2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

ALEX

M onday’s self-defense classes felt pointless. I’ll probably quit that class and sign up for a personal one-on-one training instead. As long as I can fight someone, that’ll be good enough to keep me focused on this case. Plus, it would mean one less day of the awkward silence with Abby and Maggie. Hopefully I’m more capable of fighting in real life then I am in my dreams. I just don’t feel like my life is going to ever be the way it was before—I needed to get used to my “ new normal.” What a fucking joke. Like I've ever been any kind of normal— unless normal is a trainwreck, then maybe.

I turned the radio up in the car to try and drown out the noise in my head. I noticed the ambient mood lighting was also on the wrong color for today. Tuesday is red, but today is Wednesday. I swiped over, changing it to green. My mother’s color therapy was the only thing I felt I had left of what we’d shared. When I looked up at the road again, I had to jerk the wheel from veering off the road. I had to find some way to get my head together again.

The doctors wanted to put me back on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication rather than helping me get to the root of what’s wrong. I needed to figure out why I thought it was Roman that night when it was Tanner. Roman wasn’t even there. Those damn drugs the doctors prescribed did nothing but mask the problem and make me feel useless. They kept my head so foggy that I couldn’t think about anything, much less what happened that night. At least alcohol is readily available and doesn't require a prescription from a doctor. I can always name the bar in my apartment, “The Doctor’s Office.” That way, when people ask me if I’ve been to the doctor, I can say yes without lying.

I pulled into Bruce’s studio, noticing Abby’s car was already there, parked in its usual spot closest to the door. I know I’m going to have to talk to the girls at some point. I mean they are my best friends. I know they’ll bring up Roman and I just can’t deal with all those emotions. I also can’t handle the pity smiles the girls have whenever I see them. Time to pull myself together and face the music.

I grabbed my bag and climbed out of the car, leaning against Betty (aka: my car) for one more ounce of strength to get me through training. The girls were sitting on the bench changing shoes, giggling about something to each other. I smiled and waved. Just like always, the giggling stopped, and the phony smiles commenced. I turned away from the pity party, marching myself up to the desk to check in and talk to Bruce. I loved the smell of chalk and sweat that permeated the air in the studio. It kept my head fueled with what I needed to keep on task. I laid my hands and forehead down on the desk in front of Bruce, moaning at the thought of trying to have a pleasant conversation with the girls.

“Hey, Bruce.” The words came out more like a gust of wind than words, but I’m sure he got the gist of it.

“Hey fighter, what’s up?” He seemed busy, only looking up briefly, ignoring my dramatics.

“Can I talk to you after class about something?” I raised my head enough to look at him. I guess that got his attention because he stopped what he was doing, squinting his eyes, maybe wondering what I might be wanting to get into now.

“Of course, Is everything okay?”

No, but what else is new.

“Yeah, I just think Monday's class has run its course and I was hoping to try something else.” He nodded like he knew what I was thinking.

“Okay, we’ll talk later.”

I turned around, taking a deep breath as I tried to figure out how I was going to approach these two now.

I stood up straight, fixing my ponytail. I walked over to the girls like I was just fine, even skipped once before plopping myself onto the bench. I reached down to change my shoes, giving them the side-eye. I could see them trying to look at me, seemingly afraid that they might turn to stone, maybe, if they make eye contact. I pulled my laces tight, letting out the breath.

“See this is what I’ve been trying to avoid.” I gestured between the three of us. “The awkward silences. The ‘I’m so sorry’ sad eyes, the emotional hugs. The fucking pity.” I leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling hoping it would fall on me.

Maggie said, “Would it make you feel better if I called you Jerkface?” Abby shoved her, giving her a warning glance. I chuckled and that actually felt good.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I’d love it if you called me that. Why are you walking on eggshells around me?” I was still staring up at the ceiling with my arms draped down to my sides like the weight of the world rested on my shoulders.

Abby said, “You won’t talk to us.”

I let out a despondent breath. “Because I don’t like the topics you want to talk about.” Can’t we just let it go for a while, like forever?

“Don’t you think it would be healthy for you to discuss them?” Abby said with a look of total irritation. I was squinting at her from the corner of my eye, trying to understand where my friends were coming from. I just wanted all this to go away.

I laughed flippantly. “Clearly I don’t.” I threw my hands in the air, letting them slap down on my knees to bring a little life back into my arms and warm them up to punch the sandbag.

Maggie chimed in, “Fine, Jerkface, let’s go hit shit!” She was good at moving on from sensitive topics.

“Now that I’m willing to discuss.” I blurted out, nudging Abby a little with my shoulder.

I know they’re just trying to help and I’m sure I should probably be speaking to a professional but the only one I feel comfortable talking to is Dr. King. Since she’s also Roman’s mom, she’s currently not an option .

After class I fist bumped the girls on their way out and on my way to meet Bruce in his office.

I practically threw myself in the small black chair in front of his desk, letting out a sigh as I slumped down. I pulled the rest of the tape off my wrists while I sat there, balling it up in my hand, then pitching it to the trash can by the door. I smiled as it went in. Right now, I’ll take any small win I can.

Bruce got right to the point of the meeting. “Ok, so no more self-defense class. That’s fine, you could teach that class anyway. What can I do for you then?”

I pushed myself up in the chair and put my best business face on.

I matter-of-factly stated, “I want to learn MMA fighting. I want to train privately.”

He looked a little surprised.

“Are you planning to compete?”

That never even crossed my mind. I just wanted to be able to kick a certain someone’s ass. I quirked my eyebrow thinking of all the ways I could have defended myself that night if I had known something more— sooner.

“No, I just need to push myself right now.” I’m sure that was the better response.

“I understand that feeling. When football was over, I needed an outlet and fighting fit the bill. I didn’t have any underlying anger issues, though.” He looked thoughtfully at me, remembering the time I told him I felt really angry. “I did it strictly to keep my adrenaline pumping.” He continued, “Apparently I liked to beat myself up.”

Sounds about right. We laughed knowingly as I scanned his office. There were all kinds of pictures of him fighting and trophies he’d won. There was no dust in this office. All the trophies and photos looked to be regularly and professionally cleaned— you could tell. His pride in his accomplishments boosted my confidence in his ability to teach me to do anything I needed, as far as fighting goes.

“Well, we know I have all kinds of issues, but being physical like this helps keep the noise in my head quiet. Not to mention that physical pain mutes the mental and emotional shit. This is the only therapy I can handle right now.”

He seemed to truly get it, nodding his agreement— never trying to placate me. Suddenly the mood changed as he leaned back crossing his arms over his chest. I watched as his normal tough guy face turned to a more sympathetic one—the kind I hated. I grabbed the arm of the chair with both hands, squeezing till I was white knuckled, gearing up for whatever sympathy he was going to throw at me. The kind I was going to do my best to deflect.

“I get that. Can I talk to you for a minute about the court case coming up?” My stomach churned at the thought of seeing him in court.

Just breathe, Alex.

I hesitantly whispered, “Okay,” and tried to loosen my grip on the chair. Business mode was officially gone as I started to slink down in my seat again. I swallowed hard to push past the lump in my throat.

He kept the “I feel sorry for you” face and said, “I can only imagine you don’t like discussing this, but you know I’m going to be there and if Tanner doesn’t take a deal, I may have to testify. Look, I’m fine with that, but what I'm not fine with, is this right here." He waved his hand at me. "You look anything but fine right now and I want to make sure you’re fine in there.”

I had no idea how I was going to be any different in the courtroom. Bruce was the one who found me after Steve, the bartender from Sebastian’s, saw the attack on a monitor from the office. The bar was crazy and crowded that night. He called Bruce immediately— Bruce didn’t hesitate, thank God. He threw Tanner off me before he could do anymore damage. For that, I will be forever grateful. But I don’t know how he can help me be okay with the part where my mind is playing tricks on me. I’m so confused about Roman. Why did I think it was him?

I mumbled with my chin in my chest, shaking my head trying not to make eye contact, as I pushed the thoughts as far from my mind as I could. “I can’t answer that right now. I’m so angry. I want to rip his fucking head off.” That’s the kind of anxiety this topic gives rise to. My breathing was erratic, and my heart was starting to beat so hard I could hear it drumming in my ears. My grip on the chair returned.

“I know. I want to help you with that.” At least he didn’t tell me to calm down. Instead, he used his calm voice. He came around his desk, leaning against it in front of me. He reached down, gently nudging my chin up to focus my attention on him instead of the floor.

“How?” I spit out like he was my target instead of Tanner. He didn’t even flinch— he leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms.

“I’m going to train you, personally. It’s not just about fighting. It’s about control.” Bruce firmly gripped my shoulders and held my death stare to snap me out of whatever this hostility was that gripped me, bringing me back to the room. “Control over your mind and body.” The thought of having control again forced me to listen, and I blinked a few times— I felt like I had control of my mind again, suddenly. “By the time you get to that courtroom I want you to be ice cold. I don’t want that guy to think for one second that he broke you.”

Sounds like Bruce and I might be on the same wavelength . I took a few deep breaths to calm down before adding to the conversation. It’s not his fault this happened so taking it out on him wasn’t fair.

“Do you really think that’s possible for me?” I groaned, putting my hands over my face to hide the expression that I thought it might be impossible. He snorted, nudging my shoulder lightly and it still almost knocked me out of the chair.

“You’re the most determined and motivated person we’ve had in this place in a long time. Some of our pro fighters have asked if you were going to go pro.”

I couldn’t help but crack up laughing as I doubled over wondering how he'd feel knowing what my determination was. He laughed with me, patting me on the back to bring me out of my hysterics.

“Finally, something I’m good at.” I felt like fighting was the only thing right now that was really me and the only thing that was going to help me get through this.

He quit laughing, shaking his head. Maybe he didn't think I was even good at that.

“I seriously doubt that’s true.”

“Well, I guess we'll see. Okay, so when do we get started?” I clapped my hands, mustering up some enthusiasm. If I hadn’t felt like I got run over by a truck, I’d be ready to go right now. The ache in my back and shoulders was encouraging me to take a hot shower and drink a bottle of wine. There's a bottle of cab waiting patiently on the kitchen counter, as a matter of fact.

Bruce stood up, walking back around to the other side of his desk. “Can you do Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays?” he asked, while looking down at the desktop calendar.

“Hmm, let me check my schedule,” I pretended to flip through a non-existent planner “…ha ha, just kidding. I’m free every day. I’ll be there.” Thank God I have this to fill my time. Being unemployed is not something I’m good at. I’ve worked since I was fifteen years old. Without a job or these classes, I’d probably drink everyday all day long. Maybe that’s what happened to my mom.

He chuckled. “Great, let’s start this Thursday. Are you still going to take the kickboxing classes?” I stared at my hand picking at the hem of my shorts while I thought about the answer to that.

“Yeah, I still like seeing the girls. I’m trying to ease back into our relationship. So much changed before all the crazy shit, and I still haven’t processed how fast it all came crashing down. Shit was good. Then it wasn’t.” I cocked my head without looking at him, staring aimlessly at a picture on the wall. It was of Bruce all bruised and battered after a fight, holding a championship belt.

“Been there too. Look, for what it’s worth, you’re doing damn good considering everything that’s happened, and if you need someone who’s not emotionally attached to the situation to talk to, I’m here for you. I find it easier to have those sessions while punching stuff.” I looked back at Bruce, giggling at the thought of him as my therapist. I figured I’d taken up enough of his time and he was starting to get mushy. I hated that shit and I wasn’t ready to discuss my reasoning for this with anyone just yet, if ever.

“I may take you up on that.” I gave him two thumbs up. “I appreciate all your help and your friendship, Bruce. I’m not expecting you to take it easy on me either in these training sessions.”

It was best to keep him focused on keeping me on task even though he has no idea what that is.

“Oh hell no. I’m not letting a woman kick my ass!”

That’s what I’m talking about.

“You may not have a choice.” I winked with a devious little smirk on my face.

We said goodbye and I felt much better. That was exactly what I needed today. I climbed into my SUV, crossing my forearms over the steering wheel, laying my head on them—exhausted mentally and physically. I stayed that way contemplating my next move. This may be exactly what could help work out my issues with Roman. I took a couple of deep breaths, deciding to have a three-way call with the girls on the ride home. It might be time to get back to attending our Sunday brunches.