“Go home,” she demands.
All the fight has left me. Fatigue and complete and utter exhaustion wash over me.
“Yea. Okay,” I relent.
I stand up, my legs begging for a break. I pat my legs down, looking for my phone. I see a bunch of unread texts from Margeaux. I fire off a quick message telling her that work has been really rough—that’s putting it lightly—and that I’ll call her later tonight after I’ve gotten some sleep. She’ll want to know about Sammy. Every time we talk, she asks how the little champ is doing. Maybe it will be better to tell her in person.
“Can I take a couple of personal days?” I ask Dr. Nash.
She gives me a gentle smile, warm, almost motherly. I’m assuming that’s how moms are supposed to smile at their kids. Mine rarely smiled at me.
“Take the week. I’ll see you next Monday. Get out of the city for a couple of days.” She gets up and walks behind her desk, taking her seat and opening the top file on her desk. Our work never ends.
I open her office door and feel slightly better than before. I look back at Dr. Nash, unsure if she realizes just how much she helped me in this moment. “Thank you.”
I barely remember the walk back to my apartment. My brain is onautopilot. I dig for my keys in my pockets when a voice I’m not sure I recognize through my frazzled thoughts and exhaustions, calls out to me.
“Dr. Jon Jacob?”
Before I can fully turn to face them, I’m hit over the head with something heavy.
31
MARGEAUX
This isthe longest Jon and I have gone without speaking. His text yesterday had me feeling a little worried for him and what was happening at work. I woke up this morning, and still no word from him. It’s been a whole day since he sent that short text. I’ve sent him five messages updating him about my day and trying to check in with him.
I also called him twice and tried to video chat. No response. None of the messages even seem to be getting read. This is weird. Something is wrong. Jon isn’t the type of guy to just ghost me.Would he?
I mean, we had some fun. Maybe the reality of us living in different cities and having completely different lives has finally clicked for him. This wasn’t going to be forever. I have about two months left of regular, televised matches. Then, I’d have most of the summer off, then training would pick up in the fall. I’d be able to stay with him for most of that time. I mean, Frankie’s Gym in Paramount is an amazing facility. I’m sure I could talk a few of the other wrestlers to come with me and train for a couple of weeks at a time.
I was starting to picture how we could make it work. He wasn’t giving me any signs or signals that it can’t work, or that he wasn’t willing.He pursuedme!
This fucking guy has the audacity to make me feel special…beautiful. He gave me all this hope that I foundoneguy in this overpopulated world who is kind, smart, funny, and so fucking sexy. And he fucking disappears!
I quickly chuck my phone on my bed, not wanting to be one of those pick-me girls who waits impatiently for the guy to call her back. I get dressed for training. I’m not letting my routine get disrupted because of some guy. It’s not like we were even that serious. Just a few weeks of fun and giving into our baser urges.
It’s over.
We’re over.
Training is exactly what I need. I partner up with Talia to grapple and work on falls and jumps. Her background in gymnastics makes her so graceful in the ring. She’s taking the time to teach me some moves.
“It’d be so cool if I could learn how to do a backflip for the championship match,” I say, leaning on the ropes, swigging some water.
“Psh. I can teach you how to do that in no time,” Talia says, stretching her hamstrings. She can fold herself perfectly in half. I can touch my toes, but not as easily as she makes it seem.
“I think you’re ignoring that my center of gravity is not conducive for back flips,” I say, gesturing to all seventy-three inches of me.
Talia laughs, letting herself relax, leaning back on her hands. Her blonde hair is in a single French braid, with some tufts of her hair coming loose.
“I think you’d surprise yourself. You’re really athletic, and just crazy enough to attempt a backflip,” she says, her Southern twang coming even a little thicker now that she’s tired.
Not ready to go home and wallow in more self-pity, I ask if we can start practicing back flips now.
“Shoot. You’re my kinda crazy, Margeaux! You truly are the Queen of Chaos.”
Apparently, learning how to back flip means learning how to tumble backwards. I felt like a little kid rolling around like an idiot. I’mdetermined to learn how to do this skill now. Talia calls it, and reminds me that she has a life outside of the training facility. Lucky for her, our training facility is only an hour away from her hometown.
