“Tara …” Faint concern creased Jason's features. His fingers skimmed the edge of her palm.

“I'll try not to kill anyone.” Satara stood up and tugged at her ponytail to check its hold.

“Actually I was gonna say don't hold back on my account.” His smile was venomous, reminding her once again why they were friends.

“Holding back isn't my style.” She smiled too, allowing the expression to ice over as she turned towards her opponent. “You know that.”

“Damn right, I do.” He laughed behind her as she joined Brian at the centre of the mats.

Nigel's cousin was arguably the second best in the group. Tall, wide chested, and with an unnecessary amount of exposed body hair, he scored higher than Jason in both offence and defence, limited only by his speed. He reminded her of a Pitbull. The kind that would bite something and refuse to let go no matter what it was beaten with afterwards.

“Don't worry, baby.” He pressed his palms together in a fake apology and mocked their bowing ritual with a jerk of his head, shoving his surfer boy curls away from his eyes to leer at her better. “I'll make sure there's something left for your boyfriend to enjoy once I'm done.”

“I don't think I can promise Nigel the same.” She mimicked Jason's incendiary smile, showing just enough teeth to make it seem real, and pressed her fists together.

Brian laughed but a vein in his forehead popped out like a casual warning seconds before he punched the air directly in front of her face. Her fringe fluttered in the wake of his movement. She lifted her chin and straightened up again, holding his gaze as they both lowered their arms. Though she managed to keep her composure, the small beast in her chest started circling her heart as thought it were a door it wanted to go through. A soft yowling began on the wrong side of her ear drums as she slid her feet shoulder width apart and measured the distance between them with an extended arm. Her other fist waited just above her waist, biceps bunched to keep in position.

“Are you ready?” called out Carl. They nodded. “Start!”

“Party time, ba–” Satara cut off Brian's drawl with two chokuzuki punches, stepping forward to close the gap between them.

One! Two! Driving her fists into both sides of his chest, she shoved him back, though not as far back as she had intended.

“All you boys do is talk.” She slid her leg back into her favoured stance, toes lightly touching the ground in front as she rested on her back foot. Extending one arm again, the other held tightly to her side, she beckoned to him with her palm and a fierce smile.

Brian lunged at her, his mask of amusement slipping briefly to reveal a viciously crumpled face. His fists swung past her as she ducked away from them on either side with a boxer's fluidity. He would have been faster but her previous punches had landed against his brachial plexuses in turn, temporarily disrupting both the speed and strength of his blows. Satara mentally nodded to Carl, acknowledging and thanking him for the tip that had boosted her confidence as a biologically compromised person in dangerous territory.

A half gloved hand grazed her ear as she side stepped a second too late and she spun with the subsequent punch that landed against her left shoulder. Focus. I need to focus. The pain grabbed hold of her attention and dragged it back to the sharpened humiliation in Brian's eyes. I took him by surprise. That's not going to happen again. And now he's angry. The crowd murmured around them and she thought she heard Jason but there was no time to pay attention to anything else.

“You might want to keep up when you're dancing with me, baby,” said Brian, grinning as she backed away from him. “Or else I'll eat you alive.”

She drew in a quick breath, tossing her misplaced ponytail back over her shoulder as she breathed out. The red headband felt like a length of heated iron pressed across her forehead. She inched towards him, breaking into a sudden sprint and drawing back her fist. Brian chortled triumphantly and lurched towards her at the same time, clearly planning to floor her with an aggressive tackle. She waited until he was close enough, twisting on one foot and slamming her hand into the side of his head. As if I'd let you …

But his arms were longer than she thought. His left collided with the back of her knees and she buckled. No! For the first time in months, the breath froze in her throat and she landed on all fours with one hand pushing his head to the ground. Though it wasn't his primary style, Brian had learned how to incorporate Brazilian jiu jitsu techniques into his fights. Those particular skills, coupled with his overwhelming size, were especially dangerous. I can't stay on the floor. She rolled away from into his searching hand before it could latch onto her trousers and popped back up onto her feet.

Sweat gathered beneath her collar and under her arms. She wiped a sleeve over her face and briefly found Jason's eyes on the other side of the mats. He nodded to her, face unnaturally solemn, and lifted a fist in her direction. He kept fighting here, even though it was hopeless. Even though he knew he couldn't win at that point. Mrs Lang's tired eyes flitted across her thoughts. Followed by Mr Lang stiffly announcing he would be working overtime for another week so there was no need for her to look for him after she returned from her MMA classes.

It's not the same for me. She remembered the A's and B's on the report card for her latest exams, tucked into her backpack. The stiff A4 sized envelope that had come in the post a week ago. I can control how this fight goes. The memory of Saytarnia faded like a ghost, an empty but less worrying void in her future. I can still win this fight.

Brian came for her again, weaving in an odd pattern to corner her against the ring of seated onlookers. When she tried to break out, he barely missed her face with a haymaker that Carl should have called him out on but didn't. She resisted the impulse to look at their instructor, dodging back and nearly stepping on someone. Brian followed up his punch with a spinning backhand that struck the side of her head and raised forearm like a truck, throwing her sideways. She barely managed to stay on her feet, stumbling out of the corner and pressing the back of a hand to her stinging cheek and ear.

I'm not doing it right. This is a sparring match, not a high school fight. Self conscious heat from her face radiated outwards along her limbs and penetrated the base of her heart. Carl taught us about chi today for a reason. Concentrate! She raised both arms again, focused on breathing deeply, and closed her inner eye to everything else that could distract her. Her past. Her home life. Her awareness of Jason waiting for her to avenge him. The humming she felt earlier abruptly filled her muscles, veins, and bones. The beast in her chest stopping yowling and padded through the door, purring as she released it from its confinement. Dimly, she realised it resembled the sensation that flooded the air around her yesterday.

“You good, babe?” asked Brian and the laughter of the boys all around sounded like they were underwater.

Her opponent's face, his voice, and his movements. Only they were clear right now. Several walls to go through before the match was over. All of them waiting to be broken by her.

“Perfect,” she murmured, walking towards him with her guard up, light on her feet despite the heaviness in her torso. A weight she could relieve only by transferring it to him.

He straightened up in a boxer's stance, protecting his head. He waited until the last moment to throw a punch, eyebrows warped by confusion, and she heard one wall crack open. She knocked the blow aside and he stumbled as if she had shoved him with both hands. He shifted to face her again as she moved in on him and they twisted around each other in a tense dance. The fiery weight trickled down into her legs and feet and somehow made her faster. His attacks grew less controlled as she blocked them and circled him at the centre of the mat. A boa constrictor slowly cutting off his oxygen supply. Poisoned gas seeping into his skull and blurring the plans behind his eyes.

At some point, he seemed to realise his jabs weren't working and switched tactics. As his body shifted into a sudden tackling position, she twisted her own into a roundhouse kick and her foot crashed against the lean expanse of his abdomen. He gasped as he fell, holding onto his stomach with one hand as if it were several kilograms heavier and scrambled back up. She retracted her leg, holding it in the air as she stared down at him before gently lowering it to the mat. She beckoned to him again with a smirk instead of her hand.

Come on, Brian. Her thoughts were louder than the frenzied yet distant conversations of those around them. Louder but smoother. Less than human. The party's over. It's time to go home now. He stepped back, flushing from head to toe when he realised what he had just done. His mouth opened, soundless, and closed just as fast. Another wall broke in front of her, its top half tumbling backwards as if hewn by a broadsword. The muscles in her hands felt like they were glowing.

Brian tripped over his pride as it lay wounded on the floor between them and tried to tackle her around the middle again. As if he believed she wouldn't expect him to try the same thing again so soon. Satara side stepped and landed her final blow the second he turned to square up to her again. Her fist swung back and forth like the decisive strike of a battering ram, tearing through the gate it had been pummelling all day. She stepped into the attack and her knuckles stung as she thrust them into his softened middle, just below his breastbone.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Heat flowed down her arm and out through her hand and she was weightless once again. Brian choked, sprinkling her with saliva, and his indignant expression gave way to a portrait of anguish. Then he was flat on his back, curling up on one side as he fought for air. And the final wall crumbled with a low groan, its bricks shattering. Irritation whistled through her ears. She could do better than that. She could turn the bricks to powder.

“The match is over. You can sit down, Satara.” The volume control in her head twisted the opposite way and, for half a second, Carl's eyes seemed to glow with an intense blue light.

She stared at him as she coaxed her body back into a post combat stance, pressing her fists together and inclining her head. First in Brian's direction and at Carl, who should have been checking up on the loser's physical and psychological state.

“You did it, Tara!” She jumped as Jason's hand closed around the back of her own, lifting it up in the air as if she had just won a championship belt in a real MMA fight. His face shone as if the victory were his own. “You won.”

“I haven't yet, Jayce,” she murmured. The unfamiliar warmth remained. Like welcome hands upon her skin. Like a thousand tiny suns scattered throughout her skeleton. Like patches of sunlight in the deepest parts of her brain. “Not yet.”

But I can.

“Are you okay, Satara?” asked one of the boys who had never openly disrespected her. One of the weaker ones.

“That was mad,” said another, muted admiration hiding behind his lowered tone and the anxious glances he cast towards the other half of the group, who were either sitting in a breath-taken silence or milling around Brian.

“Did you use chi?” asked someone else standing next to her.

“Jeez, why're you guys actin' like you've never seen her kick someone's butt before?” Jason pushed him aside, clearing the way to where they had been sitting before.

Satara allowed herself a smile. A tug at her hearing stopped her before she could sit down and answer any of their questions. A panicked murmur. A worrying word. A frantically spoken name. She turned back to see Nigel kneeling over his cousin, holding him by the shoulders as the other boy coughed uncontrollably and clutched at his chest. Clearly, he hadn't been able to get back up after the match ended.

“Uh – Carl?” Nigel's features twisted as he looked up at their instructor. “Something's wrong with Brian –”

The words had barely made it out of his mouth when Brian passed out.

And stopped breathing.

<><><><><>

Jason folded his trousers into a careless bundle and shoved them into his drawstring bag, pulling it shut.

“Let's go,” he said as he left the changing room.

Satara was sitting on one of the uncomfortable benches located at intervals along each corridor. Her elbows rested heavily on her knees, fingers hanging interlocked between them as if caged for their mistake. Though her gaze was fixed on the window ahead, she didn't seem to be looking at the scenery beyond the glass. Her brown eyes seemed hollowed out in a way they hadn't been for a while. Weird … Judging by her lack of reaction, she hadn't heard him either. Really weird.

“Hey …” he breathed gently, crouching down in front of her. He gave her clenched fingers a playful poke. “Yo, Tara? You alive?”

She blinked, her shoulders scrunching up for a moment before she reached for her bag.

“Yeah. Let's go.” Her voice was thicker than usual as though she were recovering from a prolonged nose bleed.

“Or we could just wait a bit.” He stopped her hand before she could lift her bag. The pallor of her skin highlighted the redness between her fingers. “I'm not in a rush to go home.”

“I'm not in a rush to stay here either.” She turned her head before he heard the thud of trainers on wood.

“There she is.”

Jason rose and twisted around in the same movement as Nigel's voice preceded him down the corridor. He was accompanied by some of their more aggressive classmates who were clearly both unsatisfied and personally offended by the outcome of Satara's match. The blond boy strode towards them, hands already curled, eyes on the seated girl beside him.

“Outta the way, loser,” he spat. “That cow's gonna pay for what she did to Brian.”

“Ha, sure.” Jason dropped his gym bag and held out an arm to bar his way. “The dude got what was coming to him.”

Nigel swore and swung at him but Jason blocked the blow with a resolute forearm, pushing him back and switching to his favourite stance.

“You're not supposed to get heart attacks from sparring!” Nigel's voice cracked. “He's gone to the hospital!”

“It's not Tara's fault he's got heart issues,” he growled.

“He doesn't have heart issues.” Nigel pointed at Satara, cheeks aflame. “She did something to him! And now I'm gonna do something to her.”

“Like heck you will.” Jason steeled himself, monitoring the other boy's hands, feet, and expression. He's gonna need to get me out of the way first. With a side kick? Or maybe he'll just push me.

The others formed a semi circle, blocking the view of anyone who might have followed them up the corridor. Which left them with only one way to escape should the need arise. Guess it's better than having no way out at all. Jason swallowed, scanning the intention on their faces. Some of them would probably join in if they thought Nigel wanted or needed them to. Others seemed content to watch the violence unfold. You never see one kind without the other. The inevitable fact always left a bad taste on his tongue.

“What? You wanna get battered again?” Nigel stepped forward, the unpleasant viciousness in his eyes now directed at Jason instead. “Fine, I'll –”

Satara stood up, swinging her backpack onto one shoulder, and everyone in the corridor stilled.

“I beat Brian,” she said as emptily as someone admitting they had failed an important exam. “You beat Jayce. Leave it at that.”

“Why the fu –”

“– because if you don't, they'll have to call another ambulance here.” Satara's looked up, her gaze saturated by an utter absence of light. It bypassed his face to land directly on Nigel like a warning hand on his shoulder.

His mouth opened as if he wanted to laugh in disbelief but no sound came out. The trembling fury on his features froze as she gave him several seconds to respond to the challenge. Words that wanted to be spoken shifted in the air and some of the others started looking at each other. She almost sounds like she means it.

“Let's go, Jayce.” She walked down the corridor as though she hadn't just turned her back on a group of boys who despised her presence. As though she didn't care whether any of them followed her, including him.

He snatched up his backpack and made sure neither Nigel nor his friends were about to jump them both. Nigel's shoulders were bunched up by his ears.

“I'll get you both later,” he promised between his teeth.

“Might wanna get nine, nine, nine on speed dial before you try that, mate.” Jason saluted them with two fingers to his forehead.

He followed his best friend down the corridor and caught up with her before she reached the door at the end of it. She held it open for him and followed him through without looking back at the others.

“Nigel's probably just over reacting,” said Jason as they stepped out into the waning sunlight. “Sure, they took him to the hospital but we don't know if he actually had a heart attack.”

Satara stared in the direction of the bus stop, her face settling into that unreadable blankness he hated with a passion matched only by his respect for her.

“I've heard panic attacks can feel like heart attacks. I mean, I'd panic too if you came at me like that.” He chuckled. “Not that it's your fault, per se. If I could fight like you, I would. I bet anyone would.”

He thought she hummed in acknowledgement but the sound could just as easily have come from the cars driving past as they reached the pavement. He cleared the amusement from his throat.

“Even if he did have a heart attack, I'm sure he'll be all right, Tara –”

“– I don't care.” She slowed as they made it to the bus stop, pulling her ticket out of her pocket.

“What?”

“I don't care either way.”

“Look me in the eye and say that –” Laughter tripped up in his mouth as she turned to him with a smile.

Like a hunter checking her snares and finding dead rabbits. Like she knew it wasn't right yet had no desire to change what she was doing. Like she wanted to renew the challenge she had thrown at his feet years ago when he first tried to become friends with her.

“I don't care if he's okay. Or if Nigel hates me for it. Or if you –” She hesitated. Jason leapt through the opening.

“You don't have to pretend you care.” He held out his fist. “But you don't have to pretend you don't care either.”

“Why would I do that?” The bus ticket crumpled in her fingers.

Jason shrugged. “Some people think caring about stuff makes you weak. They're wrong.”

“But I don't need to prove I'm strong.” Her eyes narrowed, half hiding the sudden light within them.

“I know. Especially not after today.” He unclenched his fist and wiggled his fingers impatiently. “I don't know why you're doing MMA. Or why you're not doing it like before. But you're fine with or without it.”

“Fine?” She raised her fist, holding it close to his as the bus rolled up.

“I don't care if you're strong or not.” He bumped his knuckles softly against hers. “You'll always be my best friend.”

He hurried onto the bus under the guise of finding a pair of seats, breathing in to slow the rush of blood to his cheeks. Hopefully she'll just think I got sunburn or something.

<><><><><>

“Is your stomach hurting again?” asked Mrs Lang as she opened the front door.

“Class ended early.” Satara took off her shoes. “Are you going out?”

“Yes, just to the shops.” Her foster mother lingered in the doorway. “We should've bought you a house key. Then again, you don't normally come home early like this.”

“I don't need a key.”

“Why did it end early?” Something like curiosity held Mrs Lang captive, one hand on the door frame. “Your class.”

“One of the boys … got hurt.” Satara licked her lips as she straightened up, stepping into the hallway.

“Oh no. Is he okay?”

She forced herself to look at the older woman. At the obligatory concern on her ever so slightly wrinkled features. Her skin had been smoother the day they first met.

“I don't know.” Is that my fault too? “They'll probably tell us tomorrow.”

“Okay. I'll be back soon and then we'll have dinner –” The front door closed behind Mrs Lang, crumpling the rest of her sentence into an indistinct murmur.

Satara went upstairs and forgot to avoid the eyes of her reflection in the upper hallway mirror she had always hated. The ambush of its presence as soon as she reached the top step. Its size, showing a full length version of everything she didn't want to see. Her fist struck the wall beside it before she could contemplate the risk of breaking its surface. The last thing she needed to do was start vandalising the Lang's property.

Why don't you care? She asked the inscrutable mask in front of her, resting her other hand on the wall parallel to the first. You nearly killed someone today. You don't even know if he's alive. It was a sparring session and you only used what you were taught. But they might have to talk to the Langs about it still and you acted like it didn't have anything to do with you a few seconds ago. Why isn't that bothering you?

Her reflection stared back, features motionless except for her eyes. Two dots of ink, shiny only on the surface, able to stain the world black with a single touch. Records of all she had learned for the past several years categorised in a library that would eventually fall into ruin, neglected in a remote location no one else could access. Not even herself.

Me. You're me. When did I stop caring? Today? Six years ago? Her head lowered, forehead and breath alike touching the glass. I know I cared once. I just don't remember when.

Saytarnia's face darted across her thoughts and settled upon her own features like a layer of snow. Are you a memory … or a fantasy? Real or not, even your eyes had more life than mine do now. Did you care when you killed mum and dad? Did you feel anything when you saw Janie break her neck? Did any of it bother you?

She closed her eyes and sighed, warming the space between the mirror and her skin. Maybe its only possible to murder people with eyes like that in a dream world. You're not real. Maybe you're actually one of the paramedics who found us and I've just mixed you up into a whole new person in my head.

Her forehead furrowed, highlighting the pressure of the cool surface against it. But then why did I make you look like me? Why did I give you a weird name like mine?

She lifted her head, staring at her face. At the haunting slope of her own eyebrows. At the stillness of her features and the faint yet savage curl at the corners of her mouth. The possibility flickered behind her gaze like a glimpse of Hell.

Are you … actually me?