipped some silver jewelry on her ears and neck right as the door on the other side of the locker room, perpendicular to the arena one creaked open. They really need to oil those hinges.
“Better be changed.” A graveling voice punctuated its words as expensive shoes clicked on the tile floor.
Angel glared, opting to keep her gaiter on in spite of him. The man came around the corner, dressed in a suit and a dark blue tie, stern brown eyes twitching slightly with his blonde, almost white hair slicked back professionally except for a single stand sitting impolitely on the side of his left cheek. Dressed like he wasn’t betting on a teenage girl’s life every Wednesday night just to get off.
His frown became a billboard worthy smile in a matter of seconds. Freaky. “Lynn. Good job, my doll.”
He stepped towards her and Lynn clenched her fist, the serpent slithering ever closer. “Now, why is your face covered, dear?” He smiled, bearing his teeth before licking his chapped lips. He reached forward before grabbing the gaiter and inching it down her face. It could have been a wholesome moment between a father figure and daughter if it wasn’t for the way he looked at her. Always the look.
She slapped his hand away. “The money?”
The man chuckled, the edge of his lips faltering before he reached from behind the door, snatching a black duffel bag, shoved full of fresh, crisp dollars and throwing it towards her. Lynn let it plop in front of her with an audible thud, causing some of the bills to come tumbling out.
She bent down, God her knees were killing her, and grabbed a handful of the cash; handing it to him. “I’m guessing you already got all the money you needed from me by betting?”
The man smirked, running a hand through his gelled stands. “Yes, sweetheart. And I’ll drive you to your home.”
Lynn simply nodded, her face felt like stone, moving to grab the duffle bag and slinging it around her right shoulder.
The man continued to look at her, she could practically feel his gaze caressing her curves, violating her nonexistent teenage innocence.
Her shoes shuffled, moving her sore leg muscles in strides out of the door the man once entered, her stone face turned sour and disgusted. How she hated that man.
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END OF CHAPTER 1