breathless {sckrp} sylvie & nova

My fist throws itself towards the girl, clenched fingers holding power which manages to not leak from my wounds. The power forces the girl to respond--

--yet her punch isn't as strong as mine.

It's only a competition, it's a competition which doesn't amount to anything other than the glory of winning, yet there's a part of me which longs to have victory over the girl. A fire burning inside fuelled by pride and happiness in the name Sylvie Serafini, that's what this is about.

Pride.

There's people here watching at the sidelines, cheering me on and watching me like they are watching her. Beady eyes slung onto me, I feel like there's no escape. Even my imagination can't remove them to make this whole ordeal calmer and more relaxed.

They can't, Sylvie. Because this is a fight.

And it's moments like these that you get to see the 'potentials'. Careers stronger than myself with the highest chances of being reaped. They give it all they've got in here yet somehow manage to die in the bloodbath or die by the second day. Fools.

My head shakes, my hair separating out with grease and sweat mixed together. I look down, my eyes rising to meet her and I throw another punch.

I hit her again, not as hard this time but the impact of her bone against my knuckles was still strong. I dart backwards as to tighten my bandages, my fingers slipping beneath them to pull so that I can frel the blood through my veins.

It makes me feel high, it provides me with the much needed adrenaline when under pressure.

I look at her, eyes clouded by plumes of toxicity as I blink to watch her move around menacingly. She seems to show no signs of giving up, which is admirable of her, as I watch her next punch barely reach my flesh. All I feel is her skin against mine, no pain to make this the "fight club" which I thought it would be.

Cheering voices and whistles from a distance encourage me to strike again, to get the first round over and done with as quickly as possible. It would be simple that way, yet my mind spins with the fact this is just the beginning.

And deep down, I can tell she's strong, but her weakness is reigning supreme over her movements.

I can't give in to her, for my honour as a Serafini.

I can't let her knock me down.

The ground builds, sucking in the atmosphere only to regurgitate it back out in the form of cheering. It's echoing around me, bouncing off the walls and from my own skin.

I can feel it hit me, but I can't feel the pain.

But then I receive a blow from something human, breathing and putting up a fight just like me. Her fist appears from thin air and crashes into me like a brick through a window, and shit did it hurt.

My teeth grit and now that she's bringing her A-game, I want this more than ever. All the training I've committed myself to since the age of 12 should not amount to my downfall being against a girl in an underground fight club. I'd be slain by my parents.

I picture them in my head, their voices swirling around my thoughts and weaving in and out, in and out of my feelings. I don't want to think of them - not now in this moment.

They are a distraction.

And so I imagine their faces on her as I leap forward in an attempt to claw back my pride.

The glint in my eye has probably faded my now, my confidence has diminishing to nothing but the bare structure on which it was built. All tattered and broken, parts of it peeling away loosely to escape into the air. To escape, only to be absorbed by my opponent.

I can't blame her. To deliver such a strong blow it makes an immediate bruise is worthy of an applause and is a definite confidence booster, yet for her to win, I have to lose. And it's the thought of that bitter taste in my mouth which makes me want to give it my all.

No Sylvie, you can't give up.

Yet my fibres are slipping under the pressure I've laid upon myself and I can't help but feel weaker.

So I channel the strength inside in hopes that just this time, I can bring it back. To take it away from her and to bring the glory unto me. Even if it's for just a split second.

The frustration in my fibres builds, I can feel a distinct tingling running loops around my body. Through my fingers and down to my toes - it's there and I can feel it but there's no pain.

There's no point in trying any more. Not now that she's managed to hit me hard, twice in a row an for me to only respond with a stroke against her cheek. It's slipping from my fingers, seeping out from my wounds like blood. I look at her and realise she's reasonably unscathed, and though I want to try and cause damage to win, I can't.

I can.

I can't.