When You Can't Sleep At Night

Phil Brooks was a fighter-- a former champion in the Bronx. He didn't have to fight. He didn't do it to survive. For the cash. But he did it to feel alive, to make people feel the pain that he felt a while ago. But that was a long story. Phil wasn't poor by any means, and he had just got a job as professional wrestler. No more underground fight club. He would be an icon. He promised himself this.

He watched the current fight as he taped his knuckles. He was fighting a kid, the current Champion. He heard of the spanish boy, Avan Fierro. They would be fighting for Avan's title. Phil fought often in the Bronx, though he didn't live here. He had a relatively nice place in Brooklyn.

Phil played with his lip ring out of habit with his tongue and waited for his fight to be announced. He heard bids being made in the back ground, men screaming in a few different languages. When he was up, he stepped forward, flexing and loosening his fists as he eyed the younger man.

Avan Fierro was a poor spic from a Spanish ghetto in the Bronx. He grew up in a small apartment with 11 brothers and sisters, and his mom. His dad, as well as his siblings' dads, hadn't stuck around. But it was okay. Being the oldest, he helped out. It was hard on him, but he was always okay. He kept his head up everyday.

He did great in school, receiving perfect grades and never missing a day. He had a few jobs, but they took up too much time--time he didn't have--so he never stuck with it.

One day, he and his friends had just watched Fight Club. They'd loved it. And they decided to start their own little club. Of course, they held back, not hurting anyone too bad--at first. But as more people got attracted and became a part of it, the more the want for more serious fights came about and soon, people were getting seriously injured and some were dying.

Avan loved it. He loved the feel of bones giving way under his fists, the blood that seeped and squirted out of broken skin. The rush of adrenaline that came with the quickness of the fight. Most of all, he loved that he never lost. He was the reigning champion, and it seemed no one in the Bronx could bring him down. Yeah, he was pretty cocky about that. But he knew there was someone out there better than him. And he couldn't wait to face them.

Now was his chance. In front of him stood this white boy who looked like he belonged with the punks at his school. He chuckled. He knew who he was, how good he was. This was the man that would beat him. He knew it. He just hoped he kept up a good fight. He never just gave up.

As he was called, he stepped forward. He was wearing shorts. That was all. No jewelry, not shirt, no tape, no shoes. Just shorts. It's how he preferred. It was fair that way. He smiled and winked at the guy before the blow horn went off and the fight was under way.

He did good for most of the fight. But he was still sore in one place from his previous fight, and Phil hit him there. It brought him down, and made him lose. He was on the ground, broken and bloody as the police came and raided the basement of the abandoned house they were in. He passed out before he could feel himself being picked up and taken away by the same man who put him on the verge of death.

Phil beat Avan bad, wanting to break him like he wanted to break someone in every other one of his fights. He wiped some blood from his mouth. It had been a good fight. He put his shirt back on and went to go collect his money. Then suddenly, people started to panic.

That was when Phil heard the sirens in the distance. He cursed, shoving the money in his pocket and turning to rush out with everyone else. But he stopped when he saw Avan, broken and bloody on the ground. Phil had killed men before in fights. He should be used to to letting people die to save his own ass.

But Avan looked so young. People ran around him or trampled over him, uncaring. And Phil didn't expect them too. But something inside him couldn't just leave the kid there. It wasn't even sympathy. It was... empathy almost.

"Fuck, I'm gonna get arrested for this kid." Phil muttered to himself and pushed past people to get to the middle of the fighting area where Avan lay. He saw the cops get closer, armed, and quickly scooped up Avan's form, which weighed almost nothing, and ran out the side exit into the alley way. He quickly headed to his car and put him in the backseat before driving away from the area. He pulled into a secluded spot when he lost the cops, and went into the backseat to check on Avan.

He patted Avan's cheek gently. "Hey kid, you alive?"

Avan was barely alive. He had broken bones, cuts and bruises and a sure head injury. He was passed out cold. Never before had he been beaten this badly. Maybe because he had never before lost. Either way, it was bad. His body was mad for doing beatings, not receiving them. He didn't eat or sleep enough to receive a beating like this. His body was in overdrive trying fix him, and it wasn't going to be able to without help. He was on the verge of life and death and the next few hours would be his most important.

Phil cursed, listening to Avan's weak heart beat and knew he needed to get him to a doctor. He climbed in the driver's seat and rushed to the hospital. He went in the back and carefully scooped Avan up, before rushing him inside. They took Avan to the back, and when a lady said that Avan didn't have health insurance, he told them to shut the fuck up, and that he would pay for it. He didn't know why he cared so much. But Phil wouldn't let the kid die without a fight.

It was touch-and-go for a while, but they stabilized Avan and sent him to recovery. They had spent about 12 hours in surgery, trying to fix Avan up. He had many fatal injuries, and the doctor wasn't sure how he was even still breathing on his own. The doctor walked out into the waiting room to talk to the man who brought him in. "Mr. Brooks?" he called, looking around the room for the person who brought in Avan.

Phil immediately stood up. "That's me? He's not dead, is he?" He asked. He'd be pissed if the kid was dead. He did not just almost get arrested for nothing. Plus the fact that Avan pulled on his heart strings. But if he made it, he already planned on taking Avan to his home on Brooklyn. He wouldn't get well if we went straight back to the Bronx.

"No, no, he's fine. He's in recovery. He has some broken ribs, a lot of muscle damage, a concussion and a shattered knuckle. We were able to fix it all, but the rest is up to him and his body. He'll need lots of rest, and he'll be in here for a few more days. I have to ask, how did he get these injuries?" the doctor said, crossing his arms.

"He was assaulted. They took nearly everything he had, which is why he's only in shorts." Phil answered without hesitation. "I saw him in an alley and it seems I get here just in time." He said. "I planned on taking him home so he could rest. Can I see him?" He asked.

The doctor nodded as he told him what happened and wrote some thing down. "He's in recovery right now. He should be out tomorrow, and into a regular room. You can see him then. For now, I suggest you go home and shower and get some rest yourself. You look a little dinged up too," he said before turning and walking away.

Phil nodded. "Thank you he said before he walked out, heading home. He tried not to think too much about that kid. He shouldn't even care. In fact, he should have left him to die. His father would have beaten him for being so sympathetic. The next day, he walked into the hospital in the afternoon. He was guided to Avan's room, and he walked in. Avan looked pretty beaten up, but Phil had seen worse.

He sighed to himself. "Damn me for being so caring." He muttered and sat at his bedside.

Avan was staring out the window, his head pounding. He was tired and in pain. This was the only thing he hated about the fighting. What it did to you, even if you won. Your body still took a big beating. And though Avan was strong, he was still small. His body could only take so many hits. He needed to not fight so often. But if he didn't, he wouldn't be champion anymore. Well, actually, he wasn't. Phil had taken that from him. And actually, he-

His thoughts were cut off when he heard someone walk in. He looked up and saw Phil. He was surprised. He hadn't expected to see him. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it and looked away. After all, what could he say?