Someone grabbed my hands and squeezed tiny MMA style gloves on them, rather than standard boxing gloves. I registered the difference but couldn’t even summon surprise. Fear, horror, worry, frustration, even disbelief were suspiciously absent. I had somehow severed myself from all emotion, my eyes tracking to where Sal’s man stood against a back wall with my father. I vaguely noticed my hand being lifted as the announcer made his introductions, then a mouthpiece was inserted between my lips. The one thing that stood out loud and clear in my mind was the ringing bell that signaled the beginning of the fight.

Tearing my eyes from my father, I turned to face my opponent just as he flew at me, fist hammering me in the face. I stumbled backward, the ref coming between us to allow me time to recover. Men screamed and waved their hands all around us, but they might as well have been images on colorless wallpaper. My hazy state of mental self-preservation slowly morphed into physical self-preservation. It was something altogether more sinister. More aggressive. More deadly.

I hadn’t known it was in me, but when fists started flying, something primal emerged.

The stinging pain in my jaw was a wake-up call, but his uppercut to my gut was what flipped my switch. Lowering my stance, I brought my fists up to guard myself and began to study my opponent as he bounced on his toes. The frightened mutt had gone feral when faced with possible death. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t the only one who could transform when properly provoked.

This time, when his fist flew out, I evaded and followed with a hard left cross that got him solid across the jaw. I’d never hit anyone before. The feeling was odd but also surprisingly cathartic. I realized I could take all that emotion I’d tucked deep down inside me and release it onto this man who wanted to hurt me.

It took me a while to get the feel of it, so for five rounds we pounded each other until we were both exhausted. Eventually, the adrenaline began to fade, and the crowd noise filtered back into my consciousness. I glanced to where my father stood to find an angry Sal holding a gun to my father’s head. My dad wept openly.

No one else saw.

No one else cared.

But Sal’s message was clear. End it, now.

I didn’t want to carry the guilt of my father’s death. By the end of the night, someone was going to die, and I vowed it would not be me or my father.

Sucking in a deep breath, I turned just in time to block a sucker punch. In response, I rained down a frenzy of blows, catching the man totally off guard. I channeled every ounce of my fury and frustration, pummeling the man into the floor of the ring until he was unrecognizable. Even once he no longer moved, I continued my assault, hoping to put an end to the madness of my sixteenth birthday.