Fighting For Her Ch. 01

Hello again readers. I've been quite busy, but I've spent my little free time typing up stories. I've noticed that some of the stories in the site are about sex, sex, sex, and, oh, more sex. I know most people here seek these kinds of stories, but there are people like me who thinks everything is not necessarily about sex. Sure, I realized that this is a Lesbian Sex section, but I love stories that don't resolve around and focus in sex a lot. So, I came up with this story.

So, if you're looking for a quickie or a lot of sex scenes, then this story is not for you. This focuses more on the emotions and conflicts within the main character . I do hope you like it and I'm thinking of making more chapters afterwards. Tell me what you think J

-YoursTruly101

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Love.

It's funny how one word can change your whole life around and can change a person. It can both break you and complete you. Sometimes at the same time.

I punched the heavy punching bag harder and harder, beads of sweat running down my face. Panting, I did a round-kick, a jab, and a hook.

You see, I'm not an emotional person; most people call me cold hearted or 'too rational' for their liking. I don't really care, it's just who I am. But I am not entirely robotic. I do have feelings, but do not act upon for the fear of being rejected. I don't do rejection. Then again, it feels like rejection, hatred, and sadness is the only emotions I feel.

Faster, I thought, faster, harder. I kneed the bag twice and did a flying back fist. To each punch, I hissed through my teeth. Faster.

It has been two years since the murder of my family. A murder I have seen through my eyes. First, he slashed my father's throat, butchered my younger sister, and raped my mother while I quietly stared through an open crack of a closet door. A Red gang member.

The bastard.

I remember silently sobbing in the close spaced closet, putting my hands over my mouth.

"Hide in here," my sobbing mother had said minutes before," and whatever you do, do not make a sound."

She closed the closet with me inside.

"Mom, wha-"

"Cara!" my father had shouted from another room," I called the cops, but I doubt it if they can make it in time, especially in this type of neighborhood."

Faster, I thought, punch faster. I panted.

"Jesus!" my mom had said, panicked," Where's Alison, Pam?"

"I don-" I had replied.

I heard the front door crashing down, my mother screeching. I opened the closet door very slowly; I can see through a small crack. Alison came running into my mom's room, my mother hugging her closely.

A second later, my father and a tall man were fighting, punching at each other. Then, a shining object was at the hand of the man and with that he slashed my father's throat. My father, who I admired and love, came stumbling down. Blood, I never saw a lot of blood before in my entire life.

Kick faster, I thought, kick harder.

Then, the man laughed, pointing the knife to my younger sister Alison. He called over his other gang members to come inside.

My mother hugged Alison closely, sobbing. He grabbed Alison by force. Even though my mother fought back for her daughter, she wasn't physically stronger than the man.

Faster.

He cut Alison repeatedly. Again, again, and again.

"Harder," I hissed through my teeth.

My mother, crying, shaking, crawled to a corner close to the closet. The man walked over, throwing the lifeless Alison out of the way. He walked to my mother, unzipped his pants and my mother's pants. Then...

"Come on..." I hissed as I did a double hook on the bag.

I heard cheerful shouting and encouraging remarks from the other members.The police came ten minutes after...

"Come on..." I grunted as I elbowed the lifeless bag.

A police officer found me in the closet, and gently helped me out. Three bloody body bags were being taken away.

"Come on..." I cried as I did a turning back kick and a double round-kick.

"I'm...sorry," the police officer had said as we made it outside. From there, I cried and cried until my eyes ran dry.

"Come on!" I shouted as I did a tornado kick, my voice echoing through the large dojang.

"Pam!" Mike shouted from his office, his voice firm and hoarse," Take a break! Even if you think you don't need it, your body and muscles do after three hours of non-stop training!"

Panting, I put both hands on my head, inhaling and exhaling oxygen deeply. My tan skin was glistening with sweat and my body was shaking.

Mike is my adoptive father; he took me in a couple of months after the murder of my family. My only family. We used to live in Cook county, in Wicker Park. Then, we moved to the Back of the Yards neighborhood. Let's just say it's not one of the friendliest neighborhood you'll ever encounter.

Mike was an owner and instructor of a large Dojang, a place where Tae Kwon Do was practiced. I was a depressed 16-year-old; who wouldn't be after such a tragedy? He was a single parent, his wife Mona died of breast cancer a few years back. No family either, something we had in common. Probably the reason why we become close. Misery loves company, they say.

Since I had nothing better to do, I started training. I begged him to train me and finally agreed under one condition: I wasn't his adoptive daughter during training. I was a warrior, a soldier training mentally and physically. I didn't object, but, oh man, he put me through a lot of hell. But the results were great. I got really toned and have lean muscles; I do have a bit of muscles, but not to the point that I look like a bodybuilder. Not only we trained during the day, we trained a lot at night. Even though I don't really consider him my "dad," he was close. We really bonded. I looked up to him.

Classes were held during Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Even though he mainly teaches Tae Kwon Do, he trains me with different martial art styles outside of class: Krav Maga, Judo, Boxing, Muay Thai, and basic self-defense.

We live in a small apartment, which was the second floor of the dojang. Small, but it feels like home.

He taught me about courage, strength, and the spirit of a warrior. And love.

"Everything we do is because of love. I became an instructor because I love to teach and pass my knowledge to others. If it's not love, then, damn, I don't know why I've been teaching for the past twenty years."

Love? What is love? I didn't feel anything but sadness in my heart.

I got my blue belt a couple weeks back and I was pretty proud of that; I can feel Mike was proud, too.

"You leaving tonight?" I asked loudly. He replied yes.

"You know the drill," he said as he walked out of his office," One week for each month; bonding time with my boys. Just make sure you don't burn down the place."

I chuckled under my unsteady breath. Mike and I had a routine: one week in each month, he goes to Wisconsin, see his best buds, gamble and get drunk with them.

Honking, a car was waiting outside of the dojang and Mike was off. And I had the place all by myself. It was snowing hard outside; our dojang was located in a bad neighborhood in Chicago. I always got scared if someone tries to break in and try to hurt me, but not anymore. Not anymore. I got to the point where I drove fear out of my mind. I got use to being alone in a huge dojang, while maybe a gang war was being held near outside.

Walking to the locker room, I decided I had enough training for tonight. I stripped my soaking clothes away, and showered. Standing at 5'6, my long black hair and layered side bangs annoyed my somewhat slanted eyes. Calming. A very hot shower always calms me down.

After I showered, I got my clothes out of my own locker and changed into my black tank top and black pajama pants; thank god the dojang had a heater. Starving, I walked upstairs and headed for the kitchen. I looked around the almost empty fridge, found some cold Chinese takeout, and put it in the microwave. I turned on the lights.We didn't own a T.V. since Mike thinks it's a waste of money; I walked over the bare living room and began eating while reading "Antigone." Since it was Christmas vacation, I had nothing else better to do than to train, read, study, or do homework. I had nothing to study or work on so my only options were either reading or training.

Christmas isn't really my thing, I just consider it a normal day. Well, probably the big reason was that my family was killed two days before Christmas and...well, you get my drift. After the murder, I just don't consider it as a holiday.

I didn't really have a lot of friends, just a lot of acquaintances; I was too serious most of the time. Two years before, I wasn't like this. I was care-free, free-spirited, 16-year-old-everyday-teen-girl. Even though I absolutely didn't have a lot of crushes towards boys, I hanged out with my guy friends a lot. Since then, all I care about is training and school, nothing else.

I put on some music by my favorite band Garbage; I absolutely love their music and I think Shirley Manson was and still is stunning. Putting the volume on low, I sat on the couch Indian style, ate, and began to read. I was in a world full of imagination while I heard a scream just outside of the dojang.

I snapped my head up, and quickly looked outside the window. Even though it was dark out (it was almost midnight), the white snow made it easier to spot anything out of the ordinary. I looked down and saw a group of people. Well, actually, a group of three armed people; they were wearing hoodies. And a girl.

I couldn't see any of their faces, but I knew that the people belonged in a gang. And the blonde girl was their victim.

I rushed to get my cell from the kitchen counter and dialed 9, then 1, then stopped. The memory of my father's voice rang in my ears...

"Cara!" my father had shouted from another room," I called the cops, but I doubt it if they can make it in time, especially in this type of neighborhood..."

My body froze, my thumb barely touching the '1' button. Press it, I thought to myself, press the damn number!

The police came ten minutes after...

Don't you dare get yourself involve, I thought to myself, nothing get ever happens in a real fight. Especially with a gang.

He cut Alison again. Again, again, and again...

"God damn it," I whispered," this is a dangerous situation. Call the damn police!"

Raped my mother...

The police can't do anything. Especially in this kind of neighborhood. God damn it, I thought, this ain't your fight!

Killed my family..."Cara!" my father had shouted from another room," I called the cops, but I doubt it if they can make it in time, especially in this type of neighborhood..." He cut Alison again. Again, again, and again...the police came ten minutes after... raped my mother...

Killed my family...

Something inside me snapped and before I knew what I was doing, I was running downstairs, barefooted. Muscles clenched, I unlocked the door, opened it ,and found myself facing three hooded figures; the figure in the middle was holding the girl, clutching her arms.

The figures chuckled.

"What do we have here?" one of them sneered, slowly approaching me," Don't you have somewhere to b-"

Fast as lightning, I kneed him where it hurts, elbowed his nose, and did a round kick to his head. The other guy raised a knife above his head, and brought it down. I blocked his attack, elbowed his nose repeatedly, took his weapon away, and kneed him to the groin. Both that I attacked managed to scramble away and ran; I saw some dark spots in the snow that I guess was blood. I threw the knife far away.

Panting, I looked to the figure who held the girl. It was still dark to see their faces, but I heard her whimpering. Foolish, I thought to myself, look what you have gotten yourself into. The figure was choking her, and something inside me crumbled.

"Release her and face me, you fucking coward," I growled, my body shaking from the cold.

"Hmmp," I heard him (I think it was a male) say in response. Quickly, he pushed the girl on the side and began charging towards me. Prepared, I dodged his charge, but I underestimated the dark; before I knew it, I came crashing on my back. With a loud oof! I felt two strong hands trying to choke me.

"Remember to think of this as the real thing," Mike had said, straddling me while pretending to choke me with his hands during training," If your are on your back and someone is trying to choke you..."

Gasping, I brought my two calves to his neck, making a V and starting pushing it forward. While doing that, I pulled his thumbs, freeing myself from the death grip. I punched his nose, pivoted my upper body to the right side, making him lay down to his side.

"Stop," he gasped, clearly in pain, "Stop! Please! I won't do it again!"

"This is the hard part: the fate of your attacker is your choice," Mike had said, "Make sure your choice isn't made by rage, but the communication between your head and heart. I know this is hard to understand since the attacker wants to kill you, right? And in self-defense, your life comes first, right? But there is a difference between self-defense and complete annhaliation. Do what you must to protect your life, but don't cross the line of massacre. Do only enough to protect your life."

My eyes widened, my muscles relaxing. I got up to my feet, and kicked the man to the stomach.

"Get the fuck out of here!" I yelled. Groaning, the man got up to his feet, clutched his stomach, and jogged away. Gasping, I felt a pang of pain on my left arm; my left shoulder is dislocated. Again. Won't be the last either.

Painfully, I personally put it back in place.

Frozen, I was about to go into the dojang when I heard a sobbing noise. I've almost forgotten about the girl.

Shaking, I looked frantically for her and found her curled up in a ball a couple of feet away from me. What should I do, I asked myself in my head, do I leave her? Out here? Alone in a bad neighborhood at the middle of the night?

I did what a responsible person would do: I didn't get involved any further. I was about to open the door when a feeling of guilt crawled into me. You little ass, I thought to myself, you were about to leave her alone all by herself!

God damn.

I walked slowly towards the sobbing girl, her body shaking. Even though it was dark, I can see that she was wearing some kind of school uniform. She must be a rich kid who goes to private school.

What in the world? Why is she here in this kind of neighborhood?

I crouched down and touched her hand.

"Get away from me," she sobbed, and I automatically removed my hand away from hers. I cleared my throat.

"Look," I said calmly," you're not exactly in a safe neighborhood so leaving you out here by yourself isn't a good idea. There's a heater inside, some food and drink, and warm clothes. And a cell phone you can call whoever to pick you up."

I slowly reached my hand to her. "How about it?"

I can feel her eyes on mine. Seconds went by and she said," How do I know you won't kill me when I am inside?"

Rolling my eyes, I replied, "I just saved you from being killed, if you don't mind me saying. I think your trust for me just increased even if only a tiny bit." With that comment, she immediately took my hand, and stood up. She then walked over and picked a school bag next to the entrance.

"Thank you," she whispered while I was about to open the door for her, "really. Thank you." She gave me a faint smile, lips curving. My stomach lurched.

As she walked inside, I replied, "Anytime."

(To be continued...)