We were so happy during those days we were holed up in my apartment. It was like a dream that I never wanted to end. Why couldn’t we have that for just a little while longer? Why did things have to change?
“If you’re not going to tell her then I will.” Ada picked up the phone with her hand and my chest tightened. A white hot ball of fury clenched tighter and tighter in my core. If Lorrie found out about my MS, things would never be the same.
“Don’t you fucking dare Ada!” I gripped the side of my hospital bed, knowing that once she set her mind to something, it was hard to stop her.
“What’s wrong with you Hunter? Someone needs to tell her!” Ada stared at me with accusing eyes.
“No! It’ll change everything!” I pounded the mattress pad with a fist, panic coursing through my veins.
“I’m going to tell her, you can’t stop me Hunter!” She started fiddling with the buttons on the phone and my panic shifted to horror.
“NO! SHE CAN’T SEE ME LIKE THIS!” I roared, reaching for my phone and violently snatching it from her hands.
Ada backed away as if I’d slapped her, eyes wide and frightened. I gazed at her harshly, sucking in deep shuddering breaths. “Please Ada. She can’t see me like this . . . not like this . . .” I breathed. This was my pain, mine alone to struggle with. I couldn’t share it with Lorrie yet. I blinked a few times, my eyes stinging with shame and took a deep breath to calm myself.
Lorrie wasn’t ready. No, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for things to change just yet.
Ada shook her head slowly, her expression shifting from shock to disgust. “Both of you are sick. You deserve each other.”
She took a seat in the corner, not saying another word until the doctor came in to discharge me. She put on a fake smile, but I could tell she was still fuming as we walked out of the hospital via the health center entrance on campus. I knew this was far from over.
A few hours ago
I wanted to vomit as I looked at Lorrie’s shaky handwriting on the note she left me. I had read it again and again, hoping the words would change, but they never did.
Ada was out of control when we ran into Lorrie outside the health center. I wanted to talk to Lorrie, try to fix things to how they were, but Ada was gonna tell her about me and things would never be the same again.
“Give me something, Hunter. Don’t leave me with just this.” I heard Lorrie desperately call after me. I wanted to talk to Lorrie in private. But I had to stop Ada first. I couldn’t let Ada tell Lorrie. Even if she didn’t tell Lorrie that day, she would tell Lorrie some other time and it’d ruin everything. So, like an asshole, I ran after Ada, instead of facing Lorrie.
After I convinced Ada to calm down, and she promised me she wouldn’t talk to Lorrie, I went straight to Lorrie’s room, hoping she’d be able to forgive me. She wasn’t there and neither was Daniela. A couple of girls were hanging around in the suite and told me that they hadn’t seen Lorrie in a while.
I pulled out my phone and called Lorrie. The phone didn’t even ring before going to voicemail. Fuck, she turned her phone off. I tried again. Still no luck. Why would she do that? Was she purposely trying to avoid me?
Damnit, I had to find her. I ran around frantically and checked all of her favorite sketching spots, but she wasn’t at any of them. After an hour of searching and repeatedly trying her phone, I was almost ready to quit, but then I thought of one last spot to look for her.
Feeling sick, I sprinted across campus. My knees were almost ready to give out when I got to the bridge over Lake Teewee. I saw that the frozen lake was undisturbed and intense relief washed over me.
She was probably out with Daniela somewhere, avoiding me.
I’d fucked it up big time. I should have let Ada go. I should have stayed and talked to Lorrie. She needed me, but I was too afraid to talk to her. Lorrie was right, I should have explained things to her, told her something at least. Now it was too late.
Not knowing what to do and desperate, I went over to the PKD house to talk to Gary. We drank and tried to put together the pieces. Soon we were wasted, no closer to coming up with a way to get my ass out of this mess. I passed out on his couch feeling worse than when I came.
It was only after I woke up hungover that I came back to my apartment and saw Lorrie’s note. It was already noon, Lorrie was probably long gone by now. She had come looking for me, she waited for me and she wanted to talk, but instead, I was fucking stupidly drinking away my pain with Gary.
Lorrie needed me but I wasn’t there for her. Something had happened and she needed me to be there for her, but I was too fucking selfish and afraid to come clean to her. Now she had gone to deal with her pain herself. I had lost my only chance to explain things, make things right with her. That killed the shit out of me.
As I stood in my kitchen and reread the note she’d left me, a cold sense of dread began to sink in.
Rampage nuzzled against my leg. The little guy didn’t know anything was wrong. Or maybe he did. I scooped him up and brought him to my face. His brown eyes looked at me curiously, maybe as confused as I was right now.
I set him down and watched him run off. What the fuck happened that she decided she needed to leave like that?
I exhaled and picked up my phone. Still nothing from her. I had called her a few times but it went straight to voicemail.
How did I keep messing up my life this badly? What was I thinking? I was so fucking selfish. I couldn’t see past my own self-pity to think that Lorrie needed me when I was in the hospital during the flare-up. I had fucked up again.
And now it was over.
I punched the kitchen cabinet door to the left of the sink. The door caved in, sending splinters and Cheerios from inside flying everywhere. My fist exploded in pain. Breathing hard, I flexed it to make sure nothing was broken. It hurt, but I was okay.
The kittens had scattered at the loud noise of my outburst, but they were now cautiously approaching the cereal and splinters on the floor. Seeing them brought me back to my senses. If I needed to blow off some steam, I should do it at the gym instead; I didn’t want to hurt the kittens.
They were reminders the time Lorrie and I had spent together. Looking at them had always made me happy but now it filled me with grief.
One hour ago
I kept my head down and brushed past the rest of the guys at the gym. They saw the look on my face and nobody tried to stop me to chat. I didn’t see Gary; he must’ve been sleeping off the hangover. I headed straight for the heavy bag and began to work it with my bare fists.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwackathwackathwack.
I wasn’t just punching the faded leather; I imagined punching my own face in. I deserved it. Lorrie was special and I fucked it up. I couldn’t help her and I couldn’t save her. I was too weak. Too stupid. Too selfish.
Thwackathwackathwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwackathwack.
Lorrie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Feeling dizzy, I tripped over my feet. I shot my gloves out and grabbed onto the bag before I could fall. I leaned heavily against the leather bag for a second before pushing it away and getting back up.
Fuck this disease.
I kept hitting the bag until sweat stung my eyes, my arms were sore, and my fists were angry and raw, but I still didn’t feel any better when I was done. It didn’t matter how hard I punched those bags, I’d never be able to take back the pain that I had caused Lorrie.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if I don’t find something solid in my life.
I bent over, breathing heavy, and leaned against the leather punching bag that had just taken all the punishment I could deal out. When I walked over to the water fountain to get some water, the other guys gave me plenty of space.
It was supposed to be me; I was supposed to be that solid thing in her life. I promised her that but I fucked it all up. What the hell was I going to do without her?
As I
headed back for another round with the bag, the gym doors swung open and Johnson, the fight coordinator at the Squirrel, came in with a clipboard in hand. I stopped for a second to see why he was there.
“Listen up guys! I know this is real short notice, but I’ve got a fight lined up in the next hour. So if any of you want a shot at Walter Morris, here’s your chance. I had him scheduled for a fight with Dan Evans, but Danny boy’s got the flu and canceled this morning.”
Walter Morris was one of the top fighters in the area. Six foot four, built like an ox. I’d never fought him before but I knew that I’d have a hard time with him even on my best days.
Johnson looked around the room at the other guys there. No one was volunteering. I didn’t blame them. One hour wasn’t really a lot of time to prepare to fight Morris. Taking a fight on such short notice against an opponent like that was a deathwish. But maybe I needed that right now.
Johnson was getting desperate. I only half heard him say, “Come on, if you win, I’ll double your winnings, you got my word.”
I couldn’t care less about the winnings but I needed to forget what I had done. I needed to feel that rush of being in the cage, hovering on the edge of violence and oblivion. I wanted the clarity of fighting for survival against a caged animal. I didn’t give a shit that this particular animal was going to be Walter Morris.
Lorrie was gone. She wasn’t coming back. I was supposed to help her heal, not be a source of her pain, but that’s exactly what I ended up being. I was pathetic. I didn’t deserve to be happy.
Then I decided.
I locked eyes with Johnson, and just gave him a tilt of my head. That was enough. Johnson knew what I wanted. Understanding flashed between our eyes and he nodded before turning and leaving the gym without another word.
Maybe I could win this fight, maybe I couldn’t. Walter was a hell of a lot more prepared than me, but I had one advantage. I’d lost the only person that made me give a damn about myself.
I had nothing to lose.
Chapter Twenty-nine
DAMAGED
Lorrie
It was Hunter.
A sharp pain knifed through my chest. He looked beyond exhausted. His chest heaved and his mouth hung wide open, gasping for breath. There was blood dripping down his face from one of the cuts on his right cheek and the bruise on his left eye was a stormy mix of gray and purple. It seemed to be getting darker and swelling bigger by the second.
A violent shiver ran through my body, and my mouth opened in horror. I’d never seen Hunter like this before. I’d never seen someone so broken.
Finally, the other fighter managed to push Hunter away. The two began circling each other again. Hunter’s hands were down by his stomach and his legs wobbled with the effort to remain standing. My heart squeezed in my throat as I watched him struggle.
Something was horribly wrong.
I watched Hunter stumble around the cage. My heart raced, almost ready to explode. There was no way he should be out there. This wasn’t the lightning quick Hunter that I first saw in the ring. Maybe he didn’t look like he was dying, but it was close.
“Hunter!” I screamed, desperate to do something but unsure what I could even do.
Tension knotting my muscles, I held my breath as Hunter’s opponent came forward and took a wild swing. Hunter narrowly ducked the punch and stumbled away without even trying to throw one himself.
Maybe he was just trying to make it to the end of this final round without getting knocked out. If he could just last that long, the fight would be over and he could get some badly needed medical attention. Maybe there was hope after all.
He dodged another punch, but this time tried to throw one himself. It missed, and his opponent countered with a punch to his ribs that landed with a loud thud. Hunter winced and backed away, circling around. I clenched my jaw nervously. Hunter moved in and out, but didn’t try to punch the other guy.
The crowd booed at his refusal to engage. Hunter responded by coming forward and trying another wild punch. It missed. His opponent tried to knock him out with a high kick and Hunter just barely got away. This time the crowd cheered. My head swam, dizzy with images of Hunter hurt or worse.
I couldn’t let this keep going on. Maybe if Hunter saw me he would stop trying to be a hero and just stay away from his opponent until this last round was over. It was clear Hunter was going to lose the fight. He didn’t need to keep trying for a lucky knockout and risk getting hurt himself. People might boo, but at least he wouldn’t get injured any worse than he already had. My pulse thundered in my head as I thought of what to do.
“Hunter! Just make it through the round!” I yelled. He gave no sign of hearing me.
I began to swim my way to the front of the crowd, squeezing myself into every opening I could find. There was some grumbling, but I kept pushing forward. I had to get him to see me. He needed to stop fighting.
There was a roar as I got to the front, just feet from the cage. I looked up at the action. Hunter was covering up his face as his opponent hit him with several punches. His opponent was so fast that Hunter could barely defend himself. A shiver of dread crept up my spine, suffocating me and rooting me to the spot. No, this couldn’t be happening!
“Hunter, no!” I cried. “It’s me, Lorrie! Stop fighting! Please, stop!”
His arms blocked most of the impact, then he hit his opponent with a left jab. The punch stunned his opponent momentarily, giving Hunter enough time to back away.
“You don’t have to do this!” I yelled.
Hunter let his hands fall and he looked around with his mostly open right eye. His gaze came to meet mine. Dim recognition flickered across his face as his opponent approached and wound up a right hook.
Hunter tried to dodge at the last second, but the punch landed right on his nose, crushing his face grotesquely with a sickening snap. His body went limp as the blow reverberated through his body. There was a half-second of silence as everyone in the room gasped at once.
My stomach dropped and I felt an intense pain in my chest. “NO!” I screamed, my hands in my hair.
Then the crowd exploded in screams and cheers. I stood stunned, watching Hunter hit the mat stiff as a board. The referee crouched over him and waved his hand over his head. Hunter continued to lay there motionless. His nose was bleeding badly and looked crooked. I couldn’t tell, but I was pretty sure it was broken.
I stared at the cage numbly, overwhelmed. My head seemed to float away. This didn’t feel real, but I couldn’t wake up. The bell was ringing and the other fighter was running around the cage with his arms raised. Hunter didn’t move except for the rise and fall of his chest. The referee hovered over him, concern etched on his goateed face.
I tore my eyes away from the scene in the cage, flooded with emotion. Hunter looked badly hurt. Could I have done something different? People were clapping around me, ecstatic at the knockout. They didn’t care at all about Hunter’s well-being. One figure stood out, stone-faced. He was the only one who looked the way I felt. It was Gary.
He stood by the cage’s entrance about ten feet away, looking in. Two medics rushed past him and into the cage with a stretcher. I watched them begin attending to Hunter and was gripped by sadness.
Time passed as I kept my eyes locked on his prone body, trying to grab ahold of reality. He still wouldn’t move.
“. . . fault,” a voice said.
I turned and saw it had come from Gary. He’d apparently walked over to me. His brows were angled sharply downward and his eyes were burning with anger. “What?” I asked.
“This is your fucking fault,” he spat.
“My fault?” I said, shocked by his accusation. “Are you nuts? How are you thinking about fault right now? Hunter’s hurt!”
He scoffed bitterly. “Trust me, I know. I’ve been playing this scene over and over in my head since I heard he took the fight. I rushed here to try and stop him but it was too late. I know what a wreck you made of him. For that and a
ton of other reasons, there’s no way he should’ve been in there just now. This is your fault!”
I shook my head, confused over why he would think I was the one who made Hunter a wreck. “I sat at his apartment for hours last night waiting to talk to him. It’s not my fault he never showed up. What’s wrong with Hunter, anyway? He didn’t look right in there at all.”
Before he could answer, a shout came from above us in the cage. “Make way,” a man’s voice yelled.
I turned and saw it was one of the medics helping Hunter. They had put him on a stretcher and were trying to get through the crowd to what I guessed would be an ambulance waiting at the front entrance to the bar. People were still packed in tightly, so they put the stretcher down at the top of the steps while one medic went to clear space. The other stayed behind and watched over Hunter.
I peered down at the stretcher and got a clear look at Hunter. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. His left eye was swollen nearly shut and his right wasn’t far behind. Bruises and cuts marred the area around his cheeks and eyes.
The worst was his nose. The medics had wiped away most of the blood and tried to clot it with gauze, but there was still plenty smeared around the lower half of his face. The way it was turned awkwardly to the left made it clear it was broken.
Tears formed in my eyes. Seeing the man I loved so horribly injured crushed my heart. “Hunter, I’m sorry,” I said, my vision a blur. “I’m sorry about this whole mess. I just wanted to see you one last time and talk to you. I’m sorry Hunter.”
His eyes fluttered open and he looked toward me unfocused. He opened his mouth slightly but no words came out. The small smile that crept onto his lips made me sick with sorrow.
“Dude,” Gary said unsteadily next to me, “are you with us? What’s your name?”
His eyes slid over toward Gary; they were badly dilated. “Hunter,” he slurred.
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