In The Ring Of Love

1. Sherlock

I fight for a living.

Most people don't get it that why would someone throw punches in return to get it back again. They don't know that someone like me throw punches for a living because I find peace in violence.

Some people find peace in drinking alcohol, some find peace in smoking shit, and in the end they run from what bothers them. But me? I don't run, instead I fight them. I take out all the frustration bubbling inside me in the ring. I don't fight for glory, the titles, or money.

I fight for myself because I don't know what else I should be doing with my fucking self.

And tonight is no different, the arena is full of people cheering, the smell of blood and sweat thick in the air. I roll my shoulders feeling the ache in my shoulders from the fight the previous night, my knuckles are still raw, and the cuts and bruises on my face fresh.

My opponent, Anthony Castillo, sure is huger, taller than me by an inch or two, and is built better. But that doesn't scare the shit out of me. I have fought bigger, I have broken better and yet I have never lost.

And maybe that is why I am known as The Ring Lord.

The crowd roars as we step into the ring. My opponent grins like he already knows the outcome, I don't even look at him. I don't need to. The only thing that matters is that he's in my way, and that's a problem I will fix soon enough.

I roll my wrists, my hands wrapped in tape, knuckles raw. I welcome the pain. It reminds me that I'm alive, that I'm still standing, that I'm still me. The referee signals the start, and before I can think about it, I move.

The ring is the only place where I don't have to pretend, where people don't expect from me, where the world doesn't expect smiles, words and someone who I am not. But here? In the ring its simple.

You win or lose. You fight or you fall down. You hit or you go down.

Well for me? I don't lose, I don't do second placing. The only thing I know is to fight until there is nothing left.

The first punch comes quick and I duck. My fist meets his ribs and he grunts, so much for a big guy huh, The crowd cheers but I don't hear them. All I can hear is my breathing and the punches I am throwing.

He attacks at me, but I am faster. I step aside and dodge. My fist meets his jaw and then his stomach. The impact sends a shudder through my arm but I don't stop.

I notice that his strength is starting to falter, and I take this as a sign to to throw the last punch and with it, he falls on the ground.

I step back, rolling my shoulders as I shake out my fists. My opponent groans, the referee kneels next to him, starting the count.

He's not getting up. I already know it

The bell rings as the crowd erupts in cheers and the referee announces, "Xavier Hayes won again!"

Everyone starts chanting my name, Ring Lord! Ring Lord! My coach patted my back, his face split into a wide grin, but I barely focused.

My hands are steady, my chest rising and falling evenly. I won, again. I should feel that rush of relief, that moment where everything is still but tonight, it doesn't come.

That's the thing about fighting your demons. They don't stay down for long. They don't tap out. They don't know when they've lost.

I don't know why I expect anything different.

I shake the thought away, grab my bag, and head outside.

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The city is loud and alive, but I don't pay attention to the chaos. My hands are sore, and the cut on my lip stings, but I barely notice it. Maybe I'll drive around until my body isn't buzzing anymore. Or maybe I'll just walk around until I figure out why I suddenly feel so restless.

I kept walking, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, when-

Thud!

Someone bumped into me.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

The words get cut off as she tilts her head to look up at me.

Big blue piercing eyes, lips parted in surprise as she stared back at me. Her dark hair was in a messy bun, her bag was slung to her shoulder.

"Are you ok?" she asked me.

No, I am not.

The question caught me off guard. No one ever asked me that. Not even the people who pretend to care.

"I'm fine." I said. my voice is rough, my knuckles throbbing. "You should watch where you are going."

"Well, thankyou for your advice, Sherlock. Maybe next time don't stand in the middle of the sidewalk like a roadblock." she shot back, her cheeks flushed.

I completely ignored her as I rolled my shoulders, adjusting the strap of my duffel bag and walked away. I barely thought about the girl I bumped into. Just another person passing through, another insignificant moment.

I kept walking, hands shoved into my pockets, my pace steady. The streets weren't unfamiliar. Late-night city life blurred past me cars speeding by, neon lights flashing, people moving in and out of bars.

Reaching my car, I tossed my bag into the passenger seat and slid in. The engine roared to life, and I let the sound settle into the silence around me. The fight replayed in my head, every jab, every dodge, every calculated move.

And the win.

I should've felt something. Satisfaction, maybe. Relief.

Instead, all I felt was the same emptiness I always did after a fight.

With a slow exhale, I gripped the steering wheel and drove off.

I made it to my penthouse in silence, the low hum of the engine the only sound accompanying me. The roads were empty, the city still buzzing somewhere in the distance, but up here, away from the noise, it was quiet.

Parking the car, I grabbed my duffel bag and headed inside. The place was dark when I entered, just how I left it. No one waiting. No warmth. Just four walls and an empty space that never really felt like home.

I dropped my bag near the couch and headed straight to the bathroom. The hot water hit my skin, washing away the sweat and dried blood.

Once I was done, I threw on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, then made my way to the kitchen. I wasn't in the mood for anything complicated. Despite knowing how to cook, I never made a big deal out of it. Food was just something I needed to gain energy.

I grabbed a pan, tossed in some eggs, and made a quick omelet. Quick. Easy. Straight to the point. Like everything else in my life.

My place was silent, just how I liked it. No unnecessary noise. No distractions. Just the dull ache in my knuckles and the slow ticking of the clock on the wall.

I was halfway through my food when my phone buzzed on the counter.

Mom.

I wiped my hands on a napkin before picking up. "Yeah mom?"

"Xavier," her voice was warm, familiar. The only thing that ever felt like home. "Did you eat?"

"Yeah." I glanced at my plate.

She sighed, but I could hear the smile in her voice. "Eggs again?"

I huffed. "It's food."

She didn't say anything else. She knew how I was. Simple. To the point. No need to overcomplicate things.

After a pause, she asked, "Are you coming by tomorrow?"

"Got training." I leaned against the chair, rubbing the sore spot on my jaw.

The silence stretched for a moment, and then she spoke again, softer this time. "Everyone misses you."

I shut my eyes briefly.

"I'll come when I can." I finally said.

She didn't push, just hummed in understanding.

"You should rest."

"I will." I picked up my plate and put it in the sink.

"Goodnight, sweetheart." She sighed again, and I could picture her shaking her head at me.

A part of me always found it ironic how someone like me, cold, distant, made of sharp edges, could still be someone's sweetheart. But I never corrected her. Never would.

"Goodnight, Mom."

I hung up, placing the phone back on the counter.

The room felt a little colder now.

Another night.

Another fight.

And tomorrow, it would be the same all over again.