Time passed. My brother was sick frequently and each time I defended him.
In the middle of the night, my brother would cough. As much as I tried to silence him, I knew it was no use. He couldn't help his coughing. But the man never seemed to understand that. When he would come out to beat him, I would wrap my arms around my brother to shield him from the blows, he was still too young to take beatings. He was much bigger than he was when he was born, if I heard the man correctly, he was two, and I was seven. But he was still too small. I couldn't let him get hurt.
I tried to stifle my cries as the man's foot connected with my ribs. I could feel bruises forming where he struck, not caring that I was taking the beating in place of my brother, who cried silently beneath me, purely from fear. He simply wanted to take out his anger, and whether it was on me or my brother was not important to him. I had always understood this, remembering the times where my mother would shield me the same way when I cried or spoke too loudly. It didn't matter to him.
Finally he grew bored of this assault and wandered back inside. My brother was still trembling, and I hushed him, trying to make sure he wouldn't cry. "Its okay, its okay brother… I'm okay…" I wasn't sure if I was lying, my entire body ached and I was sure I was a bleeding mess. But I said so anyways. "I'll be okay, be quiet. I'll be okay."
My brother was only two, and had never known what life was like outside of a cage, but he seemed to know something was wrong. That this wasn't how it was meant to be. I had never been free, but my mother had described it, and it sounded wonderful. No one struck you, and you ate all the time, whenever you wanted. You could get water whenever you wanted too. And there were soft, warm places to sleep. Sometimes I would try to describe it to him, when he was upset, that someday we would have that. Sometimes, it helped us both.
The next morning was a fight. He loaded me and my brother into the backseat of his pickup. We wore real clothes, and were able to clean ourselves before the trip. That was the good thing about the fights.
Keep quiet, he'd say. And we did, my brother had learned the meaning of that quickly, and the repercussions of not following that instruction.
This drive, however, was different. About halfway to the fighting area, I heard loud noises, it sounded whiny; I hated it. Some lights flashed behind us too, and I glanced behind me to see some black and white car just behind us. The man swore under his breath, and pulled over. "Don't you say one fucking word, either of you." The man spat. "I'll kill you both."
A man dressed in black approached the truck window, and started speaking with the Man. The one in black said something about speeding, but I could barely pay attention; I was too afraid, trying to keep quiet. The Man left the car with the man in black, and they talked some more behind us.
After a few minutes, the man came back to the window and peered in on us. His eyebrows were furrowed, and I was worried maybe he was angry with us. "Son, is everythin' alright back here?" He asked me. I held my tongue, just nodding at him. However, he didn't seem to believe me. "Everythin's alright son, your dads just getting a quick ticket for speedin'." I almost said that he wasn't my dad, but the Mans threat echoed in my head, and I simply nodded again. "Are ya sure everythin's alright with you? Youre lookin a little sick." I suddenly felt very aware of the bruises hidden beneath my new shirt.
To this day, I hate myself for my answer. "Everythings fine."
The man in black drove away, and we were back on our way to the fight. Even though it seemed like he was in trouble with the man in black, the Man didn't seem very angry, and I was relieved. I figured I must have done well, and me and my brother would be okay, for now at least.
My brother had seen me in a few fights before, sitting on the sidelines while I was in the ring. I had grown to almost enjoy the fights, or at the very least had grown used to them.
This fight was no different. I was put into the ring with another boy, slightly bigger than me. He made the first lunge, but I knew better than that. I slipped out of his path, bashing the back of his head with my elbow, and he fell to the ground. From there it was a mindless wrestle, throwing reckless punches, landing blows randomly, biting, tearing, scratching, gouging.
I was already exhausted and sore from my beating last night. But when I saw my brother watching me, and knew of what would happen if he were left alone, I lost all my aching.
The boys body lay limp beneath mine and I was called off and out of the ring. I remained the winner, and would now be able to rest and watch the other fights, bruised, bloody and broken, but with my brother by my side.