“I didn't mean to say it out loud,” I admit. “I was thinking it and didn't even realize it came out until she freaked out.”
“Well, I think freaking out is a perfectly acceptable response,” he says. “I mean, you did accuse her of banging her yoga instructor.”
I shrug. “Yeah, it was stupid,” I say. “I made a mistake, Danny.”
“You've been making a lot of them lately,” he says. “What's going on with you, Amanda?”
I sigh and scratch at the chipping polish on my nails. Honestly, I have no idea what's going on with me. A therapist would probably say I'm depressed. And maybe that's it. But I'm twenty-five years old, I'm working as a goddamn barista, struggling to get by and put myself through school.
I look at some of my friends and see that they've already gotten their degrees and are getting settled into their careers. They get to go out, have fun – they're enjoying their lives. And there I am, slinging drinks and dealing with spoiled housewives with an entitlement complex.
But I can't tell Danny any of that. It's not his problem. It's mine. And I've got to find my way out of it.
“I'm just going through some stuff, Danny,” I say. “But please, I cannot afford to lose this job. It's about the only thing keeping me afloat.”
Danny sighs and leans back in his seat. He stares at the ceiling and I can tell that he's debating with himself – he doesn't know what he's going to do with me. I know he's well within his rights to can me. Hell, he probably should. I've had more than a few arguments with customers – I don't suffer fools all that well.
But at the same time, I have to make him see and understand how much I need this job. Because I do. It's a matter of survival at this point.
“Look, Amanda,” he says. “I appreciate how hard you work and the fact that I can always rely on you. But –”
“Danny, I screwed up,” I cut him off. “I screwed up big time. And I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Please don't fire me.”
He sighs again. “I have a boss I have to answer to as well, Amanda,” he says. “And if she finds out about this – and that I didn't fire you – she's going to be pissed. You and that temper of yours are putting me in a really bad position.”
I nod. “I know,” I say. “It was just a misunderstanding though. That's all she needs to know.”
“I can't have this kind of behavior in this shop, Amanda,” he says. “It's totally unacceptable.”
“I know, Danny,” I say, desperation coloring my voice. “And I'm sorry. If you give me another chance, I swear it won't happen again.”
He looks at me a long moment and then smirks. “You shouldn't make promises you can't keep,” he says. “I know your temper – and your sarcasm.”
I give him a grin. “How about this this then – I'll do my best to make sure it never happens again.”
He runs a hand through his prematurely thinning hair and looks at me for a long moment. The knot in my stomach tightens painfully and my adrenaline is pumping. I'm – scared. As much as it galls me to admit, I'm scared that I might lose my job.
“Don't make me regret this, Amanda,” he finally says. “I really need you on your best behavior from here on out.”
I nod quickly, a powerful wave of relief washing over me. “I swear you won't regret it,” I say. “Thank you, Danny. Thank you so much.”
“Go,” he says. “Get out of here. Misty got here early, so I'm putting her on the floor. Take the rest of the day to chill out.”
“Great,” I say. “I'll do that. And I'll see you here in the morning.”
He gives me a rueful smile. I can tell he's not convinced I can keep my end of the deal up. Hell, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure I can. Like I said, I don't suffer fools well. But knowing how much is on the line and what's at stake, I have to learn to rein it in. Need to learn to control my temper – and my tongue.
I need to keep reminding myself that I need this job more than I need to put some idiot in their place. That has to be my mantra from now on. It's not going to be easy – in fact, it's going to be downright brutal. But I need to do it. Have to do it. There is no other way.
I say goodbye to the girls and leave the coffee house, needing to go blow off some steam in the worst way possible.
ooo000ooo
I strapped the Velcro down, securing my gloves and stand up, jogging in place a little, getting the blood flowing through me.
“You ready?” Adrian asks.
I nod, letting my adrenaline surge through me. Adrian is my trainer at the PowerCore MMA gym I train at. I'm not training to be a pro fighter or anything, but I like to work out. Like the fact that I can burn off some energy when I'm frustrated. Truthfully, I like the fact that I can throw punches at people. Plus, I'm learning some self-defence techniques, so there's a practical purpose to it all.
Adrian is a friend of mine I first met at the coffee house. We dated briefly, but there wasn't really any chemistry or connection there – far more my fault than his. Instead, we became great friends. It's only been a year and a half or so, but I already can't picture my life without him. He's a good man. One of the very best I've ever known and I'm thankful to him for so many things.
Adrian recognizes that I've had a – difficult past. He sees the anger and frustration in me and sees my need to be able to blow off some steam and work through my demons. We've talked a lot about it and he knows that traditional therapy doesn't work for me. But at least physical activity and venting the pressure that builds up inside of me provides me with an outlet. A much-needed outlet.
When he first suggested it, I was skeptical. Not only because I didn't know anything about MMA fighting, but because I didn't know that throwing punches was exactly the healthiest outlet available to me. Back then, I actually was seeing a therapist and thought that talk therapy – perhaps even some medication – would be my best avenue.
But that little experiment proved to be a horrible failure. And that's when Adrian took me down to PowerCore for the first time and had me do some work on a body bag. He taught me how to punch and kick, and then turned me loose on it.
That first night, I must have beat on that bag for a solid hour. When I left the gym, every muscle in my body ached. I hurt in places I never even thought I could hurt. But, I went home and had the best, most untroubled night's sleep I'd had in years. It turned out that he was right – expending that much anger and dark energy was therapeutic. Healing.
After that though, I was hooked. I was like a junkie needing a fix and turned up at his gym day after day, wanting to punch something. Adrian kept encouraging me. Teaching me the proper techniques. When I got proficient at those, he taught me some advanced techniques. I'm like a sponge, absorbing everything he teaches me and always thirsting for more.
I wouldn't be able to afford a gym like PowerCore on my own. We're talking hundreds of dollars in membership dues every month. Not that it's not worth it, given the level of instruction and amenities the gym comes with.
But given my current financial situation, there is no way I could afford the place. Which is why it's a good thing Adrian owns the place. In exchange for unlimited access to the gym, I come in once a week – usually on Saturday mornings when I'm not scheduled at the coffee house – and clean the place from top to bottom. Adrian initially asked for me to come in once a month, but given how disgusting people can be and that his gym's reputation shouldn't be damaged by how dirty and gross it is, I told him I'd be doing it once a week.
It's a chore I do happily for all of the benefits Adrian's gym gives me. It's the very least I can do.
“You okay?” Adrian asks.
“Bad day at work,” I say.
He nods as if he understands – which he probably does. Adrian seems to be the only one who really gets me.
“Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I'd rather do some sparring,” I say. “Anybody available?”