"Geezus, Cage! Get him off the fucking fence!" I yell. I see your arms wrap around Sanders' middle section yet again, but the piece of shit has been holding on to the cage all goddamn night. I'm not sure what the hell the ref is doing-- if he's been paid off by Sanders' team or if he really just doesn't see it.
I see you duck your head as you release Sanders' but it's a second too late and his left hook lands successfully on the side of your head. I wince as I see the red spray and your head whip to the side. Feedback comes from your right ear, trickling down the side of your cheek. You should have been able to block that punch, but you're right eye is swollen shut. It's been your downfall since the start of the third round.
"C'mon baby! You've got this!" I scream at the top of my lungs again, willing my voice to reach you over the roar of the crowd. I'm not sure if you actually hear me or not, but I see a nod and a grin spread across your face as you throw a blind punch to Sanders' abdomen. I smile too as I watch the air and spit get forced out of his mouth. That seemed to be all the encouragement you needed as you struck another blow.
You manage a composed left hook to his cheek, being able to see out your left eye. Surprisingly, the punch knocks Sanders' head to the side with enough force to cause him to go down. You're on him in a heartbeat, relentlessly delivering punch after punch with your left hand. It doesn't last long though as you've left your right side vulnerable. Of course Sanders attacks with a low blow the second he gets an opening.
"Oh for fucks sake!" I scream, tugging on my brunette locks as I watch the referee shrug and do nothing. Sanders' fist lands on an already bruised region in your rib cage, I see you cry out before doubling over in pain. Your knee drops to the canvas, a taunting smile plays on Sanders' lips as he stands over you.
I try to bolt forward as I see his fist reel back. He screams as he throws the punch and it lands satisfyingly across your face. Your head snaps back and then your entire body seems to go limp.
"Cage!" I scream out but the body guards you've hired hold me back. Aside from the sound of my own frantic sobs, there's a pin drop silence in the stadium-- no cheers or waving signs or even any flashing lights. It's like the entire venue stands still as they gape down at your motionless body.
Not a single muscle twitches and if it wasn't for the steady rise and fall of your chest, I'd probably have thought you were dead. My eyes sting as they flick over to the ref. He lets out a breath before rushing to your side. He starts tapping the canvas on a countdown and the crowd finally seems to blink out of their stupor.
"One!" his hand slams next to your head.
"Two--"
I wrestle out of Aaron and Julian's grasps as I see you push up to your feet. I fly down the steps to the ring as the referee blows his whistle and the three ring bell signals the end of the round. Your coach shakes his head as he sees me approach.
"It doesn't look good, kid," he says. But I ignore him as I rush into the cage, pushing past the sea of trainers and paramedics to get to you.
"You can't be in here," the referee snarls as he sees me enter the ring. My hair flies out around me as his large hand grips my upper arm and whips me back towards him.
"And who's going to stop me?" I growl. My eyes narrow slightly as I press my chest against his black and white striped shirt. His nostrils flare as he looks down at me but there's no way I'm backing down. "How much are they paying you anyways?" I tilt my head to the side, my words ending with a slight snarl.
I can feel his grip immediately loosen and I wrench my arm free. As I turn back around I sigh slightly in relief. You're sitting up now at least, and somewhat back to your feisty self. I can see you swat at the hand of an EMT as he presses his fingers to your ribs.
"Cage!"
Immediately you look up at me and a tight smile strains your lips. You raise your left arm to catch me, and though I know you're in tremendous pain, you know I need this. Need to hold you, feel you.
I hiccup slightly as the tears fall freely now. "I should have given you this earlier," I cry. I shake my head sadly as I pull a tiny yellow tablet from out of my back pocket. "I'm so sorry baby, this is all my fault."
"Hey, hey, hey. Stop that." You shush me as you cup my face with your hands, turning my head slightly to look up at you. "This was not your fault," you say. "This was nobody's fault but my own. Sanders is prepared. He's faster than I anticipated, stronger. He has moves--"
"Yeah, illegal ones!" I cut you off as I angrily grind my jaw. Quickly I glance at the bastard over my shoulder and it dawns on me, he wasn't nearly this big last night.
"What a coward!" I shake my head. With those giant arms of his, at this point, I'm thinking it's even a miracle you're still alive. I hear the ref tell the med team to get out and I lean forward to press my lips against yours. As I suddenly pull back I shove the capsule into your mouth.
"Baby-- mmph!"
I clamp my hand over your mouth as I reach down for your red and white sports bottle.
"I need you to win," I whisper against your ear. I tilt your head back before pouring the water into your mouth. With just a single gulp, you immediately start to look better. The swelling around your eye diminishes and if I'm not mistaken, your muscles look a little more pumped.
