“Pretty, isn’t she?” Ebony spoke in her usual malignant manner.
Sabra packed her Lucky Strikes on the ground. “Sure, when her mouth isn't open,” she jeered through busy teeth.
Ebony gave a false titter. “She was a dancer before Daddy found her.”
Sabra could hear Ebony mumble the words “And I’m going to kill her,” but she pretended not to notice. Sabra said nothing and opened her pack of cigarettes. She greedily snatched one between her index finger and her thumb.
“Need a light?” Ebony asked suddenly and turned her black eyes toward Sabra.
Sabra placed the cigarette to her mouth and turned to Ebony. She stopped for a few seconds to look at the girl’s face. Ebony had a scar along her left eyebrow. Upon further examination, Sabra concluded that the girl wasn't much older than fifteen or sixteen. Ebony picked up her lighter and flicked the metal grinders near the edge of the cigarette. Sabra inhaled and let the smoke cloud into her lungs.
“Grace, you’re up!” A voice called from beyond the door.
Ebony and Sabra looked up simultaneously. They watched as Grace smiled at herself in the mirror and turned to the side. Grace bowed her head at Ebony. The lighter clicked shut and returned to Ebony’s pocket. Grace stood tall and glided through the door.
“She’s going out naked?” Sabra puffed on her Lucky Strike.
Ebony shrugged. “She does that every night.”
They had the “pink” room to themselves. Ebony stood, crossed over to her locker, and pulled out an outdated MP3 player. She sat on a bench in front of Sabra. Sabra looked at her.
“So how old are you anyway?” Sabra asked, blowing out smoke.
“Eighteen,” Ebony spoke sharply as if calling out a correct answer in math class. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” Sabra alleged mockingly. She grinned and touched the cigarette to her lips.
There was no retort from Ebony. They were both quiet for a time. Ebony stared at Sabra as if studying some kind of alien creature. Sabra kept to herself. She pulled the sapphire ring from her right pocket and tried it on different fingers. She placed it on the tip of her thumb and spun it around. It twinkled with each rotation.
“You can’t keep it,” Ebony announced.
Sabra looked up at the girl and held the ring still.
“Daddy doesn't let us keep nice things around,” Ebony explained. She touched her collar bone. “I would know…”
Sabra crushed the end of the cigarette against the floor and flicked it across the room. She pulled the ring away from her thumb and carefully slid it onto her left ring finger. She stared at it as it rested perfectly in its place.
Ebony couldn't remain silent. “Is it special?” She pried.
“Very.” Sabra traced the edges of the stone with her eyes.
“Where did you get it?”
Sabra pulled her gaze away from the blue stone and tilted her head back until it rested against the wall. “From an old friend,” she answered after taking in a breath.
“Did your friend die?”
“No.”
“Then why are they an old friend?”
“We just don’t see each other anymore.” Sabra closed her eyes and rubbed her face, hoping the interrogation would end.
“You should go visit them, then.” Ebony declared.
Sabra let out a small chuckle at the statement. If she had just gone to visit him a month ago… The thought dropped through her brain and landed brutally in her stomach. Sabra reached into her left pocket and pulled out another tablet of hydromorphone. She hastened it to her mouth. The bitterness was like an “old friend.”
“What are those pills you keep taking?” Ebony interrogated again.
“Aspirin,” Sabra chewed and smirked, “I have a bad back.”
“You shouldn't take so many. Magnesium in Aspirin dilates blood vessels and acts like a natural blood thinner. It can also deplete the lining of your stomach over time… So you could bleed to death via the brain, or the stomach. ” Ebony turned into a human encyclopedia.
“You’re a very smart girl,” Sabra announced. “Why are you here?”
“You’re a very pretty girl,” Ebony reported. “Why are you here?”
Sabra smiled and Ebony smiled back. The room fell silent. Sabra watched the young girl turn on the MP3 player. It lit up dimly as Ebony scrolled through a list of songs and picked one. She put the ear-buds to her ears and closed her eyes. It was funny how she sat there, straight and still. Sabra was curious as to what could make Ebony so noiseless.
“What are you listening to?” Sabra called out and gestured.
The ear-buds came off. Ebony put them in her lap. “I Put A Spell On You.”
“By?”
“Nina Simone.”
“You…” Sabra proclaimed, “… are one cool kid.”
Beaming, Ebony returned to listening to the song. It was then that Sabra realized how different Ebony was when Grace wasn’t around. She wondered what it was that made her detest Grace so much. Sabra turned and watched the clock for several minutes until the door opened again.
Grace walked in, her nude body drenched in sweat and blood. Ebony pretended to be oblivious. A voice called from beyond the doorway with congratulations and praise. Grace waved and stumbled to her locker. She took out a towel and staggered back toward the doorway.
“I’m going to go rinse off,” Grace gurgled between bloody gums.
A man passed Grace and entered the room. He was carrying a black sequin cocktail dress. He held up the dress and looked at Sabra. “This is for you, Doozy. You’re up next.”
Sabra stood gradually and scoffed, “A costume?”
“Mr. M said to dock sixty percent of your pay if you don’t put it on.”
“He wants me… to fight… in a dress?”
The man nodded matter-of-factly.
Sabra chuckled. “Does he want me to wear heels with it, too?”
“Shoes are optional.”
“Why doesn't Grace wear a dress?” Sabra stretched her brows and slowly approached him.
The man eyed Sabra from the legs up. “Because Grace has bigger tits and a higher-quality ass,” he spoke cattily.
Sabra pointed at the dress as she got closer. “Give it here.”
The dress was thrown into the air. It slapped Sabra in the face and fell at her feet. The man exited and slammed the door.
“FIVE MINUTES!” He yelled.
Sabra took off her shirt and folded it. She placed it on the bench beside her. She looked down at her chest. She always wanted bigger breasts. It bothered her briefly, but the hydromorphone made her forget. She kicked until both of her shoes did flips toward the wall. She unbuttoned her jeans and folded them on top of her shirt. Her bare feet slipped into the center into the dress, and she pulled it up around her body. It reminded her of a dress she wore to Maine once.
“Zip me?” Sabra turned to Ebony.
Ebony stood and walked over obediently. Sabra faced away and waited until the zipper reached the top of the dress. She looked down at her hand and pulled the ring off of her finger. She hesitated.
“I’ll take good care of it,” Ebony said and picked up Sabra’s clothes from the bench.
With apprehension, Sabra placed the ring on top of the jeans. She wasn't sure if she trusted the girl, but she had no other choice. It all made her kind of dizzy.
“Oh!” Sabra reached into the pocket of the jeans and pulled out a white pill. She stuffed it into her bra. “For after.”
“You’ll need it.” Ebony sighed.
Sabra straightened herself as her clothes were gently taken to a locker to be shut away. Ebony then returned to her previous seat and picked up her MP3 player. Sabra looked at her.
“How do you do it?” Sabra was interested.
Ebony looked up and shrugged. “We usually just imagine we’re trying to murder the person we hate most.”
“Who do you imagine?”
Ebony pointed at Grace’s usual spot. Sabra snickered. She looked down at the slit in the dress and groaned. She grabbed each side of the slit and ripped it up to her hip. Better. Sabra drew in a deep breath and saluted Ebony before walking through the door.
It was a short walk to hell. The lights were low. The smell of blood was dense. A crowd stood apart from the center of the room. Their noises and voices hummed around in Sabra’s ear like a mosquito. A man made his way to the middle of the room. He did not waste any time. There were no flavorful words spoken. There were only brief introductions. It was Doozy versus a woman called Spider.
Sabra looked at her toes. The floor was slimy. She followed the red slime until her eyes met the bare feet of the girl ahead. The right one inched forward. Sabra blinked and tried to focus on the redhead’s face. The odors of the room swam around and tickled her nostrils. Hazy films spread over her eyes like translucent eyelids. She blinked them away.
Spider jerked to the right, then to the left. She scuttled forward like a cockroach does when someone turns a light on. Before Sabra could react, the redhead had washed over her like a wave. Sabra’s head hit the floor, and she felt the wet of the blood on the back of her neck. Her legs shot up around her tiny opponent.
The girl’s forearm pressed weightily against Sabra’s throat. Sabra choked. She lay there, beneath the light, and stared into the whiteness. She thought about letting it happen. She thought about giving in. Then she heard the howling of the onlookers; she changed her mind. They came for a show, and they would get one.
Sabra wrapped her legs tightly around Spider. Her right hand grabbed the fist of the arm pressing against her neck. She wrapped her left arm around the girl’s head. Sabra managed to shift the girl over. She looked down at her.
“Yeshʹ derʹmo,” Sabra spat through her reddened face. Ivan had taught her that phrase. It was not a kind phrase.
Sabra shoved Spider’s fist, aiming it at the carotid artery. It popped the girl in the throat. It was such a violent thrust that the redhead gave out an intense cough. Stop hitting yourself, Sabra thought. Her mouth stretched with a childish grin.
And then the girl’s free arm swung back. The punch crashed against Sabra’s skull like a misfired bowling ball. Sabra hurled over. The blow was like nothing she had ever felt, even with the pain killers swishing through her brain. The two women lay on the floor, side by side. The air was thick, and the audience buzzed like bees. Gradually, both women rose like ghouls.
Sabra’s head rushed as she ascended. Suddenly, everything was gentle. The voices of the audience turned into an orchestra of cellos and pianos. They played for her; they played Gabriel Fauré’s Sicilienne. She saw herself in her childhood home. She saw her mother screaming at her. And though her mother’s mouth moved to form various painful words, Sabra heard only the orchestra of cellos and pianos. She lunged at her mother’s face with her hands. They slashed and hacked away at each other with vengeful fists; they danced together to Sicilienne.
With a crack and a flash, Sabra came to. She was on her back again, writhing around in the pool of red. Sabra felt the sensation of teeth cutting into her left shoulder. Spider was on top of her, kicking with knees. Sabra had to get away. She could feel her own heartbeat just below the spot where teeth drove into her flesh. Her ears deafened to everything but the pulsing of her own heart. She listened to it and let it count for her. Matching the rhythm of the beat, Sabra threw her knuckles into the girl’s neck. She continued until she felt the body ease on top of her.
Sabra shoved Spider away. She lifted herself into a seating position and crawled backwards on the floor. Her heartbeat grew louder and more concentrated than before. She didn't know how much more of the match she could bear. She was drained and ached for the precious end, but the steady drum of her heartbeat spoke to her. It spoke to her in Ian’s voice. It whispered, “Stand… Stand up.”
The two fighters then stood across from one another. They were both arched forward and breathing heavily. They both smelled like iron and sweat. They had been reduced to animals, like two scarlet beasts fighting over a bone. Spider moved first. She closed in on Sabra once more. Sabra shoved her arms forward and dead-stopped the girl with the bottom of her palms. Spider convulsed and slipped backwards on the thickening puddle of blood.
The girl tumbled and collided with the floor. Sabra lunged on top of her. To the steady beat of her heart, she hurled punches into the Spider’s head. She counted the strokes. One, two, three, four, five. She counted them until the face they fractured was no longer a face. She lost count as the numbers became names. Ian, Henry, Ivan, Ebony, Gabe. She recited names in her mind until there were no names left.
An arm reached for her and pulled her away. Sabra stood, hyperventilating. Someone raised her arm into the air. Her ears popped and the sounds of the room rushed back to her. The noise was unbearable at first. Everything was. She looked down at the body lying in the crimson puddle. She wavered. The only thing holding her up was a hand wrapped around her wrist.
“….Did I kill her?” Sabra barely murmured.
She was pushed and prodded to the exit like a sheep being herded to its pen. The dull-looking boy she met days before stood to greet her in the hallway.
“Did I kill her?” Sabra placed her hand on her temple.
The boy simply smiled. It was a sickening grin. He held two objects to her. “Water? Cigarette?”
Sabra fell dizzily into a chair which was so wonderfully placed near the wall. She reached up and took both the water and the cigarette. “Got a light, kid?”
The boy obliged, lighting the cigarette. Sabra waved him off. She rinsed her red fingertips with a bit of water and searched for the white pill in her bra. The pill was dissolving in sweat. She put what she could find into her mouth and washed it down with a sip of water. She sat there alone for a time. She thought about Gabriel Fauré. She thought about her mother. She thought about Ivan. She thought about Ian. She thought about a lifeless woman lying in blood. Her thoughts were like a careful ballet; they swayed before her in the dark.
After she was able to breathe like a normal human being again, Sabra mindlessly grabbed for her little blue ring. It wasn't there. She stood and walked down the corridor, using the wall as a crutch. She found her way to the pink room. The doorknob was cold and felt shocking against her palm. She turned it and walked through.
“I couldn’t stop him,” Grace called from her corner like a child reciting a line in a play. Her nose was buried in a paperback book.
Sabra’s eyes adjusted to the light. She looked ahead and saw Ebony lying over a bench. Her face was badly bruised, and she was unconscious. Sabra fumbled forward and placed two shaking fingers on the young girl’s neck. There was a pulse. Sabra nearly cried in relief.
She turned. Grace sat ignorantly in her spot, reading a cheap novel with a Fabio look-a-like on the cover. Sabra then realized how a young girl could despise Grace so much. She crushed her teeth together. Sabra looked at the lockers. She made her way to Ebony’s and opened it. The jeans and shirt were unfolded. She searched frantically and found no ring. She also found no hydromorphone. Her blood boiled. A new energy grew inside of her. She swung herself at the door.
“What were you thinking about?” Grace abruptly questioned, never once looking up from the book. “During the fight,” she added.
Sabra stepped around the door and leaned in. “What was I thinking?” Her voice turned to ice. “I was thinking, ‘Gee. I hope I get to keep all of my teeth.’” She shut the door with a bang.
Sabra forced herself to remember how to get to Mr. M’s office. She closed her eyes and followed the wall with her fingers. She traced her steps back to when she arrived. It was a mere two turns to the right. A guard stood in front of the door.
“Doozy! Impressive fight tonight, I hear.” The guard shifted.
“Let me speak,” Sabra paused before articulating it, “to Daddy.”
“I’m afraid Mr. M is extremely busy at the moment.”
Sabra clasped her fingers around the guard’s collar. She glared into his eyes as he removed the pistol from his jacket. He pressed the steel barrel to Sabra’s stomach. She pursed her lips and grabbed onto his shoulders. As if everything depended on one motion, she kneed him vigorously in the groin. He coughed. She grabbed his gun. With a careless tap from Sabra’s hand, the guard fell to the floor. She waited with the guard, giving him a short time to recover. She kicked at him and told him to stand. When he finally did, she pointed the pistol at his head.
“In the pink room, there’s girl—badly injured. Take her out of here and get her to a doctor.” Sabra stared at him and waited. “Go! Or I’ll fucking put a bullet into your thick skull!”
The guard looked into her eyes, and she knew he understood. He treaded off as quickly as he could and went left. Sabra turned and looked at the door. She glanced down at her blood-painted body and adjusted the skirt of her dress. She took a breath, cocked the metal hammer of the pistol.
“Oh, Daddy!” She called out as the door swung forward. “It would seem you missed my fight.”
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