I don't know about you but for a politically affluent family like mine, pursuing law meant I was premeditating some kind of murder. My father considered it as the family's impending doom, his worries aggravated further when I also took up a new hobby.

The hovering stickiness of midmorning filtered through the rumbling exhaust on the top center of the bright-lit room. The air was musty, lingering with stale sweat, married with the axe body spray that stayed in the surrounding, no matter how well the place was fumigated.

I could feel the dance of sweat beads, running their marathon over my body before successfully dripping off from my synthetic vest. I stood in my puddle, hunched over with my fists aligning close to my face.

A few bystanders mumbled about how they were getting late. The vibrating grunts from my opponent as he watched me like a predator, pounce and finish what we began hours ago.

With a swift blurt from the whistle, the six-foot-tall boy leapt like a wolverine. His eyes narrowed, focusing on me. His arms swung sideways before he landed just a few feet away.

I was so sure, he might beat his chest like King Kong to display his height and strength before tossing me away. But Eric was better than a belching primate. He was practical and calculative.

I ducked under as his glove grazed past my face. My ears echoed my pulse. Eric stumbled on his steps.

It was then - my moment of glory - as my glove-strapped arm whizzed through the air, planting an impression on his midsection. Eric leaned backwards, partly in pain and partly to retrace his steps.

"Guard your fucking face." Coach Jim's pitch intonated with every single word.

He grunted like a hungry hyena, shouting instructions. With Eric's growls from inside the ring and Jim's roars from the outer edges, it was hard to concentrate.

Darting in, Jim peeled me and my opponent apart from our hugging interaction of punches and jabs. Eric veered away like his body carried no weight.

I was suddenly jealous of him. His lambast might be held in the confines of walls; mine was now.

"The head should move sideways and then duck under an incoming punch." Jim's bloodshot eyes scanned my helmet-protected face. He held my shoulder and rattled my body, taking my glove to wall my face. "Cover it and stop acting like an amateur boxer."

Although it was an amateur boxer's training, Jim expected us to act as if we were about to fight Mohammed Ali himself. With yet another grunt, vibrant enough to put rumbling engines to shame, Jim slid outside the ring.

Eric and I continued our practice under the training abuse from our coach.

With barely half a year left for the varsity tournament, every practice counted. Cambridge was currently leading the boxing match tally. This was the make-or-break year for us Oxonians.

Everything I did was especially important since I was also fielding to be the captain of the tournament. The more time I devoted, the better my chances.

"Rocky." A distant, familiar holler caught me off guard. "Rocky Balboa."

Turning to it was my mistake.

A jarring sensation spiked through the crevices of my teeth, branching out to all parts of my face and head. Warmth rose over the side of my jaw. I could visualize dancing black and red dots.

Eric motherfucker jabbed me.

Its aftermath had me hugging the canvas flooring of the ring.

"Hey, Ivan." Felix's voice brought me back to reality. "What are you doing down there?"

While Eric towered over me, murmuring apologies, Felix hung from the rope boundary and watched me in amusement.

"Nothing, Felix," I said, checking my lower jaw for any misalignment and addressing the pale-skinned boy who was my distraction. "I was checking if the floor was clean."

Felix wasn't the brightest bulb that existed. The square-jawed boy with curly brown locks was my childhood friend and my constant company throughout school and even now.

Our families were close. Given our Russian background and our father's likeness for drinking and talking politics, our friendship only grew stronger.

Eric moved away from the ring.

He knew the effect of Felix's presence - there could be no more practice.

"Sooo... I was thinking..." Felix shifted on his legs, eying the dark flooring beneath the ring and all around. I knew well, what he was conjuring. "We can go change at your place and then head for the party. What do you say?"

Parties and booze were Felix's frailties. There was no dearth in Oxford for any.

Every word from now on was to be placed with the utmost care, sculpting an excuse for me.

You see, as much as Felix liked taking a well-intended break every so often, his toilsome need for company – mine, to be precise - had him at a disadvantage.

During my partying days - and by that, I didn't mean to sound like a middle-aged man - pledging my liver and reasoning for bottles of alcohol seemed fun. While I slid out of that rabbit hole to sobriety and law school, Felix remained stuck with his cult of wassailers.

"I can't come, Felix." I bit into the straps of my gloves, peeling them off. "I have my practice match in the evening too. Also, I have to get up for an early run tomorrow."

Part of me felt bad for neglecting my friend. Felix had been one of those rare friends who remained glued to my side during my fight against depression after my mother passed away.

The only solace I had was knowing he would forget about my abandonment the moment the warmth of alcohol hit his bloodstream.

"Come on, Ivan. When was the last time you loosened up?" I would be a fool to think Felix would give up without a fight. "Let's hang out for some time, Bruv. Then, you can leave."

The changing room - a narrow lane of paint-peeled metal cupboards on one side and a narrower walking lane leading straight to the showers - was my first escape attempt.

I shoved my gloves in my locker and dragged my bag from underneath the elongated seats for a set of fresh clothes.

Felix followed me like a lost puppy, expecting some reaction from me. From his incessant begging, one thing was obvious. Felix badly needed a mate for the night.

Jim, my coach, walked behind us and halted at the threshold. His hairless head bounded off florescent yellow light, strangely illuminating the otherwise dark room.

"Ivan, you are coming for practice in the evening, right?" He asked.

"Yes, I am." My head bobbed in affirmation to his words while my eyes sought the chance to explain to Felix, my priorities. "I'll be there."

Jim threw a nasty stare at Felix. Any coach would be displeased with someone who was a predominant reason for a player's distraction.

Felix rightfully deserved it. Every one of his appearances had me either gifted with punches on my face or with me missing some on the opponent. On one such occasion, I even had the privilege of falling off the ring, unbalanced after an uppercut had my senses scrambled.

"Good, I don't want your friend to be a reason for your doom, Ivan." Jim tossed both of us a stern, blood-curdling glance before walking away, whistling like he didn't threaten me.

I wouldn't blame Jim for assuming Felix was a distraction.

Felix, like any normal twenty-one-year-old boy, loved anything remotely close to a smashing life. It wasn't his fault that I had turned up against the tide, ignoring all possible student life gratifications for my passion.

A hot shower unknotted my muscles. Pain was good, pain gave endurance. I chanted the mantra while changing into my attire while every part of me creaked like a rusty hinge.

Felix stepped away when I walked out of the shower, giving me space yet, continuing his unrelenting moan.

"Come on man. I am sad. You know, I came from a funeral today."

"Who died, Felix?" I turned to look at his hung face.

"My niece-"

"What?"

"Let me finish..." He said, holding his hand up. "My niece's fish died. Her name was Dory."

I bit into my lips but my insides rumbled like an engine coming to life. The empty room roared back my laughter. I held onto my stomach, pressing hard to avoid a laughter knot.

Felix wouldn't understand a boxer's regime. Neither would any of my mates. With piling moots and Uni assignments, alcohol was the elixir keeping them sane.

I concluded the events of my past that had me broken like this.

~

My residence was a short fifteen minutes walk from the sports center. Today, it took me half an hour with Felix dragging his feet and breaking into hysterics on the pavement, arms flapping about like a kid who was denied candy. Occasionally, he would turn to my side, eyes manually widened to a degree that had me worried about the pressure on his retina or worst; them popping out.

Not long after, we trailed my driveway. The scent of the freshly mowed grass filled up my senses. Felix, however, had bouts of sneezing as we entered my abode.

The silence in the foyer was sickening. Pale hue impressions on the walls from the chandelier hanging above – one which was meant to give the place a sombre look - stirred hostility in me.

After my mother's demise, the mansion longed for her just like its members. With Papa's Embassy work keeping him occupied in London over weekdays, it was only me and Polina – my mother's guardian – living in this huge house.

Felix followed me up into my room with slumped shoulders.

He fell back on the dark green couch in my room, hurling his shoes underneath my bed.

"It's only one drink, mate." With a sullen look, arms tossed on both sides christened Felix looked both funny and desperate. "I am so depressed with the funeral and everything today."

"It's a fish, Felix. A fucking fish died. Were you expecting it to outlive a blue whale?"

"How long do blue whales live?" Tucking his chin on his left knuckle, his elbow digging into his thigh, he turned his attention towards me.

"How am I supposed to know," I said, tossing my gym bag in a corner and setting my phone alarm for the evening practice. "Google it."

From the corner of my eyes, I witnessed Feliz scanning my bedroom walls.

There was not much to see. My room was painted navy blue - Mum's favourite colour. The wall behind my headboard had posters of many a musician and famous bands. I loved listening to old-school rock and classical music; yet another one of my mom's good tastes.

With Felix's constant foot taps, I was drawn back to the present.

"You know everyone would be there." He cautiously moved to and fro on the couch.

The only sound in the room was the painful creaking of century-old furniture. If Felix continued his rocking, the chair would soon accompany Dory the fish in heaven.

"I don't care who's coming, Felix. I already told you my answer..."

My debility from hours of practice had me sunk into bed. The mattress sucked me in like quicksand with the promise of healing me by the time I woke up.

When the side of the mattress dipped, a wave of exhausted exhale hit my face and I peeled open my eyes.

"You can't escape this easily," Felix said, ruffling my hair.

It somehow dislodged my mother's memory. She too ruffled my hair whenever she felt happy.

With her death, our lives became rudderless. Papa became more involved in work. I, in classes and boxing. It was only Polina who was left to bear the brunt of emptiness and watch the Romirov men scurry into safe corners like rats, abandoning the place that once nurtured us.

It was also then that I found a purpose in life. My partying days had gone, replaced with books and boxing.

Father wanted to extend his help, trying to mend the broken fences of our relationship. I rejected his advancements and his boastful connections to get me an internship at the Embassy. He too detested my approach to life.

We were two stubborn alphas. Like in the animal kingdom, ours was also a relationship of locking horns and stabbing each other with spiteful words and hurtful erudition.

Felix walked around my room, checking new posters on the wall. He was thinking of something new to convince me.

"Who is that?" He pointed at a poster. "Is that your grandfather?"

"Yes, he is my grandfather. His name is Frank Sinatra and he was the first one to work at the Embassy!"

"Ohh, cool mate." Felix plopped back on the side of my bed. "I don't even have a photo of my grandfather."

When I chuckled, he realized the truth.

"You know what, Maxim," he said, annoyed. "Don't tell me your grandfather's real name but please don't toss around made-up names. Sinatra. Like that's even a surname."

Felix walked around but I could see the last drop of his patience evaporate. He pled with his eyes. 

I was a monster to ignore it, peering into the ceiling.

"Fine. Don't come. Like I care."

When the door banged shut, relief surged up.

I had successfully executed plan B, hurting my friend without words.

~

This is something new I've been dabbling my hands on...

Please let me know if you like this chapter. I've cut it short because it was running too long ;)