Chapter 6 Rebuilding the foundation

Valerie Point of View

My alarm went off at four in the morning.

Before my mind fully woke up, my body already knew where I was. Everything from my neck down to my toes felt sore and heavy. Yesterday’s fight with Damian had left deep aches in my legs and arms. I pulled myself off the narrow bed, put on a plain gray sports shirt and black training pants, and wrapped my hands in silence.

When I pushed open the door and stepped onto the main gym floor, the building was still dark. The only light came from small blue safety bulbs high on the walls.

Damian stood in the middle ring, leaning against the red ropes with a cup of black coffee in his hand. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, or maybe he had come down an hour before me. He wore a plain black shirt and dark pants. The moment my feet touched the floor, his cold blue eyes locked onto me.

“You’re late,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Three minutes.”

“The clock in my room is fast,” I answered, walking up the metal steps and stepping through the ropes.

“Excuses don’t make you lighter on the scale, Valerie,” he replied in that smooth, quiet voice. He tossed the empty cup into a trash bin outside the ring. “Drop your bag. We start now.”

I set my bag down. I thought he would bring out punching pads. I thought he would call another fighter into the ring so I could test my hands. Instead, Damian pulled a small roll of yellow tape from his pocket and knelt on the mat right in front of my boots.

He began sticking long yellow lines onto the white floor, making small squares and cross lines until a full grid covered the canvas.

“What is that?” I asked, looking down.

“Your world for today,” Damian said as he stood up. “Take off your shoes.”

“My shoes?”

“Bare feet. I want you to feel the floor with every step. You will not hit anything today, Valerie. No punches, no kicks, no pushes.”

My mouth fell open. “What? I didn’t come to The Crucible to walk on tape! I need to practice my hits! Roxanne is out there right now...”

“Roxanne Blake is not your problem today,” Damian cut in. His voice dropped low and hard, shutting down my words. “You think you lost your title because of a poisoned water bottle? No. You lost because your feet were weak. You move like an angry bear. You lean forward when you’re mad, and that leaves your back wide open for anyone to hit.”

He stepped closer until I could smell the clean soap on his skin.

“Today we take away the bad habits,” he said softly, looking straight into my eyes. “We break down everything your father’s gym let you do wrong. If you cannot move your feet right, you will never land a clean hit on a real fighter.”

For the next four hours I learned what real hard work felt like.

And I did not touch a single bag!

Damian made me turn, slide, step, and stop on the yellow lines over and over again. My legs began to feel like hot lead. Every time my heel hit the floor too hard, or every time my left foot crossed my right when I moved sideways, Damian tapped my leg with a thin wooden stick.

Tap!

“Too heavy,” he said. “Keep your hips low.”

Tap!

“You’re rushing. Stand firm before you move fast.”

By nine in the morning sweat poured down my face. It dripped into my eyes and soaked through my shirt. My lungs burned for air and the bottoms of my bare feet felt hot and raw against the rough mat. Angry thoughts filled my head, hot and sharp.

“I can’t do this!” I shouted. I dropped my hands to my knees and breathed hard, stepping off the yellow lines. “This is crazy! My legs are shaking and you treat me like a little child who doesn’t know how to walk!”

Damian did not raise his voice. He simply walked up to me slowly and stopped two feet away. His face looked like a wall of cold stone.

“You are a child when it comes to clean, quiet fighting,” he said in a flat tone. “You use wild anger because you’re scared. You’re scared that if you stop moving, people will see that you’re broken.”

His words hit my chest harder than a fist. I squeezed my wrapped hands so tight my nails cut into my palms.

“You don’t know me,” I whispered, my voice shaking with heat.

“I know that real fighters don’t cry when the work gets hard,” Damian answered, stepping even closer. “I know that if you want to save your father’s gym and walk back into a real ring with your head high, you will shut your mouth, step back onto the yellow lines, and move your feet.”

We stood looking at each other in complete silence. The air between us felt heavy, hot, and tight. Every part of my body wanted to hit him. Every part of me wanted to tear the tape off the floor and run out into the street. Instead I swallowed the bitter taste in my throat.

Without saying a word, I turned around, stepped back onto the yellow grid, and bent my knees into my stance.

Damian watched me for a long time. Something sharp passed through his blue eyes. Then he turned his back, picked up his notes, and said, “Again. Turn left, slide back. Do it now.”

---

It was past midnight when I finally left my room again.

The rest of the fighters were asleep. The main floor was dark and cold, lit only by the small red exit signs on the walls. My body was sore, but my mind would not quiet down.

I had walked out at eleven, pulled back to the gym by a restless feeling in my chest. The ring was empty. The yellow tape lines Damian had stuck down that morning were still on the white mat.

I stood in the middle of the lines in my bare feet and began moving through the turns and slides without making a sound.

Slide left. Turn. Check the feet.

My legs hurt with every small step, but the movement felt better now. It was no longer wild. It was clean and light.

High above the gym floor a glass door clicked open.

I stopped and looked up.

On the walkway, leaning his arms on the glass rail of his office, stood Damian. He wore a dark hoodie pulled over his head. He was watching me move in the dark gym below. He did not turn on the big lights. He did not shout any orders.

He just stood there in the dark, watching me work through the pain alone.

For a long moment our eyes met across the wide room. Neither of us said anything. Then, with a slow small nod of his head, Damian turned around and walked back into his office, shutting the door behind him.

I looked down at the yellow lines on the floor. A small warm feeling spread through my chest.

I was not wild anymore.

And tomorrow I was going to show him what I could do... Humph!