"Boxing is the only sport where you can get your brain shook, your money took, and your name in the undertaker's book."
—Joe Frazier—
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Lights were flashing.
There were cameras, hundreds of them, whether they were TV cameras with well known logos stickered on or just IPhones and Blackberrys, they surrounded the perimeter of the ring. I didn't need to be out there to know this, I've done this before. Sitting in a private room, away from the clamor of my fans and spectators; preparing myself as everyone eagerly sat themselves down in their expensive seats and waited for the fight to start.
The rich and famous sat in the front, on the bottom, as close to the ring as possible. So close, that their usually expensive clothing would be stained with blood. An occurrence like that was grotesque, but unless you had a front row seat you wouldn't care. Most people didn't, they were usually swept up in the madness of the arena.
People howled and yelled, the lights overhead would flash in a series of different colors, on the incredibly large television screens a short video montage would come on and get you hyped for the fight to come. When I was kid, he thought those montages, those different colored lights and those cameras flashing were so cool. Now? I've come to terms with the fact that those few minutes when a boxer's name was called, were nothing but an overly dramatic laser light show.
It was insanity.
Part of me wanted to fight, because it was simply that. A fight. That was the aggressive side of me, brutal and vicious. Always punching straight never pulling them.
The other part, didn't want to be within miles of the arena.
I just wanted to run away. To take off the wretched tape around my hands and run out into the street.
Jumping up and down, practicing my footwork, jabs and signature left hook, I was sure I looked like a man who was ready to be called into the ring. But I wasn't, even as I practiced my jabs, hooks and uppercuts on an invisible punching bag, I was ready to break at a moment's notice.
The eggshell colored doors to my private room opened and in came a young man with slick dark brown hair, a muscular yet slender build. Almost lanky. He wore blue sweats pants, sweat shirt and white Adidas sneakers that squeaked against the linoleum. His dark emerald green eyes filled with a mix of happiness, excitement and worry.
"Damon..." The man called. "Is everything alright?"
With a chuckle, I replied "Now what kind of question is that?"
I stared at my younger brother, Stefan with an incredulous look. The man standing by the door was not only my brother, but he was also my manager. My coach. He was one of the few people close to me that cheered me on during my fights. Always beside me at my corner of the ring between rounds, encouraging me, giving me advice. Caring for me whenever I sustained injuries. And as of recently, making sure I didn't go past past limits and overexerted myself.
Of course there were times, when I just wanted to knock him out between rounds to get him off my back. But I needed him, just as much as he needed me. We were each other's only biological family left, even though he had the fortunate chance to extend his family. His girlfriend Bonnie Bennett was pregnant with their first child, I was going to be an uncle. They were only a few weeks into the pregnancy but they had already bought all of the baby's clothes when ironically enough, they didn't even know if the baby was going to be a boy or a girl.
I remember talking to Stefan about that. How ridiculous it was to be spending money when they weren't even sure as to what sex the baby was going to be. But he only grinned and laughed, saying that it didn't matter that they found the whole shopping sprees to be fun.
He was hoping for a girl.
I smiled, happy for him.
"A simple and appropriate question. Lately you haven't been yourself." Stefan snapped me out my reverie.
"Really?" I asked, my voice light and jovial.
"Cut it out, for the past three weeks you've been nothing but a mess." My brother crossed his arms over his chest, I noticed the bright red boxing gloves in his hands.
"No I haven't." I argued snatching the gloves from and sitting back down on the soft leather chair I was resting in. I opened the gloves and checked to see that most of the padding was cut out. Just the way I liked it.
Sure it was dangerous to fight without the necessary amount of padding, I risking the possibility of straining and even breaking my knuckles and fingers. But I didn't care. I found the padding to only hinder the damage of my attacks. I was known for attacking quickly, forcefully, and powerfully. Only to then jump back and dodge any incoming attacks. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."
"I don't want you to fight tonight."
"And I don't care what you want."
Stefan sighed, before pulling up a chair to sit right in front of me. I tried to ignore him, pretending to inspect my gloves some more, but he saw my intention and snatched them from me. Throwing them to the nearest wall out of frustration.
I wanted castrate him for doing such a thing but he said the one name that made my body go rigid.
"Elena is going to be at the fight tonight."
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"Damon you're up!" Those were Stefan last words to me until the end of the first round.
Walking barefoot down the long narrow runway, with nothing but black and white my kickboxing shorts (accented with flame motifs), my bright red boxing gloves (no one besides a few trusted people knew about my strategy to hollow out the insides) and a long black gold robe with the hood over my head. Around me were a bunch of people, fans, cameramen, reporters shoving microphones into my face hoping for a few words before the match, but mostly...they were all strangers.
Stefan was on one side of me, while my promoter, Alaric Saltzman was on the other. The man was significantly older than me, having been a promoter (and at one point a cut-man) for so many years he knew the ropes of this slippery trade. He knew what the crowd wanted and reminded what they craved once I reached the perimeter of the ring. The sound of the ring announcer was lost on me, but the audience loved it.
As always, I entered the ring and made a complete show of it. I pretended that I was one of those fake wrestlers on Smackdown or Raw, whenever they were called into the ring. It was for cheap thrills. Showboating. Throwing my expensive, velvety, custom made robe to one corner of the ring, I raised my arms in adulation. The crowd loved every bit of the pompous bastard I was.
"...and a true fighter, the people's choice... Damon Salvatore!" The gray-haired announcer bellowed into the microphone and everyone cheered.
The laser light show was predominately in a red hue as a sort of tribute to me. I laughed an arrogant laugh, drinking the amount of praise I received. But then it was all gone. The red was gone and was replaced by green to make way for the my opponent.
"And his opponent, ladies and gentlemen... Klaus Mikaelson!"
Amiss all the camera flashes, I saw Klaus walking down the long runway, ripped and ready for action. He even turned to answer a few questions as he made his way towards the ring.
He was as tall as I was, his light brown hair was cut short, blue eyes, he had the same build as me but he didn't boast it like I did. I accepted my devilishly handsome good looks and did well to let the world know that. People cheered him on, more so than they did for me, that was fine. In rivalries like this, it wasn't uncommon for the fans to pick out who was the hero and who was the villain.
I walked to my corner of the ring, met Stefan's eyes, and snorted. He held my mouth guard in his hands, I reached to get them but he pulled them away.
"Damon, I have a very bad feeling about this."
"Oh please. I wonder if you'll have the same feeling when I win the match and my fifty-thousand dollars." I smirked before turning my back to him to see Klaus talking with his own manager and promoter on the far side of the ring.
I practiced my footwork while looking around Klaus' large frame for a certain woman. A brunette with the deepest chocolate eyes in the world. My focus was then returned to the match at hand when Klaus stopped talking to his manager and faced me with his boxing gloves up.
We met at the center and tapped out gloves together.
"Good luck Salvatore." He told me with a genuine, competitive smile. I wanted to wipe it off his smug face.
"I don't need it."
The bell rang, and in a split second I swung my arm for a right hook straight into his face.
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I remember the first time I watched Sylvester Stallone as Rocky, he was a down and out nobody who wanted to be someone. He had the opportunity to fight Apollo Creed, the heavyweight champion, and he took it. Without a second thought to wonder what he was getting himself into. I remember watching him and his struggles as he trained for the big match. But it was saddening to see the man lose the match at the end.
But when I sat Rocky II, I was sold. The scene that really resonated with me was the end where Rocky held his Champion Belt high in the air, mouth all bloodied, his speech slurred, saying praises of thank you to all those that believe in him. It was the greatest moment of Rocky's life and from that day on, I wanted the same thing.
I told my mother, Jane Salvatore, that I wanted to be a boxer. Especially when Stefan came home one day after getting into a scuffle with some idiot boy at school. Mother was all for it.
"Mom! That's not fair!" I bellowed with a slight tantrum.
She had bested me again at our little sparring match in our backyard of our Mystic Falls home. Mom ran her own gym so it wasn't strange to see her so fit and filled with energy. I did my best to throw in my punches and kicks but, she dodged and and blocked effortlessly.
"Oh come on, Dammie! You'll have to do a lot better than that." My mother playfully taunted, I could hear my little brother Stefan, cheering from the porch. Throwing his small arms into the air whenever I managed to get punch in.
I was so overjoyed that I managed to get one in, that I became cocky and decided to do some fancy footwork thing I saw on TV. Mother laughed, she found what I was doing cute. I charged seeing an opening but lost my footing, falling forward. Instead of throwing my arms in front of me to brace myself for the impact against the ground I used my knees. My shins scraped along the ground.
It hurt. But I got back up.
Being so light, mother picked me up and brought me into the kitchen.
I was a really small boy.
She sent Stefan to get the first aid kit from basement, while she looked at the cut on my knees. They weren't so bad. Until mother applied salt to keep the cuts from getting infected. I winced, I wanted to jump off the marble kitchen counter and go to my room. And knowing my mother, she'd let me. But I stayed, because I didn't want to seem like a wimp.
My legs hung off the side of the counter, dangling. There was a strangled noise, that I couldn't make out. I looked up to see that my mother had tears in her eyes. Trying to hold them back. It hurt me to see her like this. It was my fault that she was crying right now.
Mine.
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Round Three.
I quickly got him with three quick jabs to the face. Seeing his face jerk back from the force of my punches, exhilarated me. I had at one of the far corners of the ring, where no one would be able to save him. Following up on the jabs, I spun around for my infamous left hook. A smirk appeared on my lips, thinking that I was going to beat him. With a one hit K-O.
Pain exploded at the back of my neck as I lost my balance, I hit the mat with my knees catching myself. I half expected Klaus to attack him while I was down, like how a good opponent would do. Like how I would've done. But instead he backed off, being the good sport that he is.
Stefan and Alaric were at my side at once. My brother worried beyond comprehension as was my promoter.
"Hey Champ, are you okay? That was one nasty blow!"
"I'm good I just"—*crack!*—"fuck!" I barked in pain when I twisted my neck. Stefan and Alaric visibly winced at the sound of a bone in my neck making such a noise. Immediately I placed a gloved hand to the back of my throat. The skin there was tender, swollen.
"Call for a timeout so the doctors can check your neck!" Stefan pleaded, but his cries fell on deaf ears.
No need. The bell rang and it was the end of round three.
I returned to my corner and sat on the stool they placed for me. Stefan called for a doctor and man in white came rushing towards us. Alaric told the doctor was up, and immediately the medical practitioner inspected the back of my neck. After a couple of minutes of examination, the doctor explained that I had a cervical fracture at the base of my neck.
While they analyzed me, I blanked out the moment I saw a certain brunette. She was gorgeous with dark mahogany hair, her face was soft and round, plump lips begging to be kissed. She wore a long Armani coat that costed more than the average man's monthly salary. What captivated me the most about her were her eyes. They saw right through me, passed all the walls.
Elena...
Her eyes met my blue ones, we were locked in a heated gaze. I felt the sparks flare, and I knew she did too, because in a split second she looked away.
"Bro," Alaric called shaking me out of my thoughts.
The doctor was explaining that I would need a very rigid Halo brace to make sure that I didn't move my neck too much. According to the doctor, any abnormal movement of the bones could cause a spinal cord injury resulting in either loss of sensation, paralysis even death.
I denied the brace.
They began protesting, but the bell rang signaling Round Four to commence. I smacked my gloves together, putting myself into fight mode.
Klaus came at me with four quick jabs, and moved as fast I could dodging them all. Ducking when he tried a right hook on me, I made a strong forceful punch to the side of his stomach. I heard him grunt in pain, faltering back, pulling away quickly, I roundhouse kicked him as payback for the throbbing pain in my neck. He fell to the mat, but caught himself with the ropes.
"Klaus!" A voice cried that made my heart skip.
By him, was Caroline Forbes his girlfriend, the usually perky little blonde was reaching into the ring to hold him. To console him. Next to her was Elijah Mikaelson, Klaus' manager and promoter who was asking if he wanted to bring a doctor him. Commenting on how, I purposely aimed to kick him in the throat. That it was a vicious attack. Next to him, was Elena...Elena Gilbert.
She was genuinely worried about her friend's boyfriend. They were friends, he always did treat her nicely. More than I ever did.
It was my fault that she wanted nothing to do with me anymore.
Mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTES FOR PART ONE:
Thank you all for reading the first part of "The Fighter",a story of Damon's last match in the ring with flashbacks to different memories of his past, all leading up to where he is now. Hope you all enjoyed it!