Then the talk of what guys want to do, not what they have done. That’s tripping me out. But I try to think about how he’s not from my area, so he can hear stories, just not everything.
Lastly though, his words about Hayley. I haven’t given her any indication that I want her attention. So if Celia saw something there, it’s probably just her guilt projecting. Either way, his words piss me off.
Unfortunately, they also distract me and confound me. In the end, I lose.
It’s been years since I’ve lost. Years. Not days or weeks or even months.
As I rise to my feet, dazed at being knocked down and for longer than the count, I feel shock. No, shock doesn’t cover it. I can’t even express how this feels. Because it doesn’t feel like I’ve just lost a fight. It feels so much bigger than that.
After Zed has been given the six grand in the pot tonight, he steps up to me, a serious look on his face. “I heard you were good. Don’t think tonight was that great of an example of that though.” I glare. He won, I don’t need him to rub it in. “That stuff I was saying, it was all just talk. I’ve heard things. We all have. Doubt much of it’s true though since these assholes always want what they can’t have and love to try and take it.
“But you? I can see you have something going on and that’s why I was able to take this money tonight.” He drops his voice, looking off to the side. I follow his gaze and see Hayley approaching. I really don’t want to deal with her tonight. “Just a word of warning: watch yourself.”
He walks away, ignoring the smile on Hayley’s face as she looks at him. I wonder briefly what that’s about but don’t have time to dwell as she’s standing before me. “Oh Chace, I was rooting so hard for you.” Her small hand, nails painted a soft yellow to match her dress, reach out to caress my arm.
I try to ignore how strange it feels. How she’s not the one I want touching me right now, trying to offer comfort. I try to ignore it but I can’t. The part of me left in the past wishes Hayley was not the one standing next to me, offering me words of consolation. Because of that, I step away. “Thanks,” I tell her and start to walk away.
“See you next week!” she shouts at me as I continue walking on, my head down, my ego and heart as bruised as my body.
Once more, I don’t look back.
TWENTY-TWO
There’s no word from Cecelia that night.
There’s no word from Cecelia the following day.
There’s no word for everyday that follows.
I guess I thought she might try and speak to me. Or maybe I thought she’d try and fight for what we had a little harder. Apparently not only am I wrong on that account, but I am also wrong on who she really is.
I go to work. I perform my job. I come home and avoid Frankie’s questions and curiosity. It’s easier than actually trying to deal with what’s going on. Because I still don’t understand. I can’t make my head understand let alone try and get my heart to figure this whole mess out.
Friday night, I show up to the fight, and try to keep to myself. Of course that’s not possible. First Stretch comes up to me, telling me how he’d heard I’d lost last week and he thought it wasn’t true until more people started saying it. He’s trying to figure out what happened and I can’t give him anything because, yeah. Thankfully though, once he sees I’m not exactly feeling sociable, he leaves me be.
Unfortunately no one else really seems to get that message.
Several more guys come and try to talk. Some talk shit, about my fight, about Celia, while others try to find out what happened. With my fight. With Cecelia.
A few of the groupies approach, as though learning Celia didn’t show up to my fight last Saturday gave them the go-ahead to speak to me. It hasn’t. And I don’t even give them the opportunity to try and speak. But of course, one doesn’t let that affect her.
“Hey, Chace! Sucks about last week, huh?” Hayley comes up, her lips painted a glossy pink, her dress white with flowers all over it to match her lips.
“Yeah. Hopefully it was just a fluke.”
“Oh I’m sure it was. I’ve been watching you fight for a while now. And I’ve seen the other guys in action. You are definitely the best out of everyone. No matter where they’re from.” She is once again twirling a lock of hair around her finger and if offering me a sweet smile.
“Thanks. Look, I gotta go put my name in.” I point toward where Brees is waiting and give Hayley a friendly smile before walking toward him.
“Good to see you, Chace.” Brees holds out his bucket for me to place my name in. “Hope you have a better night tonight. Starting in five.”
After the five minutes pass, we all stand around waiting to see if our name is picked. I’m selected to fight against Arden. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m relieved. At least as far as first rounds go. Arden doesn’t talk shit to me. And if I’m distracted by the talk, especially after everything that’s happened, I won’t stand a chance. After losing last week, I need this chance.
“Chace, Arden, you two are up!” Brees calls. Jacko and Fife fought first. Jacko kicked Fife’s ass. It was a good fight. At least from the sounds I heard from the crowd it was. I didn’t watch. I was too busy trying to focus.
And now I’m up.
“All right you two, you know the rules. Make it clean. Make it fair. Let’s go!”
Arden and I trade punches left and right. He gets more good ones in than I do though. Before I know it, I’m exhausted, worn out and battered. All it takes is for Arden to deliver one last hit and I’m down. I’m down and rattled and bewildered to hear the count against me once again run down until I hear my opponent be declared the winner.
I don’t even make it past the first round. For the first time ever.
Even my first time fighting, I made it to the third round.
“Shit.” I shake my head trying to figure out what the hell happened. I can’t come up with anything though. Nothing makes sense.
I’m so baffled that I stay and watch the rest of the matches. Unsure as to what my failure was or how this could have occurred. So I watch Arden take the final round and while I should be happy for someone who isn’t a dick to me, I can’t get past losing. Especially how I did.
Ready to take my leave, I hear the guys talking about a party their having the following night. “You up for it?” Supposedly the guys who don’t get picked, or who fight and lose, they get together the following night if they don’t plan on watching the Saturday matches and have a party. I’d never known about it before because one, I always fought Saturday. And two, I was too interested in going home with Cecelia than hanging out with these guys.
“I’ll be there,” Hayley tells the group as she and some other groupies approach the guys.
I don’t know why I agree to it. I don’t know why I think it’s the right course of action. I hate parties. Every single one Frankie and Brock would have, I hid from them. And if I couldn’t hide, I had Celia there to keep me straight.
This time around, as I enter Jacko’s townhouse, I’m alone. And I know I have to watch myself. Booze is flowing. And just like at the fights, girls are dressed in barely there outfits as they hang off a willing guy.
I head to the kitchen hoping to find a red cup I can hide a soda in. Unfortunately there are none. Bottles upon bottles line the counter and there is nothing to mix with it. Everyone around me is drinking. Most look like they’ve been drinking for a while. I long to join in. I long to lose myself in liquor for even just a little while. But the last time I felt this way, I lost a fucking month.
I don’t even really speak to anyone, and so not even half an hour after arriving I just decide to head out. As I do though, I notice Hayley speaking with some painted up blond. She’s smiling at me, and offers me a little wave. I don’t know what to make of her so I just give her a quick smile in return before leaving.
The next several months pass the same way. Every Friday night my name is called, I lose. It doesn’t matter who I fight against. It
doesn’t matter how easy of an opponent they’d been to me before. Suddenly, I can’t win for trying. And I don’t see Saturday night at all since I’m lucky now if I make it past the first round.
So every Saturday, I go to one of the parties because I’m a masochist. And a fucking moron. I stand around with my red cup, hiding the fact I’m not drinking. Hiding the envy I feel at watching these guys I fight against, these guys who talk shit to me constantly, even still, months later, drink and get drunk. I’ve never wanted a drink more than I do now.
And it sucks. But I have to keep my wits about me. Rehab really does suck. I don’t want to go through it again because all of a sudden my life is not working out.
One thing that’s new is Hayley’s presence in my life. Though I’ve given her nothing more than friendly chats and a few smiles, she follows me around everywhere. I learn if I attend a party, she shows up too. If I skip one, she leaves early.
Currently, I’m leaning against a wall in the front room, Pepsi disguising my lack of hard drink, as Hayley spouts off some nonsense about one of her classmates who wants to have a baby but her boyfriend wants to break up with her and she doesn’t know if she should get pregnant anyhow. I feel like banging my head into a brick wall. I didn’t invite her over to talk to me. But then I didn’t want to be rude and tell her to get lost either.
“So I was like, Janet, you can’t have his baby unless you know he’s got some money in the bank because if you have a baby with someone like that he could stiff you and then where will you be? Fat, weighted down by some drool machine, and what kind of guy is going to want you then?”
“That’s really interesting,” I tell her only partially listening as I eye a bottle of Jack across the way. I can practically smell its aroma, and the way it’s calling to me. It would definitely be more appealing than this conversation.
“Yeah, so she decided to wait on the baby until she can find a guy who is worth more. It’s the only way to go.” Hayley giggles and I roll my eyes. She’s clearly drunk. Most of her thoughts have been rambling slurs. “Of course she could find a guy like you. The rebel and hot guy who beats everyone up and makes all the girls jealous cause you came with her. You may not have the greatest job, what do you do again?” Hayley knows nothing personal about me. Nothing beyond what she learns at the fights. I don’t have any intention of giving her more than that either. “Whatever, you make money fighting and I know you’d take care of your girl real good. You are so hot.” Another giggle. “I’m sure you know that, though.”
I’m jolted by her words. Not the ones about my looks. I can easily ignore those. I’m jolted by her other words. Jolted by memories of my girl and how I’ve lost her. How she lost me. It’s been months. And things aren’t really getting easier.
I’m jolted again when I feel warm, wet breath pressing near my neck, and then the feel of sloppy lips touching my skin. “Whoa there,” I say, backing away. Hayley sways slightly, her eyes closed and her lips puckered. “You need to lay down.”
“You can lay down with me.” Her eyes open and I think she’s trying to be seductive, but given the level of intoxication she appears to be under, she looks more like she’s sleepy than anything else.
“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass tonight.” I maneuver her to an open spot on one of the sofas and plop her down. I decide, given how my head is now full of thoughts I’m trying to avoid, that it’s probably best to head home. I know I probably shouldn’t leave Hayley alone and drunk, because who knows what could happen to her, so I search out for one of the groupies and let them know about her.
As I walk out the door, I can’t help but look once more at Hayley. She’s laying against a propped up arm on the sofa, the girl I found talking to others nearby. I don’t understand Hayley’s desire to be around me. But at least she isn’t trying to play me. At least she isn’t trying to screw me over. So even though I feel like her affection is all for nothing, I won’t fault her for being hopeful. For all intents and purposes, I’m single now. For the first time in years. Why wouldn’t she let her interest show?
TWENTY-THREE
I allow Hayley to hang off of me. In essence, in the eyes of the guys, she’s replaced Celia as my ‘go-to ho.’ I don’t correct anyone. Not anymore.
I try not to think about Cecelia Santos anymore, either.
It’s been nearly six months since I last saw her anyhow.
I have no idea how she’s doing, or more accurately, who she’s doing. I try not to care. I try a lot of things when it comes to Celia.
I hear mumbled thoughts occasionally, about someone who saw her with someone else. I hear how she always looks so completely wasted at the end of every shift because of the all the guys buying her drinks. I try not to let my concern for her come through, wondering why she let herself fall apart so badly. I mean she made her bed, and I want no part in the line of guys waiting to get into it anymore.
Though, I must admit, there is a part of me that wonders, questions. Is any of this actually true? Did she really play me like she did, or is all of this more elaborate lies? I’ve known her almost a decade, can a person really change so drastically?
One side fears the answer being yes. Our time together, our struggle and desire to help one another seems like a bitter memory now. But then again, the other side wars that if the answer is no, what have I done? And can it ever be fixed?
I can’t focus on that though. Because throughout all of this, not once has she tried to come see me, to explain what the hell everyone was talking about. Instead she’s kept her distance, avoided me at all costs. Kept her silence and allowed the rumours of her promiscuity to grow until they are their own life form.
Thank God the music blaring from the speakers in my apartment is so loud, I can’t really think anyhow.
Frankie decided last minute to throw a party. I’d lost last night, so once again, no Saturday night fight for me. I’m just thankful I still have a job and can bring home a check now that I’m not winning any money from fighting.
My roommate thought a party would cheer me up.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
“So, like, I’m supposed to complete my degree at Northwestern, right, but I told Daddy I wanted to take a break. Graduate school will still be there once I’ve lived a little.” Hayley is spouting off about how rigid her father is about her education. I want to bang my head against the wall. She has no idea what it means to have horrible parents. At least her father cares about her future.
Taking a sip of my coke – which I’ve allowed everyone to think has rum in it – I spot a familiar and yet, no longer familiar acquaintance passing through the living room. I don’t know if it’s my stare, the anger, irritation, unfortunate and misplaced longing, but she turns and looks my way. I watch, in confusion, as relief and then sadness passes over Cecelia’s face.
I can’t figure out what she has to be sad about. Unless it’s that she got caught. Her lies, her games, they all caught up with her. But something in my gut, something in my chest beats that I’m wrong. I ignore it.
I watch her eyes flicker to my left, and the sadness morphs into complete heartbreak. Just as this all happens, Hayley rises and plants her lips against mine, her hand roaming down my stomach to grip my cock.
I’m hard. I know it’s not because of Hayley, but because of Celia and that pisses me off. She has no right to make my body still react like this. And in that anger, I kiss Hayley back. I pull away just in time to see Celia dash away.
“I always knew you’d be a good kisser,” Hayley giggles against my ear.
I feel like a douche.
It doesn’t matter that Celia played me, hurt me. It’s been months. I should be able to look at her without feeling like this. Deciding I need to at least give us some closure, I tell Hayley I’ll be right back and go search for Celia.
I probably ask nearly everyone I pass if they’ve seen a girl, wearing flared jeans, a white t-shirt, with a high ponytail that has red streaks thro
ugh it. Some tell me no, while others say they did but don’t know where she went. I go to pull on my hair, but I’ve cut it, nearly buzzed off, since things with Celia fell south. So all I’m gripping is the ends. That irritates me. As does the fact I should be able to find one person in this small of a space.
Unless she left.
I hadn’t considered that possibility and it pisses me off and disappoints me.
Figuring my shot for closure is over, I head to my room. I want to get away from everything for a minute and having the temptation of liquor so in my face does not help.
Turning the handle, I realize I left my room unlocked, which I never do. And it’s apparent someone took advantage of the available room. As I open the door further, I hear moaning, and I realize how familiar it is. That’s when I notice who is in my room, on my bed.
I’m sure my jaw drops, my eyes bug out, and my heart falls from my chest.
In front of me, I see the last thing I would ever want to see.
“Oh yeah, you are so fucking hot.”
Her back is to me, the tattoo of falling leaves and scattered feathers ghosting around a fallen and broken angel visible in the low light, though I can see the outline of her front, and therefore I see the bounce of her bountiful breasts as Celia rides…my fucking roommate. Frankie’s hands wander across her chest, cupping her tits before coming to rest on her hips, guiding her movements as she continues to move up and down over his dick.
I feel sick. Completely sick at the sight in front of me.
My roommate. My… ex-girlfriend. Fucking. In my bed.
I’m so angry, I storm from the doorway, leaving the door open for every fucker to see the betrayal. I find Hayley as I reenter the kitchen. My head is screaming at me to forget that image. It’s screaming at me to grab the closest alcoholic beverage and lose myself in it.
How dare she fuck around on me – I mean how dare Frankie fuck Celia behind my…fuck! How dare the both of them. He should know, ‘bros before ho’s’ always. And her…this just proves all those people were obviously telling the truth.
The Bitter (Addiction #1) Page 17