But that card burns a hole in my back pocket, and in the back of my brain.
My apartment is entirely too quiet.
Water bottle in hand, I sink onto my couch with a groan. After a long day of training, every muscle in my body is sore. I’m exhausted. I should be passing out the second I get home.
But I don’t. I never do. Because my mind won’t stop spinning.
I meant what I said to my brothers. At my age, shouldn’t I have already found the point of life? I mean, I love fighting, but realistically, it’s going to be a very short period in my life. It’s a short period in every fighter’s life. What do I have beyond fighting?
Guilt sits heavy in my stomach at having these thoughts during a fight camp. I’m grateful for the fight Lucas got me, and this is probably the worst time to be spiraling, but…I can’t help it.
I drag a hand down my face with a sigh. Is this what a midlife crisis feels like? Maybe I should’ve been more honest with my brothers about what’s going on in my head.
About my recent thoughts of retiring.
Maybe I should take that trip with them. I need a change of scenery, if nothing else. Because once I’m past the fight, this feeling is only going to grow.
And just like it has for the past two days, my conversation with Tyler comes back to the forefront.
The curiosity has been eating away at me. Is it true what he said about escort agencies being common? I’ve never thought about them outside of TV shows, but he made it sound like professional athletes use them all the time. And not just for sex. Are they really like a glorified matchmaking service?
I take another sip of my water. Should Icall them? If it’s legal, and the boundaries are set for both parties, then it’s just a no strings attached hour with a woman, right? That’s not adate. There’s no expectation for a future, no need for games—it takes out all the parts of dating that have been stressing me out. It removes the potential for a genuine connection, too, but that’s off the table leading up to this fight anyway.
Have I really reached the point of wanting to hire company? Am I reallythatlonely?
Fuck.Maybe.
I pull the card from my pocket where it’s already worn down to a creased piece of paper. It’s just a phone call, right? Worst case, I’m skeeved out and rip the card up.
Right?
Ah, fuck it.
FOUR
SCARLETT
When I left home at nineteen, I thought I was breaking free of the chains of my past. I thought if I moved to New York City, I’d finally be able to find myself. I envisioned exploring, making friends, trying new things. I envisioned anexcitingnew start.
Three years later, very little has changed. I’m just as numb to the world as I was when I left home. The only difference now is the amount in my bank account.
Every morning, my alarm goes off at 7:00 a.m., same as it has my entire life. Not so early that I don’t get my full eight hours of sleep, but not late enough that I could be considered lazy.
Then it’s right to the kitchen for a glass of water and a banana; just enough to give me a burst of energy for my workout. When I feel like splurging, I’ll add a dollop of peanut butter. Once I’ve finished the last bite, I change into my only non-work clothes—athletic wear—and jump onto the treadmill in my living room.
Five miles later, I blend the same green shake I make every morning. Full of vitamins, and with just enough calories to get me through the first half of my day.
After that, it’s straight to the bathroom to shower and get ready. I have to run some errands today, but even if I wasn’t leaving the apartment until my client appointment tonight, I would still go through my whole process to ensure I look presentable. It’s a lengthy process, but I’ve been doing it for so long that I don’t even notice it anymore.
In the shower, I wash my hair, exfoliate my body, and shave every inch that might grow hair. Once I’m toweled off and mostly dry, I reach for the body oil that makes my skin feel like silk. A quick inspection of my nails tells me I need to add a manicure and pedicure to my list today.
Then it’s back to my hair. It took me a while to learn how to do the perfect blowout, but now it’s become my go-to hairstyle. Once my hair goes up in curlers, I start my makeup.
Makeup took me far longer to master. If it wasn’t for Amara taking me under her wing and helping me get on my feet, I still might not know the shades that compliment my skin and eyes. You’d think my mother would’ve taught me, considering she stressed that makeup was a necessity for women—just nottoomuch—but I guess she couldn’t be bothered to actually teach the lesson.
It takes me an entire hour to perfect my face. Full coverage, a touch of life on the cheeks, subtle eyeshadow to complement my eyes; the only part of my routine I leave for later is the red lip that’s become my signature. For now, I just swipe on some gloss.
By 10 a.m., I’m ready for the only part of my day that evokes any kind of emotion in me these days: class.
