Seth Blackwell closed the door to his house. The tension in his fist around the doorknob radiated up his arm and into his shoulders as he screwed his emerald-green eyes shut. He forced himself to let go, and turned. He ran down the steps to the driveway, to the curb where his beat-up early 2010s Toyota Tacoma sat, the faded red paint job doing its best to gleam in the August afternoon sun. Letting go shouldn’t have been a problem. He should feel numb. He shouldn’t feel this heated over it. That was normal since his mom left.

This was normal now. He inhaled, the

Seth reached into the front pocket of his worn-out black canvas gym duffel and took out a small orange bottle with a white cap.

Blackwell, Seth. Chlorpromazine. 3x daily 200mg tablets to be taken orally, with food. Do not drink alcohol.

Seth reached his truck and angrily shoved the Thorazine back into his bag. He tossed it all into the back seat as he got behind the wheel and turned the keys. The engine came to life, and the aftermarket sound system he’d installed with Andrew connected to his phone, automatically playing the blue noise track he’d been using to try and sleep last night.

Seth shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling through Spotify to try and find something that matched his disaster of a mental state. Not metal, he knew he couldn’t take the harsh vocals right now. Rap? No. EDM? Maybe. House? Seth froze as the rearview mirror caught his eye with his finger above a playlist. The image of his backseat was dark, the single massive tree in the front lawn casting far deeper shadows than it should have into his car. Seth swallowed as the shadows grew darker and darker, then whipped around, refusing to look in the corner of his backset and snatched his medication from his back, slamming a pill before he’d fully turned around.

Seth grit his teeth together, glancing in the mirror again. The shadows continued to grow darker. Seth swallowed, screwing his eyes shut. “You don’t need it. It’s fine,” he muttered. “It’s fine. It’ll go away.”

Eyes open. Shadows were still there. Seth gripped the steering wheel, shaking his head.

“I can make it.” He buckled himself in, keeping an eye on the mirror and putting the truck in drive before he pulled away from his house and headed out of the suburbs. He sped down the backroads towards his gym, hands white knuckling the steering wheel as he waited for the Thorazine to kick in.

…your mother wouldn’t. YOUR MOTHER WOULDN’T YOUR MOTHER—

Seth ripped the steering wheel to the side to get back on the narrow country road and just missed a telephone pole. His adrenaline spiked, his heart pounding. Seth looked into the backseat. That was one way to make it go away. The shadows were gone. Seth let out a long, shaky sigh and slowly drove back onto the road to continue his trip.

A few minutes later, Seth wiped the wetness from his eyes as he made the turn back into town. Just a few further turns and he pulled into the parking lot of an old strip mall, parking in front of Central Fighting Arts. At this point, he realized he’d never bothered to play music on the way there. He sighed and looked into the gym, the big open windows revealing the entire floor to the parking lot. Two middleweights sparred in the octagon and two pairs of fighters threw mitts in the ring. Seth could see ten other martial artists in the gym, about average for a Saturday afternoon.

Seth turned off his car and got out, grabbing his gym bag before he headed inside, the thick afternoon atmosphere of sweat and old AC hitting his nose.

“Blackwell!”

Seth forced a smile to his face, even managing to crinkle the skin around his eyes as Coach John--an absolute hulk of a man with a shaved head and more than one scar on his scalp--raised a paw in greeting from across the gym. “Coach!”

“You’re late, warm up and get your gear on, you’re next in the octagon.”

Seth glanced over at the caged arena to the left of the gym entrance and nodded. Seth walked the long way around the gym to the locker rooms in the back, where he quickly stripped out of his sweats. He pulled on short Thai trunks and a rash guard, then headed out to the floor to wrap his hands. John met him by the heavy bags as he did.

“Seth,” he said as he walked up. John stood easily a half foot taller than Seth and Seth himself had reached six foot over the summer. “Grand Island is in two weeks. What’s with all the late shows? This is fourth in two weeks.”

“Oh,” said Seth, as he stared at the black cotton wraps going around his hands. “You noticed?”

“Of course I noticed,” said John. “We’ve been building up to this for a year now. What has you slowing at the finish line?”

“I’m not slow-“ Seth stopped himself from snapping and looked up to Coach John. “I’m not slowing. Things just keep happening at home right before I leave for the gym.”

“What things?” Coach John crossed his arms, but the expression on his face told Seth the man knew, he just wanted Seth to elaborate the specific flavor of fucked that his home life was. It came from a misguided urge that everyone who knew or suspected things were bad at Seth's house had to call CPS. That urge wouldn’t be there if they knew a second visit from CPS would likely get Seth into inpatient care permanently.

“Things,” said Seth, looking back to his hands as he finished wrapping them. He pulled his shin pads from the duffel and sat down to strap them on. “Dumb fucking things.”

Coach John squatted next to him. “Well. No matter how dumb they are, you know Ms. Tull and I will listen to you if you need to talk about them, right?”

“Why?” Asked Seth, keeping his gaze down as he strapped his legs in. “I already see a therapist twice a week.”

“I know.”

Seth grit his teeth together and pulled his 8-ounce MMA-style sparring gloves out, slipping them on over his wraps. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

Seth put his mouthpiece in and shook his head. “Unless it gets me out of that house—and it won’t, I promise you—it doesn’t matter.”

John nodded, his eyes attempting to pierce the numb indifference in Seth’s that was settling in now that the meds were doing their job. “Get in the ring then. You’re up in three.”

“Who?”

“Brennan.”

Seth shook his head. “Give me someone above my weight class.”

“Jayson is a middleweight.”

“Yeah. Alex is here.”

“You’re two weeks out.”

“I won’t get injured.”

Coach John sighed, but Seth could see him trying not to grin. “You’ll get Alex next. Warm up with Brennan.”

Seth nodded and clenched his jaw on his mouthpiece as Coach John walked away. Seth stood up and slowly walked across the gym, taking in who all was there that day. It would have been packed earlier with the Kyukushin and MMA classes, but at two in the afternoon, only those actually training for something were there. Case in point, him. Seth dropped his duffel next to the octagon and looked over to the ring where the fighters throwing pads were. The rhythmic pop-pop-pop of leather on leather in combination after combination filled the musty air.

“You ready?” A hand shoved his shoulder. It was playful, but Seth still turned fast and felt one of his hands clenching inside his glove. He forced himself to relax.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Yeah, Alex. I’m ready.”

Alex nodded, adjusting his gloves. The kid was big, and just out of high school, already with four amateur fights under his belt at heavyweight. “We sparring today?”

Seth nodded.

“Good. You’re fun to fight.”

“Thanks.” Seth gripped and ungripped the mats with his toes as he eyed the round timer on the cage while the two fighters inside grappled against the fence, vying for dominant position. “You’re fun, too.”

“Heh. You’re the only one who says that.”

Seth shrugged.

“Warm up, though, first.”

“Like I need it.”

Alex guffawed. “Yeah, yeah. Throw some muscle on, then you can talk about coming after me.”

BEEPBEEPBEEP!

The fighters in the cage separated, slapping gloves as their round ended. Seth moved in after they left, heading up the steps and into the cage. Brennan, a fellow junior fighter, followed him. Brennen gave up about an inch of reach to Seth, but was a lot denser. Compared to Seth’s lean legs, he had thighs like tree trunks, and kicks that were appropriate for that. He sat right at the top of middleweight, whereas Seth sat right at the bottom.

Nonetheless, anyone watching could see hesitation in Brennan to step in the ring with Seth.

Seth rolled his neck, cracking it as the noise in his head, the constant static of anger and stress, began to melt away to the familiar feel of canvas beneath his feet. The house he lived in might not be home, but this was.

BEEP!

Seth turned and raised his glove to smack Brennan’s before they separated and raised their guards. Brennen stood in the traditional, flat-footed Thai stance, elbows tight, fists up and out. Seth’s stance was longer, lighter, his hands not quite as high, and slightly forward.

With hesitation visible in the first step, Brennan stalked in, clearly intending to take this to clinch range. Seth wouldn’t let him.

Seth’s lead foot lashed out, ball of his foot pointed for a pushing kick to Brennan’s stomach. Brennan swept the distancing kick aside, attempting to catch it, but Seth was already turning with the momentum, having got exactly what he wanted. His lead foot planted, pivoting him backwards as his rear foot came off the ground and his heel bashed straight into Brennan’s stomach, knocking him halfway across the octagon.

Seth landed in his stance, not following up intentionally as Brennan righted himself.

“Good one. Again. You sell the teep way too well.” said Brennan around his mouthpiece. The kid was strong, he hadn’t lost his breath.

Seth nodded. “Thanks.”

They closed.

Seth parried the incoming right cross, covering low on his own right as he saw the follow-on lead body hook coming, and sending his own left jab forward over the recovering right hand of Brennan. Glove met nose and glove met arm. Seth followed with his own right cross and landed, unanswered, snapping Brennan’s head back, and then followed with a snapping low kick. His shin dug into one of Brennan’s thighs as Brennan was too dazed from the one-two to check it.

Brennan lunged in hard, fighting for inside position and clinch. Seth felt a hand swim its way to the back of his neck, but cleared it and dropped levels at lightning speed, shooting forward and encircling his arms to grab both of Brennan’s legs before turning the corner around Brennan and lifting high. Brennan left the ground, going sideways. Seth returned him to earth. He landed with Seth’s shoulder buried in his gut and an audible “oof”.

Seth disengaged from the ground and stepped backwards, letting Brennan get to his feet. Brennan came up slowly, guard up. Seth wasn’t the kind of person to kick a sparring partner in such a disadvantageous position, but at CFA, Coach John would always yell “You fight how you practice.” At a tournament or in a fight, standing up casually was a death sentence.

Brennan slapped gloves with Seth. “They gotta stop pairing me with you, man. Get Alex in here.”

“Couple more minutes,” said Seth. “I’ll let you work.”

“Yeah, right,” chuckled Brennan. Nonetheless, he stalked in, guard tight, leading with a left forward step, pulling it back and driving his right shin through the air towards Seth’s ribs. Seth let let the shot land, absorbing it against his guard as Brennan set his leg down and came over the top with a left hook. Seth leaned back and the punch swept through the air his chin had been in miliseconds ago. Brennan recovered, stepping in even closer for another attempt at the clinch.

Seth let the first hand find purchase, then tied up with Brennan as well. Each had a hand on the back of the other’s neck, and they struggled to get their second hand in and achieve dominance. Brennan launched a right kick to Seth’s left thigh, shin digging deep into muscle. Seth ate the shot, the pain ripping up through his nervous system, pushing past the numbness of the meds. Seth grinned around his mouthpiece. Next came a knee from the same side. Up, and straight into Seth’s side.

It hurt. A lot, but Seth relished the moments he felt this way. Pain was living. Physical pain was better than mental anguish, and meds couldn’t stop it.

And Brennan was on one leg.

Seth dropped to his knees before Brennan could set his striking leg down, surging forward and placing a hand on the back of Brennan’s ankle. Seth’s shoulder drove hard into Brennan’s knee and Seth cut hard to the right, standing up as he did so and throwing the leg he held to the side. Brennan hit the canvas and Seth swarmed him, placing his knee into Brennan’s stomach to pin him to the mat and beginning to throw strikes.

Seth felt a powerful urge to throw everything he had into the ground and pound, but he forced it down, only throwing the low-power strikes you were supposed to in such a position in training. Make your partner aware of the danger, but don’t injure them and keep them out of training for weeks. Still… He wanted to. He knew it wasn’t the right time, and he had nothing against Brennan... but he wanted to.

He told himself it was just anticipation for facing down Jayson at Grand Island.

Brennan covered against the strikes, bridging hard and swinging his hips away to escape the pin, then finding purchase in the ground with his feet and surging forward for a takedown of his own. Seth snapped his hips down hard, sprawling on top of Brennan and circling to the side again, preparing to throw a strike at his turtled opponent just as the timer rang.

BEEPBEEPBEEP!

Seth removed his weight from Brennan’s back and helped his sparring partner up.

Brennan shook his head. “You’re a demon, Seth. Jayson’s fucked.”

Seth shrugged as his pulse began to chill out. “Maybe.”

“No, dude,” panted Brennan as they walked towards the door of the cage. “You were good last year. You’re phenomenal now. You hit like a freaking train and I know you’re pulling your punches.”

Seth shrugged again as they descended the steps and sat on the side of the cage while the next pair went in. “I feel like the same fighter. I mean, I know I’ve gotten better. Last year I wouldn’t have been able to scrap with Alex, but I can now. I think it’s just puberty, dude. Just stronger, you know?”

“Nah. You’re sharper, too. You’ve been training more than anyone in the gym, even Harris, and he just signed with One.”

“No…” said Seth. “Harris is here every day.”

“Sure. So are you.”

Seth looked at the ground. He was. Just for different reasons. He wasn’t running towards a contract with a fight organization. Hours in the morning and the evening at the gym kept him out of the house. Kept him away from Kevin. Kept him sane, even as the meds dragged the color slider of his life further into insane, anxiety-riddled grayscale. He sighed. “He trains Mondays, though. I don’t.”

“Yeah, cuz your girlfriend always drags you out.”

Seth looked over at Brennan, annoyed. The timer beeped for the other fighters. “Jessica’s like my sister, dude.”

Brennan shrugged. “Sure.”

“She literally has a boyfriend.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’ve known each other since we were six. I cannot stress enough how much I think of her as a sister.”

“You two played Romeo and Juliet sophomore year. You kissed on stage.”

“Yeah, it was fucking gross,” said Seth. “Haven’t you ever heard of a stage kiss?”

Brennan laughed. “Looked real to me.”

“Okay, next round I’m not pulling punches.”

“Then Coach John will spar with you, I’ll be avenged.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “She’s my friend. She’s been there for me for a lot. But seriously, she isn’t my girlfriend. Besides, you’ve never seen me with anyone, I know that for a fact. How do you know I’m straight?”

Brennan looked genuinely confused for a minute. “Aren’t you?”

“No!” Said Seth. “I’m definitely not.”

Brennan furrowed his brow. “Oh. Huh. I guess that makes sense now.” He scratched his head. “I mean, not my business, but what are you?”

“Let’s just call it bi and make it easier for everyone,” said Seth.

“So you could date Jessica!”

Seth lightly slapped Brennan on the back of the head. “No,” he offered a small grin. “Shut the fuck up. For all intents and purposes, I’m her gay best friend.”

“Listen, all I’m saying is that she—“

“And as her gay best friend, I will feed you your own teeth if you talk the shit I think you’re about to. Seriously don’t.”

“It was a compliment!”

Seth stood up from the side of the octagon. “Yeah, a creepy one, I’m sure.” He shook his head.

“She’s pretty. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” Looked across the octagon’s corner of the gym to Alex, who was finishing up some mobility work before they got in the cage. He nodded and grinned at Seth. “It’s twenty-thirty, dude.” Said Seth. “Be respectful.”

“I literally was just going to say she was pretty!” Protested Brennan.

“‘Kay,” said Seth, looking back at him. “She’s my best friend. I’ll kick your ass.”

“You do anyway,” grumbled Brennan.

“Nicely,” said Seth. “I’ll kick it less nicely.”

The timer beeped again, signaling the end of the round and Alex stood up, pointing at Seth and then making a slashing motion across his neck, but with a shit-eating grin the whole time.

Seth did believe Brennan, even if the kid was from a very conservative family. That shit didn’t fly at this gym thanks to the culture Ms. Tull and Coach John worked to cultivate. This was—aside from broken noses, ribs, occasional torn ACLs or MCLs, separated AC joints, concussions, black eyes and cuts, and general misery—a safe place. It was Seth’s safe place, and he loved it here.

“Let’s go, Alex!” He half-shouted. “Show me what you got!”