CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Megan's Point of View

"How are you feeling today, champ?" Jane's gentle voice cut through the sterile silence of the hospital room.

I plastered on a weak smile, hoping to mask the storm raging within. "Better, I suppose."

The lie rolled off my tongue with practiced ease, but Jane wasn't buying it. Her piercing blue eyes narrowed as she studied my face, lined with worry. "Don't give me that brave face routine, Megan. I know you're struggling."

I averted my gaze, unable to meet her scrutinizing stare. The normally unshakable fighter in me felt caged, wings clipped by the fragility that the weigh-in incident had exposed.

"I just...I don't know if I can face them all again," I confessed in a hushed tone. "The fans, the media - they want this unbreakable champion. But I feel like a fraud."

Jane's calloused hand found mine, her touch warm and reassuring against my clammy skin. The faded scars along her knuckles were a testament to the battles she'd faced.

"Megan, you're not a fraud. You're human. That's what makes your journey so inspiring," she said, her raspy voice laced with conviction. 

Her words hung in the heavy air like a lifeline, and I clung to them desperately. "What if I told my story? Wrote a memoir or something? Then they'd understand the real struggles I went through."

Jane's lined face broke into a proud smile, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Now that's a brilliant idea! Let the world see the true warrior who battled impossible odds to become champion."

A soft rap at the door interrupted our conversation. Jake poked his head in, sandy hair disheveled but green eyes bright with his trademark enthusiasm.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite boxer! How's my champ doing today?" He grinned widely, a rare spark of light in the somber hospital room.

I couldn't help but chuckle at his energy. "Hanging in there, Jake. Thanks for checking on me."

He strode in confidently, completely at odds with my immobile state confined to the stiff bed. "I wouldn't miss it. Say, I might have an interesting proposition for you two."

Jane and I exchanged a curious glance as Jake's eyes danced with excitement.

"I know this incredible writer - a real wordsmith. He could be just the guy to help pen that memoir you were discussing, Megan."

It was like the universe had aligned to provide the perfect solution before we could even process the logistics.

A memoir, my unvarnished story laid bare, could be the key to regaining control of a narrative that had slipped through my fingers.

"That sounds perfect," I said, a surge of hope flaring in my chest. "When can we meet him?"

Jake's grin stretched even wider, reminding me of a kid offered a lifetime supply of candy. "Actually, I've already invited him to your next boxing event. A chance for you to scope him out in person, see if he's the right fit to tell your story."

I nodded, determination coursing through me like a raging river. This was my shot to take control, to shape the narrative and reveal the real Megan - scars, flaws, and all.

As Jake and Jane discussed the details, I slipped into quiet contemplation. The road ahead would be arduous, but I was no stranger to adversity. Countless battles in and out of the ring had hardened me.

This time would be no different. I would adorn my brave face - the mask that had carried me through trial after trial - and confront the world head-on, unapologetically myself. 

No longer would I be a prisoner to fear or doubt. My story was worth telling as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. With newfound resolve, I tuned back into the conversation, my mind already racing with possibilities.

The brave face I had worn for so long was evolving, becoming a symbol of hard-won strength and authenticity that would resonate with fans and critics alike.

As the setting sun cast a warm, golden glow through the window, I silently vowed to embrace this journey - no matter how daunting - with every ounce of fighter's spirit I possessed. For in the end, the greatest battles we face are within ourselves. And I was determined to emerge victorious, brave face blazing.

...

The next morning, the hospital corridor buzzed with a frenzy of activity as nurses scurried about, hushed voices urgent yet controlled amidst the chaos of discharge day. 

Jane arrived early, her wiry frame weighted down by a duffel bag and a weathered old trunk. Her eyes shone with grim determination - a silent acknowledgment that she understood the enormity of the trial I was about to face better than anyone. The fragility lingering behind my brave facade was not lost on her.

"You ready to brave the media circus, kid?" she asked, concern creasing her tanned forehead.

I took a steadying breath, squaring my shoulders as I steeled myself for the onslaught awaiting us beyond the hospital doors. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

With a solemn nod, Jane handed me the duffel bag. I retreated to the adjacent bathroom, changing into the oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants - armor against the prying eyes of the world.

When I emerged, Jane smirked wryly at my disheveled appearance. "Look like a vagrant. Perfect."

We moved swiftly and quietly, Jane leading the way with the old trunk in tow. The elevators were too risky, so we opted for the stairwell - our echoing footfalls the only sound in the dimly lit concrete enclosure.

As we neared the exit, the muffled roar of reporters' voices grew louder - a chaotic cacophony of shouted questions and demands. 

Jane paused at the door, her hand on the metal bar as she turned to face me. Her resolute nod was reminiscent of a commander bracing their troops before battle.

Then she pushed through, and we were instantly swallowed by a sea of flashing cameras and thrust microphones, the deafening clamor of reporters clamoring for my attention. 

Their voices merged into a jumbled mess of speculation and accusations as they surged towards us like a ravenous horde.

Jane stepped forward, her compact frame radiating an unmistakable air of command that parted the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.

"No questions!" she barked, raising a hand. "Miss Williams needs space to recover. Back off."

The battered old trunk creaked open, and Jane produced a tattered baseball cap, shielding my face from the press as she ushered me towards the waiting car idling on the curb.

 ....

The trunk engine rumbled as we drive away from the hospital, tires squealing against the pavement.

With a heavy sigh, I sank back into the leather seat, grateful to escape the swamp of reporters.

"You alright over there?" Jane's gruff voice broke the silence.

I nodded smiling, catching my breath. "Yeah, it's just that... I'm happy to be out of that for now."

She grabbed my hand giving my hand it a gentle squeeze.

Her hands had faded scars reminding me of her own fought and won battle. "You were brave as hell facing that media gauntlet, kid."

A small smile tugged at my lips as I returned the squeeze. "Couldn't have done it without you leading the charge."

Jane just grunted in response as the car navigated the city streets. Our destination remained a mystery to me.

Finally, we rolled up to a towering downtown skyscraper, all gleaming glass and steel. "Here's your new home base," Jane said simply.

The private elevator whisked us up in silence. When the doors opened, I couldn't help but audibly gasp.

The lavish penthouse was straight out of a billionaire's wildest fantasies. Wall-to-wall windows offered a dizzying view of the city skyline, while the decor oozed sleek, modern sophistication.

But it was the fully-equipped boxing gym tucked in the corner that made my heart leap. Heavy bags, speed bags, and every training tool a fighter could want surrounded a square ring. Each one beckoned me like an old friend.

"Finally made it, huh?" Jane's voice was a distant echo as I drifted toward the gym in a trance.

My fingers traced over the cracked leather of a well-worn heavy bag, memories of past battles flooding back. This place was more than just luxurious digs - it was a sanctuary where I could finally let my guard down and just be myself, brave face and all.

I turned to Jane, eyes shining with gratitude. "This place...I don't even know what to say." I smiled.

" You've given me a refuge for my body and soul."

She waved a calloused hand dismissively. "Safe place to get your head right for the challenges ahead. That's what matters."

Sweeping my gaze across the opulent space, I felt a surge of determination. This penthouse wasn't just temporary staging - it was a symbol of my tenacity, an undeniable reminder that I possessed an unbreakable core of resilience to emerge victorious, brave face blazing.

I turned back to Jane with a resolute nod. "One week until the event," I stated, renewed purpose thrumming through me. "It's time to show the world what I'm truly made of."

Jane matched my nod with one of her own, a ghost of a proud smile playing across her weathered features.