Jack’s words run through my head. They’re so similar to what Keller said back in the hotel room in Vegas.
“Things I want to do to you. I can’t… I refuse to ruin you.”
A single hot tear trickles down my cheek. What neither of the men know, what no one knows, is that I’m already ruined. Ruined by a madman’s bullet tearing through my skull. Ruined by a brain that refuses to keep the memories buried, showing them to me one by one, haunting me twenty-four hours a day. Ruined by the pressure from my mother to be someone I’m not. Ruined by my inability to feel safe, to stop the panic attacks, to not lose myself to fear whenever I’m alone.
I bark out a sad laugh. Ruined.
Too late. I was ruined long before Keller Bishop came into my life. The only thing he did was show me I could live a different way. Without fear, without being numb, without succumbing to the tidal waves of anxiety. Keller dangled a future in front of me, a future I badly want, only to shatter it into dust.
No, I was always ruined. What I am now, is drained of all hope, and that might actually be worse.
Killer
Fight night. Finally. The need to get into the cage and unleash the monster has grown since the visit from my dad last week. Plus, I swear I saw Max driving past the gym a few times like the creepy pervert he is. The monster is desperate to get free, scraping and clawing at my insides as the anger and violence churn and swirl, growing like a dark cloud, seeping out of every pore in my body.
Killer is back, and ready to do what he does best. Cause pain.
Except for a few sad glances in my direction, Britt hasn’t spoken to me at all outside of professional interactions. I’m not sure why it bothers me so much that she hasn’t tried harder to find out why I simply cut her off, but it does. Then I shrug off the idea, knowing it doesn’t matter. I can’t be who she wants me to be, not if I want to maintain my sanity.
Jerry, the guy who replaced Max on my team, finishes wrapping my hands. I’m so fucking glad that pervy douchebag is gone. Spotting him sitting in his car in the gym parking lot, driving off before I approached, had me furious. It makes me want to find out where he lives and beat him to death.
“There you go, big guy,” Jerry says with a pat on my shoulder, snapping me out of my fantasy.
“Time to go.” The AFL employee leads us to the ring, through the sold-out crowd at Phillip’s Arena in downtown Atlanta.
My heart is beating slow and steady, my mind ready for the fight. I don’t get nervous, I don’t show fear or hesitation. I get in the cage, and I take down my unlucky opponent. That’s what I do. Unfortunately, as I stand ringside, waiting for the officials to clear me, my one weakness shows.
I scan the crowd for Britt.
Our eyes lock and the crowd, the noise, the fight… all of it fades into nothingness. There is only her and me. Even though the monster is inside, begging to be set free, Britt meets my eyes without fear. As the official walks over to do his pat-down, Britt winks and just like my last fight, she mouths, “you got this,” before breaking eye contact.
And just like that, she’s buried her way back under my skin. No matter how big of an asshole I was, no matter how shitty I treated her, she still believes in me.
“All good. Fighters to the ring.”
I step up into the cage, my thoughts still confused and filled with Britt, images of her smiling, laughing, lying beneath me moaning in pleasure. Everything I want, but can’t have.
When the ref calls us to the center, I blink and clear my mind. Focus. The anniversary is tomorrow, and Killer needs to purge his demons.
We tap gloves, and I let the monster free.
Britt
Gabriel told me that Keller was fine after the fight and didn’t have any concerns. I took that information, and decided to sneak out of the arena before having to come face-to-face with Keller. Cowardly? Maybe, but not any more so than Keller and his inability to flat-out tell me he didn’t want to see me anymore. Besides, tomorrow is the anniversary, and I plan to go home, lock my doors, and hide in bed until Monday morning.
Hiding proves more difficult than I thought. When the cab drops me off after the fight, that damn envelope haunts me from its place on the kitchen table. Even buried under a pile of mail, I know it’s there and can feel the horror emanating from it.
I check the locks multiple times and finally, after three hours, I’m satisfied that no one can get in. A microwaved bowl of soup isn’t appetizing, but nothing is. I manage a few bites before rinsing the bowl and putting it in the dishwasher.