I’m a liar.Punch.
I’m sorry…Punch.
The crowd screams somewhere behind me, and so does Sledge. Blood sprays across my skin, and I barely feel the hits I take in return. It’s complete annihilation, just the kind of violence I’ve been begging for. It’s not until my opponent goes down hard that I realize I’m the one on top of him. My fist hovers in the air, like a gavel ready to make its final judgment. Ready to shatter every bone, even after the ref tries to pull me off.
“It’s done,” Sledge whispers in my ear, successfully pulling me off the man. My body moves on autopilot as I’m dragged toward the corner. The cuts on my face sting from the cold air. “Snap out of it, man. I’m losing you,” Sledge mutters, placing an ice pack on the back of my neck, anchoring me to reality and not the darkness in my mind. “This was supposed to be a quick knockout.” He points towards the commotion in the middle of the rink. “That’s bloodshed.C’mon, man, I told you it was too soon.”
Too soon….
Those words. I’ve grown to hate them, along with‘it takes time.’When will the time be right? Was it right when I woke up in the middle of the night to Veronica screaming, everyone scrambling towards our room? Only for me to choke whenI look down at the blood pooling between her legs. The look on her mom’s face when she realized what was happening? Or how Nixie cried alone in a corner as we all focused on Ronnie.
“Go home, Iz, get some rest, brother.”
I don’t respond. There’s nothing I can say that will counter the truth of his words. All I do is shrug him off and mindlessly walk towards the locker rooms, and pull out my phone. Disappointment washes over me when I see all the missed calls. All from Ronnie, who by now should know where I’m at. And by the looks of the messages on my screen.
She’s mad…
Resting my forehead on the cool metal, I let the sensation simmer down my heated skin. Silly of me to think that the hardest things we would endure were that fucking basement. How fucking under prepared I was—am—for everything that has happened and is still going on. How can I help the woman I love when I can’t even help myself? I can’t save her from anything because I can’t even save her from the inevitable truth that will tear us apart. I let out a shaky exhale before getting ready and heading out the door.
By the time I pull into the dark and wet parking lot, the adrenaline from tonight has completely worn off. Enough to make my legs feel like lead, and my ribs ache with every breath I take. Each step feels like I’m dragging my feet through quicksand, the night is cold, and the leftover residue of rain lingers in the air. It takes what feels like forever to walk up the stairs and down the hall before I stop right in front of my door, insert the key into the slot, and turn it. Using my shoulder, I push the door open, ready to collapse and drown in the silenceof the night.
When a figure emerges from the shadows.
Ronnie.
My girl silently rises from my couch, her hands clasped so tightly in front of her. I shut the door softly behind me, making sure to lock the button and focus my attention on her. The second our eyes lock, she grimaces at the sight of me. Taking in all the bruises already forming along my jaw, the split lip, and the blood drying from the cuts on the bridge of my nose and cheek. She walks towards me so fast, I barely manage to blink, let alone get a word out.
“Where the hell were you?” she asks, her voice low and trembling with anger, knowing I lied to her once again.
“Ronni–”
The slap cracks across my face before I can finish, and hints of blood sprinkle into my mouth from the hit. It wasn’t soft. My girl didn’t even hesitate. That hit was a full, open-handed strike fueled by betrayal and grief. Her perfect blend of flavors seems to get me every time.
“You lied to me!” she chokes out. “Again. You promised, Isaac, you promised you were done.” Her voice breaks completely, her hands digging into her wavy strands. “How could you do this to me? After everything?”
I swallow hard, unsure of what to say. It’s been such a long time since I’ve actually found the right things to say to her. Things are just so fucked up now. So, I stand there quietly watching as my heart falls apart. She sobs into the palms of her hands, the sound destroying me more than any physical blow.
“I needed the money,” I rasp, trying not to make her feel guilty for not having a job. She lost so much already, and the last thing I want to do is make her feel shame over things she can’t control. There was a time when people didn’t recognize her or demand answers that no one is entitled to. I just want to takecareof her. “I want to take care of you. Of us.”
She shakes her head, taking three steps back. “No, don’t put this on me.”
“I’m not.”
“But you are,” she shouts, her voice shaking with rage. “It’s not your job to take care of me. You promised you would take care of yourself,” Ronnie fires back, her chest rising and falling in short and shaky breaths.
“I’m just trying… to fix this.”
“NO!” She shakes her head. “That’s not how you fix this. You can’t keep killing parts of yourself just to keep me whole.”
I take two careful steps towards her, making sure not to crowd her. “I’m okay, Ronnie…”
“STOP! FUCKING STOP!” she shouts louder this time, her voice echoing in the space as she points an accusatory finger my way. I hate that we fight as often as we do. We never used to, sure, we used to have some playful banter, but this is fucking torture. How quickly things changed now that we are out in the open. It’s made things so much more complicated, or maybe it’s the trauma that clings to us like a second skin, impossible to shake. “You say you’re fine, but you’re not. Look at your face, Iz.” Her voice goes quiet, smaller, and shakier. “Look at you.”
“You should see the other guy,” I mutter, trying to diffuse the situation, even though the look on her face tells me she’s nothing but amused. However, the last thing I want to do is continue to upset her. She’s right, her fears are justified. But I can’t help myself. All I want to do isbleedfor her, even though she’s already bled enough. I step closer, closing the gap between us, and she steps back. Not out of fear, but because she’s overwhelmed. Her body vibrates with every emotion. She’s been simmering and choking down for weeks.
“Ronnie—”
“I hate you,” she whispers. The words stop me in my tracks. The pain is immediate—a sharp sting straight into my heart, when her voice cracks into a devastating wail. “I hate you for making it this way. For hurting yourself for me. We aren’t good like this, Iz. This isn’t healthy. I don’t even know what’s going on between us. Since we left that basement, there’s a gap between us that we can’t fuck away.”
