I’m sure I’m being masochistic, but I can’t not watch tonight. This match will determine who’ll meet the reigning Lightweight champion and Finn has worked so hard to get here. I know what this can mean for him. Watching is my small way of sharing this moment with him.
My body gives a little bounce when I find the right channel. I don’t see much, just an overhead shot of the octagon before the program cuts to commercial break. My heart sinks a little. I didn’t even get a small glance at Finn. It’s pathetic, I know, but I miss his face.
My phone beeps in my purse, announcing that I have a text. I rummage through it, hoping Finn is performing well. I know he’s not attending counseling, even though Sofia told me his family has urged him to return. That doesn’t stop me from hoping he’ll change his mind, especially now that I’m interning at the center again.
Based on my past work performance, Mason convinced his partners to make it a paid internship. That was generous, especially since it’s the only way I’m making money. Come fall, I’ll need every dollar I can spare to pay for the costs of grad school not covered by my grants and scholarship. Mason, being the awesome boss he is, sweetened the opportunity by providing me with pro bono therapy sessions once a week.
I can’t say these sessions are easy. But I also can’t deny I need them.
I scroll through my messages. One is from Tía, telling me she made tamales and that they’re in the fridge. Three are from my girlfriends, begging me to go out with them tomorrow night, and a few are from Sofia.
It’s the ones from Sofia that hold me in place.
If you’re there please call me.
Are you there? Are you watching?
Call me. Please call me now.
My throat goes strangely dry. I don’t know what’s happened. I only know it’s happened to Finn. I tap the screen to call Sofia when the television cuts back to the fight and I catch my first look at him.
Every inch of his face is swollen and blood is pouring from a gash above his eye. But it’s his stare that makes him unrecognizable. There’s no familiar intensity, no warmth I’ve known so well. He’s angry. Yet there’s something there that goes beyond rage, and Jesus Christ in heaven, the fear it stirs threatens to stop my heart.
“Unbelievable,” the announcer barks as the camera zips to the stupid ring girl lifting the Round 2 card above her head. “Finn O’Brien went from The Walking Dead to the Terminator.”
“Something is definitely up with O’Brien,” the other announcer agrees. “I thought the ref was going to stop the fight within the first few shots Lopez got in―”
“But then it was the bell that saved Lopez at the end of the round!” the other announcer interrupts, like he can’t believe what he saw.
My jaw slacks open when the camera zooms in on Lopez. His eyes aren’t even visible, and . . . holy shit, are his teeth bleeding?
I don’t realize I’m on my feet until the bell starts the next round and Finn attacks.
“Oh!” the crowd yells. Finn strikes Lopez with a roundhouse kick that connects with Lopez’s head and sends him soaring backwards.
Finn rushes him, jumping on top of him and nailing him with a hailstorm of hammer fists and elbows. I should be out of my mind excited. But this isn’t a fight, it’s a punishment. Finn is punishing Lopez.
I clasp my hand over my mouth. Finn is no longer there. He’s succumbed to that dark place where he relives his trauma and where he’s finally able to fight back.
My hands shake. I fall back onto to the couch when the ref rips Finn off Lopez. Finn staggers backward, his bruised eyes scanning the octagon like he’s not sure why he’s there or how he arrived. Killian races in, so does Curran. But instead of leading him toward the announcer, they lead him out, fast. The cameras follow, despite how Finn’s camp surrounds him, trying to shield him and keep the reporters away.
Finn appears to be hyperventilating, shoving his brothers away when they crowd him. He’s not well. My God, something is horribly wrong with him.
My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me. It’s another text from Sofia, one that causes my eyes to sting.
Without thinking, my focus travels to the photo of my mother, taken in a time when I was still her little girl and she could still love me. I have all this education, experience, and drive to help those in need. But it wasn’t enough to help her. I can’t shine a light in her dark place, I can’t pull her back into reality, and I can’t help her see what is actually there. And if I could have, I’m already too late.
Tears drip down to splash against my phone as I read Sofia’s text again.
Finn is in trouble. He needs you.
No. I can’t help my mother. But I can still help someone else that I love.
I drive so fast, it’s a wonder I’m not pulled over. The Wells Fargo Center isn’t far, only about twenty minutes from my house. But tonight, it feels like an eternity.