Hypermarket

 

It was quiet here at this time of night. Whenever I needed space to think I came to this place because it was always open, and nobody paid me too much attention or cared how I looked. It was humid, had been for days now, and the cold sterile air inside provided a refreshing respite from the oppressive city atmosphere.

There were only a dozen or so shoppers browsing the aisles. Mostly nightshift workers on their time off who couldn’t sleep, accustomed to being active in the small hours, unable to adapt to the daylight activities of the majority. The rest were blank-faced automatons with numbered uniforms who stacked the shelves, not deviating their attention from the packets of cereals or the tins of own-brand mulch that needed to face the exact same way.

I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just browsing the aisles, enjoying the feeling of being lost in the anonymity of brands and the fake smell of freshly baked goods that emanated from unseen vents. It didn’t trigger any buyolological impulse for me, I was beyond that, but somehow it made me feel nostalgic.

It was then that I noticed her, standing in the frozen food section, looking at packets of pizzas and plant based products. It wasn’t the first time I had seen her, but I certainly didn’t expect to encounter her here.

She was facing away from me now, and wasn’t aware of my attention, but I would have recognised her anywhere. She wore no jewellery, and her long dark hair was tied up with a simple black clip, but it was the way she moved that jogged my recognition. We had something in common, both ending up here, but this time it was different. Maybe it was because of the clothes she was wearing, the casual shorts and plain black t-shirt, which accentuated her long limbs and implied a sense of comfort within her body. There was something economical almost feline in her movements, all poise and balance, an awareness that projected confidence.

The last time she had looked radically different, but that was no surprise given our circumstances. Still, she retained an aura of defiance about her that commanded respect. You could just sense the hidden depths to her, even if you had never experienced what I had. She was probably trying to keep a low profile, but the noticeable marks weren’t helping much.

I definitely hadn’t expected so many bruises, but I shouldn’t have been in the least bit surprised. They caught my eye under the glaring lights of the supermarket. They were dark and heavy, circling her wrists and forming blue-black blotches on her pale thighs and shins.

Even though I felt guilty for looking, I was unable to tear my eyes away. As if I was invading her space somehow, peering into a hidden window on her private life, although that hadn’t seemed to matter the last time when I had witnessed her performance in that club. If you could call such activities a performance.

I didn’t want her to notice my staring, so I feigned interest in some containers of frozen kefir whilst keeping an eye on her from a distance. She selected a packet of peas from the freezer, weighing them in her hand first before dropping them into the almost empty trolley. Probably for the swelling I thought.

As she half turned to examine some special offers, I saw what looked like a chain of purple blotches on her cheek. I knew why. A worker passing by with a trolley laden with boxes glanced at her and quickly looked away, pretending he hadn’t noticed those ugly visible marks. I wondered why she hadn’t tried to cover up, but wearing long sleeves and a scarf would probably be too uncomfortable in the cloying heat of the summer, and besides, maybe she wasn’t in the least bit embarrassed by how she looked. It was like some sort of statement of defiance. A badge of honour to show strength and endurance, not that she needed to prove anything. Possibly she was so used to looking like this it just didn’t matter anymore. She wasn’t someone to trifle with, and certainly wasn’t hiding it, even though that too was risky.

I recalled that first time I had set eyes on her. I hadn’t intended to enter that world, known only to a select few, but I joined a colleague who had persuaded me. Right up my street, he had told me. Blow off some steam.  It would be perilous for sure but, being weary of all the regulations and needing my thrills, I was naturally drawn to anything that seemed even remotely clandestine. I had eventually agreed to come along, maybe even to participate. Even then I was surprised at what had transpired.

It wasn’t the coded messages or the secretive location that was most unsettling. Neither was it the shifty and brutish looking security detail, who scanned the bodies arriving at the entrance, although they certainly had some influence on the overall atmosphere. Their uniforms showed off their mirror muscles, while their poker faces were set in a way that left no doubt as to their intentions, should someone step out of line. It was the violence that had occurred within, however, and the small crowd of spectators and participants who reveled in it, that would shock most.

Ordinary civilians would never believe this place actually existed, outside of forbidden movies. The authorities would undoubtedly be aghast if they knew what activities were going on just a few feet below the main thoroughfare of their citadel. Though I suspected many would have had some sort of malicious fantasy about partaking in such an event, especially in times like these.

Although one could be forgiven for thinking that anything goes, subtle undertones of mutual respect permeated the night’s activities. The smell of leather and pheromones wafted through the musky air of the basement. The few women in attendance were extremely popular, and their devotees worshiped them silently with their eyes from outside the circle. The males were stereo-typically macho in their appearance. They all wanted to see someone being dominated, pain being inflicted, maybe even to see blood flow. They took voyeuristic pleasure in observing another human spirit crushed and humiliated, wistfully imagining they were the ones dishing out the punishment. No doubt some of them were turned on by receiving as well as giving, for that was all part of the carnival they were here to witness.

She drew the most attention for her performances which were always merciless, as I would soon find out. Big money changed hands in the shadows outside the well-lit stage, and the cash prizes were huge, reflecting the risks of getting caught by the authorities. There were rules of course, but not too many.

When we were paired without warning she got straight into it, never saying a thing. There were no safe words here, no preludes, just the sound of her heavy breathing in my ear, and the sweat of our bodies mingling as we clinched. Sensing her power, her inner strength, I gave her all I could muster, but I knew even my best shot wasn’t going to be enough for her. Her boundaries seemed limitless. I didn’t last long, my time of reckoning coming more quickly than I had anticipated.

A blur of motion, bright lights in my vision, sudden impact and the sound of my teeth cracking. I crashed to the ground and faded out of consciousness. My limp and battered body was dragged out of the ring by security guards, leaving a slick of bodily fluids in its wake. Her gloves were covered in my blood and sweat, dripping onto the concrete floor as the crowd screamed ecstatically.

Illegal unrestrained combat was rare these days, and rarer still that a woman was the hands down overall winner. She wasn’t just another performer, she was an apex predator. I took one final look at her, then turned back to the ice-cream display, and thanked my lucky stars that I was still alive.