The call disconnected, and I smiled in the dark.  Only Ethan, the huge pain in the butt I called friend, could annoy me and make me smile at the same time.  He was right.  I needed to go in and really purge.

Hitting the bag at home helped, but I suffered from a slow buildup.  Ethan compared it to PMS.  I grew moodier until I started an actual fight.  Except the fights were never fair.  In my anger, I pulled too much of my opponent’s emotions, and they tended to just stand there with a stupid smile as I hit them.  But I couldn’t avoid the fights.  I needed them.  Hitting an actual person drained me way more than the bag, and it was the only thing that helped when I got like this.  I hated fighting but didn’t see any other choice.

With a sigh, I slid from the sheets and shuffled to the bathroom.  My long, red hair was a tangled mess, and I scowled at myself in the mirror.  The green of my eyes seemed vivid against the bloodshot background.

I should have slept longer.  I already felt edgy and knew it would be a long day.

*    *    *    *

Many hours later, I parked in front of Ethan’s bar and spar—located in a less than desirable part of town—and leaned my head against the steering wheel.  How could a day go so wrong?  I cringed remembering how, in a fabulous fury, I’d stormed my boss’ office, told her to shove her petty self-pity, which she’d been radiating all day, up her butt, and then left, slamming doors and pushing coworkers.  Not one of my better resignations.

Ethan had been right; I was overdue.

Sitting back with a sigh, I started to change.  I kicked off my flats and pulled my yoga pants on under my skirt.  Someone walked by the car and stopped to stare in as I threw the skirt in the passenger seat.  I pulled the curiosity right out of him, and he kept moving.  The extra emotions bloated me and didn’t help my mood.  Gritting my teeth, I swapped tops, not caring who saw.  In a hurry, I pulled on my socks and sneakers.  It felt good.  I knew what was coming.

I stepped out of the car, not worrying about the people I sensed in the nearby alleys.  They were too busy getting high to notice me as I strode across the street.  The emotions of those inside the bar drifted toward me, increasing the tension I carried.  With a scowl, I yanked the door open.  The warm air pushed past me, lifting my hair slightly.  The heavy beat of music beckoned me, but I didn’t pause.  I shouldered my way through the bodies that crowded the room and made my way to the bar.

Ethan stood behind the cheap, laminate counter, filling orders.  Tall and lean, he had the attention of most of the women in the room.  The tight t-shirt he wore probably helped.  He glanced at me as I moved around to the side and ducked under the bar to join him.

“E-Z!” a regular called out.  I ignored him.

The bar came to life when Ethan and I tended together.  We didn’t do it too often, anymore.  It called too much attention to me.

“Damn, girl!” Ethan shouted to be heard.  “The more you sit on that thing, the better it gets.”

I rolled my eyes at him, glad he’d chosen to comment on my butt rather than how early I was.  The extra padding I’d acquired by taking up an office job only seemed to want to settle on my butt.  It had to be those frozen dinners, I thought.  It certainly wasn’t lack of exercise.  I’d hit the bag for forty minutes straight last night.

“Glad you decided to quit yet another job so you could come in early to help.  Better start shaking that thing.”

He just had to go there.

“Shut up, E.”

A few of the patrons who sat listening to our exchange laughed.

“Which one of you idiots wants a drink?”  My voice carried over all the noise.  Happy faces turned my way.  They knew me.  They knew how this place would get soon.  While they got high, I’d swell with every negative emotion they let loose.  Oh, how I hated them.

“The spit’s free,” I said with a glare.  One of the customers had once told me my light green and amber-flecked eyes reminded him of snake eyes when I glared.  He’d loved snakes.  Of course he had.

Ethan bumped into me, drawing my attention and breaking my death glare.

“Don’t be like that.  They love you.”

“Right.”

He slid the drink he’d just poured across the bar and turned to face me.  He arched a brow.  Concern softened his light brown eyes.  It had been almost two months since I last saw his beautiful face.  Despite the rage boiling in me, I smiled at him; and he relaxed a little.

“You’re going to love them more when you see who I have lined up for you, Miss Moody.”

Ethan took care of me.  He set up the fights, always seeming to know just when I needed them.  He was careful, though, about whom he selected.  It was a paid gig for the fighters, a flat fee no matter the outcome.  It kept the extreme competitors away.  They had too much emotion when fighting; and, often, I ended up worse off than when I started.  I needed people who let out very little emotion.  Not calm people.  Cold people.  Emotionless.  They weren’t always easy to find.

“Hope it’s better than the last guy.”  I slopped some cheap booze into a glass and pushed it at a guy holding out a five.  I took the money and slid it into the waistband of my pants.

Ethan laughed as he stole the money back out and put it in the register.  He kept talking as we continued filling drink orders.

“He’s a brick wall.  He fried his brain on home-stewed goods years ago.  If he’s got any emotion to steal, it’s nothing you’d want in you.”

“Sounds interesting.  If he doesn’t do it, it’s you and me again, babe.”

We didn’t fight; it was like we danced, but with fists and kicks.

With my help, Ethan had learned to block his emotions from me—to a certain degree anyway—at an early age.  After all, he was my sparring partner; I couldn’t have him flopping to the ground after two minutes in my presence.  When we were younger, he’d radiated so much anger the possibility of draining him had been slim, unless I would have purposely tried to.  But as we grew closer, some of his anger had faded.  At least, when we were together.

He grinned at me, winked, then turned to fill the next drink order.

We worked side by side for an hour.  He filled most of the orders while I shouted insults at the patrons.  They laughed, Ethan made money, and I struggled to hold myself together.

“E, if he’s not here soon...”  I shoved crumpled bills in the cash drawer.

Hands settled on my shoulders as I slammed the drawer shut.  How many cash registers had I broken that way?

Ethan spun me away from the register, probably to save it, and planted a kiss on my forehead.  Then, he pulled back with a grin and nodded to the stage.  I turned to look.

The floor-to-ceiling chain-link fence had converted the stage into a fight cage.  Mats lined the floors to protect anyone slow enough to get knocked down.  A bag hung from the ceiling for warm-up; and, on occasion, it provided a place for my opponent to hide from me.  A door led to a back hall restricted to employees and my guest fighters.

As I studied my sanctuary, the door to the cage opened, and a big brick of a man walked onto the mats.

Cheers erupted in the bar, and he raised his gloved hands over his head.  Then, he did a few warm-up jabs.

Emotions soaked the room, and I could pinpoint where each one stemmed.  But very little seeped from the man on the stage.  It meant I wouldn’t drain him as I fought.  It meant Ethan had found me a real challenge.  It meant I’d finally feel some peace.

I turned back to grin at Ethan.

“I love you.”

He laughed.

“Now you feel love.  Wait until after.”

He swatted my butt as I turned away.  The distraction broke the weak hold I had on my control.  Emotions flooded me.  The elation of the band when the crowd cheered, the lust from the dancers as they bumped and rubbed against each other, and the anticipation from those who turned to face the cage.