And I really wanted a chance with Caitlyn.
Lucas and I entered the ring. We started with some light jabs and footwork, which only inflamed my sense of shame and anger. I wanted real action. I didn’t want to dance around wearing boxing gloves. Without warning, I started hitting Lucas with all of the bottled-up anger inside me. I felt like my arms and legs were made of steel. Power flooded my system with adrenaline as I went after Lucas hard. To his credit, he was keeping up with my punches and only let a few land. One got him right in the gut.
“What the hell bro? Lighten up,” he said, winded.
“Sorry,” I apologized as I came at him again from the left side.
He blocked my punch to his face, and I started to seeth. I was going after an invisible enemy, punching, jabbing, throwing hits with incredible force. I was going after the demon within me, intent on knocking him out cold. I rushed at Lucas, delivering punch after punch. Fuck the rules. I wasn’t fighting a fair fight. I wanted blood. I wanted death. I wanted to kill the thing that was hounding me and prove that might was right.
I could see Lucas was getting tired, but his manhood was being challenged, so he kept fighting. Not one to back down, he became just as aggressive as I was. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t being fueled by embarrassment, humiliation, and shame like I was. I laid a punch so hard to Lucas’s face, he lost his footing and crumbled to the floor.
“What the fuck, KP?” he said, clutching his temple as blood poured out of him.
I just stared down at him, not even making a move. I watched him lay there, bleeding all over the mat. He was breathing heavily, and so was I. I was like a man completely possessed. It scared me, so I waited for his cue.
“Help me up, motherfucker,” he choked as he tried to get up from the floor.
I bent over and pulled him up, still feeling the sting of anger and revenge in my psyche.
“Where the fuck are you tonight?” he asked as he walked out of the ring to grab his towel from a chair nearby.
I just stood there as he attended his injury. He looked over while holding the towel to his head, and his expression changed from irritated anger to genuine concern.
“Let’s get out of here.” He motioned for me to follow him and we went to the men’s locker room.
He took off his clothes, wincing with pain as he pulled his bloodied shirt over his head.
“Don’t you ever do that again. You have some shit you can’t take care of, then you talk to me, but you don’t ever fucking use your fists on me like that. I’m not your enemy, and I’m not someone you can mess with. You don’t have many friends. Don’t screw up the friendships you do have.”
There was definitely a running theme coursing through my life. I was an asshole. He was right. I should never have taken my aggression out on him. To my horror, emotion hit me in the face, packing a serious punch. For a moment, I thought I might cry. What the hell was wrong with me?
The concern was back on Lucas’s face. “What’s happening? What kind of trouble are you in?”
“I messed up, I’m sorry,” was all I could manage.
“No, you’re going through something deep. What’s going on?” He was unrelenting.
“I need a minute. I’ll tell you, but I’m not ready.”
He looked like he was going to argue, then clapped me on the back. “Come on, let’s hit the showers. I’m taking you out for a beer.”
Fifteen minutes later, we walked to the pub near the gym and found a table in the corner. The place was dark, dank, and smelled of rotting beer. The perfect watering hole for my sorry ass. A place where no one would notice Lucas’ wound, nor would they ask questions. His left eye had started to turn black-and-blue, and the gash on his forehead was gnarly and deep.
“You should probably get that looked at,” I grunted.
“I will, and I’ll be sending you the bill. If I need plastic surgery, it’s all gonna be on you, bro.” He was trying not to be angry, but he was pretty pissed at me.
“Sure, whatever you need.”
“I’ll be fine, scars add character.” He popped a peanut in his mouth. “So you want to fill me in on what the hell happened back there?”
He watched me closely as the bartender came over to take our drink order. “Whatya having?”
“Cold IPA, whatever you got,” Lucas said, still eying me, “and some more peanuts or something, I’m starving.”
“We have a special on meat-loaded potato skins.”
“Yeah those.” Lucas nodded to me. “You?”
“I’ll have Macallan 18, neat,” I said and watched the bartender’s eyes grow wide.
“I think we have some in the back. I’ll check,” he offered eagerly.
“Find it,” I barked.
“Right.”
“I’m really sorry,” I told Lucas again.
He snorted. “You fucking better be.”
“It won’t happen again,” I promised.
He snorted again. “No, it won’t. Did you lose a big project? One of your films tank? You get diagnosed with something terminal, what?” He was being real with me, it was time for me to come out of my bastard closet and let him in.
I exhaled a long breath. “That girl, the one I told you about.”
“The chic from that dive diner?”
“Yes.”
He waved his hand. “Go on.”
“She refused me a second time.”
“Again?” he asked, astonished.
I gave him a feral glance.
“So you’re pissed off enough to kill someone, namely your best friend, because some chick in a shit restaurant won’t suck your cock,” he reasoned.
I was growing agitated again. “I said I’m sorry.”
He simply pointed to his head.
“You got into the boxing ring. You knew there was a risk.” I was only half joking.
“Boxing as exercise is a thing these days,” he reminded me.
“It’s only a scratch.” Well, it was a little more than that, but why buy into the theatrics.
“A scratch?” He barked out a laugh. “Really? You can see my brain, it’s so deep.”
“You can’t see your brain, you moron.” I thought we may have been good again. “Yeah, so um, I need your help,” I confessed.
He leaned back in his chair. “Okay. So how can I help you get into your little waitress’s pants?” he asked as the bartender brought our drinks.
“Found some,” the bartender said as he placed my glass before me.
“Goody,” I mocked.
The bartender looked at me and smiled. I could tell he recognized me after coming back with our drinks — must be an aspiring actor. New York was crawling with them. I waited for him to leave, and I took a sip, hoping to calm my nerves.
“Did you fuck the embalmer?” It was a crude way of asking, but I needed to know.
His smile lit up the planet. “She’s amazing. But we aren’t talking about me, we’re talking about you.”
I slumped forward and took another drink. “She thinks I’m this stalker, rapist, asshole megalomaniac. I’m so screwed.”
He chuckled. “Ah, I get it, you were being you.”
“Pretty much.” I felt like shit.
“Well, this is one of those times when you have to ask yourself, what would Prince Charming do?”