Chapter 27: A Shower
Damon stepped out of the house, feeling a sense of renewal wash over him.
The warm shower and clean clothes had transformed him, making him almost unrecognizable from the dirty, homeless person he once was.
He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of soap and shampoo that lingered on his skin.
As he walked towards the gathering, he noticed people glancing at him, their eyes lingering on his clean clothes and fresh appearance.
Damon felt a sense of pride, knowing that he looked better than he had in a long time.
The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air, accompanied by the clinking of utensils on plates.
Damon's stomach growled, reminding him that he was hungry. He made his way towards the food, his eyes scanning the spread before him.
Joey greeted him with a smile, handing him a plate piled high with food. "Hey, champ, dig in!" he said, his voice booming across the gathering.
Damon took a bite, savoring the flavors that exploded on his tongue.
The food was delicious, a far cry from the scraps he was used to eating. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste and texture of the meal.
As he ate, Damon couldn't help but think of his mom. He wished she could experience this too, the warmth and comfort of a full stomach and a clean body. He clenched his fist, determination coursing through his veins.
He would save up enough money from fights and get them into a motel or something.
Anywhere with a bed and a roof would be better than sleeping in the alley.
Damon's eyes opened, his gaze scanning the crowd as he made a silent promise to himself.
He would do this, for himself and for his mom. He would fight, and he would win, no matter what it took.
The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through his body, and Damon felt a sense of purpose he hadn't felt in a long time.
As the last of the guests departed, Joey's friends began to tidy up the remnants of the gathering.
The sound of laughter and chatter had faded, replaced by the clinking of dishes and the scraping of chairs against the floor.
Damon stood by, watching as they worked, his eyes fixed on Joey as he walked towards him.
"Hey man, sorry to make you wait," Joey said, his voice low and apologetic. "I should have given you your prize earlier." He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a brown envelope, its edges worn and creased.
Damon's eyes widened as Joey handed him the envelope. His hands trembled slightly as he took it, the weight of the contents settling heavily in his palm.
The moment his skin made contact with the paper, his shaking ceased, replaced by a sense of calm determination.
"Thanks, man," Damon said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know..."
Joey interrupted him, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I didn't do anything, man. You earned it." He nodded towards the envelope. "That's $300 in there. Make sure you hide it well, don't want you getting mugged walking around with that kind of cash."
Damon's eyes dropped to the envelope, his fingers tracing the edges as if to confirm the contents. He looked up at Joey, a sense of gratitude etched on his face.
"But if you want to help," Joey continued, "you can help me clean up here. I'll add another $50 to your earnings." He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Help me clean up after fights, and you can make an extra $50 each time."
Damon nodded, his mind racing with the possibilities. "That's fine," he said, his voice firm. "Let's start then."
The sound of dishes clinking and chairs scraping against the floor filled the air as Damon and Joey began to clean up the remnants of the gathering.
The smell of food and sweat lingered, mingling with the scent of soap and shampoo that still clung to Damon's skin.
He worked in silence, his eyes fixed on the task at hand, the brown envelope safely tucked away in his pocket.
As they cleaned up the last of the mess, Damon and Joey found themselves alone, the only sound being the clinking of dishes and the scraping of chairs against the floor.
They worked in comfortable silence, their movements synchronized as they put away the remnants of the gathering.
As they worked, Damon couldn't help but notice the ease with which Joey moved, his confidence and kindness radiating like a warm glow.
Damon had always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling, someone to share his struggles and triumphs with.
And as he looked at Joey, he couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship.
"Hey, Joey?" Damon said, his voice breaking the silence. "Can I ask you something?"
Joey looked up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sure thing, Damon. What's on your mind?"
Damon hesitated, unsure of how to phrase his question. "I was just wondering... how did you get into all this?" He gestured to the makeshift fighting ring, the tables and chairs. "You know, hosting fights and stuff."
Joey's expression turned thoughtful, his eyes gazing into the distance. "Well, it's a long story," he said, "but I'll give you the short version."
Damon nodded, his eyes fixed on Joey's face.
"I used to be homeless, just like you," Joey said, his voice low and even. "Me and my big brother, we had to fight to survive. But my brother, he was a fighter, literally. He got into a low-promotion company and started making a name for himself."
Damon's eyes widened, his mind racing with the parallels between Joey's story and his own.
"He made enough money to get us off the streets," Joey continued. "And I... I found my own way to contribute. I started hosting fights, and it just took off from there."
Damon couldn't believe what he was hearing. The similarities between their stories were uncanny.
He felt a sense of wonder, of awe, at the fact that Joey's brother had been able to get them off the streets through fighting.
"That's amazing," Damon said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I had no idea."
Joey shrugged, his smile humble. "Yeah, my brother's a great guy. He's still fighting, still sending me money to this day."
Damon's eyes dropped, his mind reeling with the implications. If Joey's brother could do it, why couldn't he? Why couldn't they both escape the streets and make a better life for themselves?