This story was written as a request. So if anything about the plot or characters seems oddly specific, that's why. Enjoy!
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Butterflies! Always these fucking butterflies! You'd think having fought three other times, I'd be able to at least make my entrance without getting nervous right? Right!? Well, you'd be wrong. My fists were ready but my mind was not. Even though I knew my opponent couldn't take me. He was merely feeder food, a guppy to hold me off until I got something I could really sink my teeth into. A scrub. And yet, I couldn't help being nervous right up until showtime.
Holding my phone in the palm of my glove-covered hand, I watched second after second tick by until my trainer, Steve finally approached me. "You ready, Shane?" He asked, taking me by the shoulders in an attempt to motivate me. Steve knew all about my timidity and anxiety; he was always the first to tell me it was all bullshit!
"I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be, man," I assured, an obvious lack of confidence staining my words.
"Listen, kid, you know this guy! He's nothin'! You've got nothin' to worry about, alright? Just get him on the ground, and it'll be over in no time!" Steve guaranteed, smiling down at me like a proud father. Every bit of what he said was right. I didn't have anything to worry about, my groundwork-centered Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu would do the heavy lifting. I just needed to stay focused. Easier said than done.
The next few minutes passed, with different people constantly shuffling in and out of my room. Steve had long since left, and when he finally returned, he informed me that the previous fight had finished, and mine was next. I rose from my seat, pulling over my jacket hood and yanking the strings until it was nice and tight. I followed Steve as he led toward the octagon.
The walkout always felt much longer for me than it should, but I stayed as focused as possible. That was until we actually got out there. Thousands of screaming fans giving enthusiasm a go. This was, by far, the biggest crowd I'd been a part of in my short MMA career. Needless to say, they were affecting me. I could feel the sweat begin to trickle down my face. The heat emanating from the raucous crowd was nearly unbearable. I quickly took my place inside the octagon and waited for my opponent, Jared Garcia.
Jared's music hit and, surprisingly, the opening tune was a bit different than that of his usual music. Instead of the heavy drums from a rock band I'd never heard of, a familiar set of trumpets blared throughout the arena. Over the next few seconds, it became increasingly obvious that what we were hearing and no, it wasn't John Cena. It was the opening to Demi Lovato's song, "Confident", a fact that had the stans in the crowd popping much harder than they had for me. My initial thought upon hearing this was an unimpressed, "Well then!" Hearing the brash pop tune nearly calmed my nerves. But, the moment he arrived, I realized why he suddenly had the fiery vocals of the ultra-hot Latina songstress.
Long black microphone in hand and walking alongside Garcia was the Grammy award-nominated artist herself, wearing a fancy black dress, tackily capped off with her BJJ blue belt to prove that she was NOT out of place at a lower-tier MMA event. Demi was escorting him to the ring, singing the lyrics to her song all the while as the crowd went hysterical. The temporary calming of my nerves proved to be just that. The moment I saw her, looking as gorgeous as ever, I felt a huge lump beginning to form in the back of my throat. Anxiety was back and stronger than before, that only got worse once they both entered the cage.
Continuing her impromptu performance, Demi strutted toward the center, fixing her piercing brown gaze on me. She surveyed me up and down, nearly laughing through the chorus of her song, just from the sight of me. Or maybe, it was the thought of a shorter guy like me beating Garcia? Either way, it did little to help my confidence. Especially considering that I'd had a crush on her ever since I was a teenager. At least I knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell that this guy was beating me, whether he had Demi Lovato in his corner or not. That, of course, didn't stop him from smiling from ear to ear.
Demi eventually finished her song and subsequently left the octagon, but not before staring me down as she gave Garcia an emphatic kiss on the cheek, almost to let me know that her guy had it in the bag. Nevertheless, once she'd left, the announcer got to work. He started with me, highlighting my 3-0 record, all of which were submission victories. Then Garcia and his unimpressive 6-3 record. He soaked up the crowd nonetheless as the pre-fight spiel began to wind down. Moments later, the bell rang, and the fight was on.
Immediately, I noticed that Garcia was way too overconfident for his own good because he tried to rush me. Big mistake. The moment he got in range, I hooked his leg, throwing him down and transitioning into my signature armbar. Quite uneventfully, Garcia tapped out moments later. The crowd, and Demi, watched on in shock as I released my hold, the referee quickly running over to raise my hand. Just like that, I was 4-0; not a bad start for a rookie.
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The next day, I was already back at it, training hard for my next fight. Hitting the bag, working on my strikes that could always use some improvement. My trainer was out for the day, so the best I could manage was this without any guidance or some kind of sparring partner.
There I was, minding my own business when suddenly, a large crowd of people bursts into the facility. My attention was immediately distorted and, as the crowd of people drew closer, my shy, more reserved half reared its ugly head. I did my best to block them out, but it wasn't working, especially when I heard a familiar voice call out my name.
"Shane? I thought I'd find you here!" Demi said as I slowly turned around to face her. There she was, dressed in all black Reebok workout gear, the tight-fitting lycra hardly holding her large breasts and famously fat booty in place.
Stammering, I pressed, "W-what are you doing here?" Probably not something a world-famous pop star was used to hearing, but I was far too bashful to be starstruck. If anything, being this close to the beautiful songstress without hundreds of screaming fans around only made my stomach turn even more. Never, in a million years could I have imagined I'd be this close to the girl of my dreams, let alone her knowing my name. But here she was, in living color.
Demi snapped her fingers, smirking confidently as a big, dark-skinned bodyguard handed her a piece of paper. She held it in front of me and asked, "Do you know what this is?"
Answering honestly, I stated, "N-no!"
