“Right…” He clicks his tongue, and then his eyes get wide like he remembers something life-changing. “Did you see who dropped me off?”
“No…” I narrow my eyes skeptically. “Why? Who dropped you off?”
His face falls a little, and he lets my hand go. “No one important.”
“Grey…” I didn’t need to know before, but now I do. Whoever it is must be bad. Maybe a gang member he once knew…? The thought sends a chill down my spine. I don’t want him connected with any vile association ever again. The last one ended with me on a ventilator.
“Trust me, it’s no one,” he says, and I groan. “Stop whining. How about you stay in today? We can order some take out, watch movies on the couch?” he suggests with a small smile.
I push away the nagging prick in my stomach. “I’d love to…but I can’t.”
“Of course you can’t.” He rolls his eyes and suddenly pushes past me, toward the elevator.
“Grey, I’m sorry. But you know I have the pro—”
“The fucking program, I know! That and fucking school are all you fucking care about anymore!” he accuses as he slams his hand on the button. I gasp and listen to the distinct grinding gears as the elevator works its way up to our apartment.
“I care about you, Grey!” How dare he say I don’t care about him? He is all I care about. I care so much I am trying my best not to succumb to the darkness constantly tugging at me, to be strong for him. He barely made it when I was in the hospital, tube in my chest and a forced smile on my face. Even then I pulled through, for him!
“Sure you do.” He nods sarcastically.
He’s leaving. Where is he going?
“W-where are you going? You’re hungover,” I stammer.
“Doesn’t fucking matter, does it? You’re going out to your new, wonderful life, without me in it.”
What is he talking about?
“Please, don’t go. You’re not well.”
“Have fun at work, Liv,” he says before getting in the elevator and letting it close.
Tears bunch up in my eyes, and I wait for the pain in my chest to subside, but it doesn’t. My chest caves in on itself, and rage and tears pour through me and take my breath away. I could not tell him or show him any more without running myself dry how much I care for him. I try and try and try my best for him, all the fucking time, but it isn’t enough. It is never enough! And I’m sick, literally. And so, so tired. It can all just be very overwhelming.
A racking cough rips through my throat, but I ignore it as I pick up his unfinished toast and cup of juice. I don’t think twice as I throw them both in the sink. Millions of glass shards explode, and one cuts my hand. I ignore the sharp sting and grip the sink’s edge, hard, trying to catch my stammering breath. I feel hot, way too hot. Like I am sitting on fire. And it is burning through me as it climbs to the back of my throat. I try to swallow, to extinguish the raging fire, but it does absolutely nothing.
“Calm down, calm down, calm down…” I mutter over and over again. My rushed voice echoes in my brain, making me see double.
Healthy, I am healthy. I am not coughing up blood. I am not seeing guns in the hands of every person I see. I am not experiencing night terrors and vomiting, away from Grey, away from doctor’s prying eyes. I am…okay. I am…all right.
“I’m okay,” I breathe lightly, drilling the false statement in my brain until I feel woozy. I swallow a thick dollop of fire and exhale heavily, feeling my body go rigid. “I am…okay.” I close my eyes and take solid, deep, long breaths. Each longer than the last.
Finally, I open my eyes and begin to clean up the mess I made. Shard after bloody shard. Too bad I can’t clean up the mess inside of me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grey
Do you know what really sucks about being bipolar? The voices in my head. No, I am not fucking crazy. I just have voices, distinct fucking voices in my head, that are always nagging me at my absolute worst. A fucking symptom of having your brain so messed up, so…irreparable. And it isn’t like I can just pick up a remote and switch them off. They are there all the time, screaming and trying to convince me to do things and just fucking there. Whenever the voices get too chatty, I like to bash someone’s head in. It may or may not be a little driving force for my fighting.
And boy, are they fucking chatty right now.
They can be so fucking annoying. I try my best to block them out as I throw my fists at Steve’s head. He blocks and forces me to work on my foot work, moving quickly and keeping steady. I nod and act like I can hear him, and only him, as he speaks to me. If he knew what was going on in my head right now, he’d think I was fucking crazy. I’m not, though.
I don’t have time to fuck around or let some illness take over my life. The fight is in just a few weeks, AKA the biggest fucking fight of my life. If I lose or get my ass beaten on live television, I’d have to move to fucking Pluto. And I don’t give a shit if it isn’t a planet. It’s away from Earth, right? I just…that fight determines whether I am in the league or not. The same league I have literally dreamed about being a part of since I was a little boy. So I coach myself to ignore the fucking words that are getting in my way. Even when they seem to be too much.
You should have went back to her.
You’re being stupid.
She loves you, and you love her.
Why are you being such an ass?
Images of Liv looking so hurt because of me before those elevator doors close causes my breath to hitch. The look of gut-wrenching pain and hesitance in her eyes makes a ball of uneasiness form in the pit of my stomach. I stagger a bit on my feet and almost get caught off guard. I hold my ground and block off her big blue eyes, filled with tears. She pushed me away. She has for a long while now. Why would she feel upset? She has her new, exciting life now. I have to focus on my life now.
I just curse myself for not seeing this coming. I mean, look at her, then look at me. She is so perfect, organized, beautiful, kind-hearted, and not for me. I am everything opposite of her. Rude, cruel, violent, fucking insane…I am no good for her. But I forgot to mention, I’m fucking selfish. Meaning, I will never let go of her because I love her too damn much. But she is meant for greater things. I just so happen to not be one of those greater things.
You don’t deserve her, the damn bastard sing-songs.
“I know, I know.” I am frozen as I agree with the voice.
“Hey, you all right?” Steve asks as he taps my chest with his gloves.
“I’m done for the day,” I tell him in a shaky voice as I hastily unstrap my gloves. I drop them to the mat and quickly slide out of the ring.
“Where the fuck are you going? We aren’t done!” he calls out.
I ignore him and run out of the gym, ignoring the weird stares. The sun nearly fucking blinds me as I step out. It nearly blinds me in remembrance that I am hungover my fucking mind. But it won’t matter for too long, because I’m going back to that bar and getting a drink, or two, or fucking twelve. Plus, I have to get my car back. It’s still in the damn lot. And I just need to get rid of these stupid voices and relax. I am too manic; I’m on the edge of having another episode. And man, are they a bitch to cope with.
I take a cab to the place, which was more expensive than I would have liked. Though the bar is in the downtown area, so it’s understandable. Still utterly fucked up. But oh damn well. I am about to be awarded accordingly.
“Ah, my favorite drinker is back,” Red greets me, and I hide a smile as I sit at the bar. “Being more of a fuck-up than usual?”
“You need to shut the fuck up and serve me.” I smirk at her, and she wags a finger at me playfully.
“You have one more time to disrespect me,” she says jokingly as she fills up a shot glass with my drink, a neat Bourbon.
“Or what?” I tease, and she cocks her head to the side.
“Might not want to flirt with me or my super-hot boyfriend will beat your ass. Might dress you in khakis
first, but at least he’d do something, you know?” she says.
“Not flirting, one,” I point out, finger raised. “And two…my girl would do the exact same thing.”
“Wow, twinzies!” she exclaims, and I burst into laughter. “Oh, and to be honest, he and I aren’t a thing. At least, not really…” She trails, face contorting as her mind flies elsewhere. I know that look. It’s the look of complications when all you want is to just fuck her and kiss the hell out of her face and tell her you love her without any fucking obstacles. Or at least something I went through, but I could totally be wrong about what she’s going through…
“Don’t get sappy on me now.” I pull her out of her thoughts, and she half-smiles at me, that ghost look still in her eyes. I knock back the strong liquor and tap the glass against the counter. “Come on and do your job.”
“Fuck you,” she spits, giving me the evil eye while pouring the drink in my glass. I smirk at her, and she narrows her eyes.
“Why thank you, barkeep.”
“Don’t you have a job? It’s the fucking afternoon.”
I smile. “I go in at night.”
“What are you? A stripper?” she scoffs.
“MMA fighter,” I say with a little chuckle. She’s fucking hilarious…not.
“Don’t look like a fighter,” she says, head tilted as she wipes down the bar.
I simply sit back on my stool and lift my shirt up. “Look like one now?” I question with a raised brow. Her brilliant blue eyes take in my bruised and tatted chest. She shrugs and looks to the counter like I don’t impress her.
“I knew the moment I saw you,” she huffs.
“So why’d you doubt I was a fighter?” I ask, letting my black shirt fall and leaning forward again.
She shrugs, lips pouty. “I like fucking with people. It’s my thing.”
I smirk and roll my eyes. “I’d say it’s mean, but fucking same.”
She laughs, and I smile. However, she stops laughing and her smile is replaced by a scowl when one of her early bird drunk customers demands she fill up his glass.
“Hold on, I gotta go deal with something.” She smiles sweetly.
“Sure.” I nod.
I sip on my drink and almost choke when she grabs a bat from under the counter and points it at the screwy-looking man, warning him to not talk to her that way. The girl’s fucking insane, but extremely bad-ass and pretty damn cool. Knowing this leaves me to wonder: how the fuck did her complicated, khaki-wearing boyfriend get a girl like her? The questions lingers for a while until I remember I got my khaki-lover girl and look at me. I’m pretty fucking bad-ass too. Maybe even more than Red. I glance over at her seething curses in the shaking man’s face and hold back a laugh. Okay, maybe not that bad-ass.
I am brought out of my thoughts of the bad-ass blonde named Red when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I down the last of the strong Bourbon, tap the glass to signal said bartender, and grab my phone. My stomach ties into an impossible knot when I unlock the screen.
Olivia: How are you doing?
Grey: Fine.
Olivia: That’s good.
I can see her sad smile.
Want to grab lunch??
I hesitate, thumbs hovering over the screen.
Just say you’re sorry, the fucking voice comes back. Tell her you miss her…
Grey: Busy. Won’t be back ‘til late.
I’m such a fucking—
“You’re an asshole.” Red’s voice startles me.
“Jesus fuck.” I lean back, and she smirks up at me. I didn’t even notice her come back.
“Didn’t mean to scare you, Gramps,” she jokes, standing up straight with her hands drawn up defensively.
I roll my eyes. “Did you just read my phone?”
“Maybe.” She crosses her arms. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”
I just roll my eyes and stare at the screen as Liv types back. The three dots appear…then disappear. Then they appear again…and then they’re gone. I groan and am about to smash the screen, until a message finally fucking pops up after an eternity of suffering in anticipation.
Olivia: K.
“K?” I roar.
Red grabs my phone before I can even do anything and laughs at the screen. “Damn, girl is bad-ass. She could have at least given you an O…fucking love her. What’s her name?” She turns the screen at me, lips slanted in a wicked smirk. “‘Cause I know it damn well isn’t princesa with a bunch of girly hearts and flowers and shit.”
Red as a tomato—fuck that metaphor—I grab my phone back.
“Fuck you,” I spit, but she just laughs. My eyes roll. “And her name is Liv, short for Olivia.”
“Sounds like a sweet girl,” she says, laughter subsiding.
“She is,” I sigh.
Red eyes me. “Then why the fuck are you being an asshole to her?”
“Because…” I bite my tongue and shake my head. “I’m not.” I sip on my liquor. I don’t really know this girl. So I shouldn’t have to tell her everything. I mean, she’s nothing to me, and I’m not a fucking pansy who just talks about his feelings all willy nilly.
She grabs my drink, and I growl, but she just rolls her eyes. “Don’t be an ass to her. Because if you continue to be one, I will not hesitate to kick your ass back to whatever Spanish country you’re from.”
“How do you know I’m—?”
“Puedo oírlo en tu voz, tonto mierda,” she slithers. (I can hear it in your voice, dumb fuck.)
I squint my eyes. “You’re Hispanic?”
She shrugs. “My grandma married a Cuban. He taught me the language and culture ever since I was five years old,” she explains. “Now, don’t try to change the subject. Stop being an ass!”
“I could really use another drink—” the man at the other end of the bar begins.
“Shut the fuck up, Kevin!” Red bangs her fist on the counter, making even me jump a little. Her piercing blue eyes return to my darker ones. “And you text that sweet girl an apology. Promise to take her out on a date, maybe to a yogurt shop or some bullshit.” She hands me my phone. I normally don’t take shit from anyone, but damn, this girl is quite the fucking intimidator. I wonder: is this what people feel when I act like she is right now? Eh, probably not.
“Fine,” I grumble and roll my eyes.
She smiles victoriously. “Shoulda been a cop. I would have been so bad-ass at getting the fuckers to fess up.” She sighs. “Too bad I don’t fuck with the pigs.” She shrugs and goes to attend to Kevin.
***
Some hours later, I arrive home, exhausted and in desperate need of sleep. And Liv. Always Liv. I spent about two hours talking with Red and drinking and thinking about my distant girl before heading back to the gym and spending the rest of my day there. Fighting and belting out my anger and frustration and confusion and tuning out the fucking voices that just wouldn’t stop talking. But now, it’s radio silence up there in my head, and all I want to do at the moment is take a bath with my girl and get some shut eye.
I am so tired when I get off the elevator and step into the apartment, I almost think I am seeing shit. In the fucking living room one the couch, laughing, is Liv…and fucking nerd, coworker Malcolm.
“The fuck is this?” I bark, and she gasps her little gasp before whipping around and staring up at me with big, wide, scared eyes.
Yeah, you better be fucking scared.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Liv
I expected him to come back up. I cleaned up the mess of blood and shattered glass in the sink, then sat in front of the elevator. I just sat there, cross-legged, blood rapidly seeping through some wadded-up paper towels, mind gushing with manic thoughts. The doctors said I would experience all these negative kinds of moods, like irritability and hostility, but I never imagined it to be like this. This…this gut-wrenching, soul-sucking feeling of nothingness that consumes me with dread and darkness and red and black and everything in between. It nearly broke me down. And
he didn’t come back.
Why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t that elevator pry open the stupid chipped blue doors, revealing a disheveled and apologetic Grey? I should have just admitted to pushing him away, but what good would that do? He’d ask why, and I will never be ready to tell him the reason. So I let the closed doors fill every inch of my mind, then washed away the evidence of my deteriorating mind.
I sat there, covered in blood and growing faint for what felt like forever, until my eyes landed on the clock on the wall beside me. I had forty minutes to get ready or I’d be late for the program. That, of all things, snapped me out of my little breakdown, and I pushed to my feet, ignored the instability, and got in the shower. The reddish-pink water running by my feet as I scrubbed my body raw didn’t incite panic or fear. I just felt so numb. I got dressed in a purple silk blouse and pencil skirt. Even wore a pair of stilettos, flats be damned. I’d feel some pain, get some spark of life in me while forcing normalcy and beyond.
The moment I walked through the building doors, I plastered on a smile that would stay on my face the entire day. I felt like I was trapped on the inside as an imposter took over my body. She laughed as Lily and William fought their usual banter. She smiled as she passed Matthew in the hallways. She didn’t feel shifty as Garrett called her into his office to boast about the program in New York and made jokes and beamed at her. All I could do was sit, curled up, and watch everything unfurl before my weak eyes.
“Knock, knock.” A male voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I look up from the keyboard and glance over at Matthew, who has half his body wedged in the door. “Oh, hey. Come in.” I gesture for him to enter and look at the computer. Gibberish. Utter and complete gibberish. And I’ve been typing for an hour. I erase it all away before he sits in one of the leather seats in front of me. I face him with one of her smiles. “What’s up?”
Grey: New Beginnings (Spectrum Series Book 5) Page 14