Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

Even if it’s just for a moment, she has that one moment.

It’s guaranteed to work.

She did it to me last night and she did it to Maart today.

“You want to slap me? Like a goddamned girl? You think I’m just a goddamned girl?”

No, Anya Bokori. I do not think you are just a goddamned girl.

I think you are some kind of mental ninja, that’s what I think you are.

Month two is all about learning who has your back.

The kids never realize this until they are well into month three because all they are thinking about is death. And how to avoid it. If they failed their first test, they are stressing about the next one. If they passed their first test, they have just raised Maart’s expectations. And that means he will do his best to make sure they fail the next one.

That’s why Irina was paired up with Paulo this time. He kicked her ass. She looks a lot like Anya did last month at the end of her test. One eye swollen shut, her lip split, and she admitted to Rainer that her left ear is still ringing.

Anyway. The night of the second test is a party. A real party. They get free run of the game room, and candy, and then, just before bed, we show them their new sleeping quarters on the lowest level.

The entire perimeter of the platform is surrounded by shipping containers and up until now, they’ve only been allowed to open the one that holds their clothes. But tonight, we open all of them. And inside each one is a bed. A real bed. It’s not big, just big enough for a small child, and the waterproof mattress isn’t even as thick as the mats they train on. But it’s a bed. They get a solar lantern, they get a set of sheets, and they get a pillow.

If you’ve never slept on a thin rice mat outside on a helipad of concrete for two months straight, you might not be able to imagine just how magical a pillow can feel. But these kids get it. And even though they’re still not allowed to talk, they don’t care. They’re so used to it, they don’t even miss it by now. It’s just… life.

Maybe that’s sad.

I’ve had rebellious kids tell me that in the past. Three of them, to be specific. About four years apart, so they didn’t sit down and have some existential discussion about the pros and cons of deprivation. That was just who they were on the inside.

All three of them died early. They didn’t make it to ten.

Ten-year-olds in my world are some of the wisest of creatures.

And here’s the thing—those kids were right. It is pretty fucking sad when you wear deprivation like a badge. But what’s the other option?

I watch the kids getting settled in their container rooms, waiting to see which of them will like the idea of solitude and which of them will go looking for roommates. Most of them have been out here before, so they know they’re allowed to share a room if they move their own furniture.

And more than half of them do that. They get busy segregating themselves into groups, forming up teams. And the funny thing is, it never ends up the way you think.

The girls don’t gravitate towards each other. Irina isn’t sharing shit with anyone. She’s always been comfortable being a loner. And Zoya, the little six-year-old in my group, is a lot like her. Her first act of independence was to color a sign that says ‘KEEP OUT’ in big, bold letters. And right now, she’s dropping a pile of books and stuffed animals she stole from the game room onto her bed. Rainer’s gonna be pissed about that. They’re only allowed to take one book at a time and no toys or games ever leave that room.

Zoya is giving out no fucks. She’s not hiding her booty, even though she knows the rules. She’s displaying those books proudly. Like they are her trophies.

I predict she will go far.

Nine-year-old Rasha, on the other hand, is waiting on the edge of Paulo’s container, her eyes begging for him to let her in. They are real-life brother and sister. I can tell he’s pissed about it, but after about twenty minutes he starts flashing angry hands and fingers at her, and she bounces up and down in delight, clapping, then proceeds to drag her bed out of her container all the way across the platform and into his.

Rasha is not going to make it. She’s not a terrible fighter, obviously. She’s nine and still alive. But she’s not ruthless. She is never going to be ruthless. She kills her opponents with tears in her eyes every single time and then she is depressed for weeks afterward.