by LK Collins
“Thanks, Dad.” I know I look like crap, but it’s like it’d kill the man to give me a fuckin’ break every once in a while.
“What’s going on with you?”
“Do you really have to ask?” I shake my head, feeling like I am about to lose control. “I’m fucking dying inside, Dad.”
He walks outside and I put my sunglasses back on following him. He treats me like I’m a fucking kid when I’m almost thirty. I don’t need to take shit like this from him. “Krane—”
I cut him off, “If you’re gonna ream me, fucking save it.” I look off, waiting for his response.
“I’m concerned for you – you’re my only son and you’re not yourself right now. How long is this going to go on for? You’re angry, you’re drinking too much, and doing God only knows what else. What’s it gonna take to snap you out of this?”
My mind recalibrates – he really has no idea the impact of what losing Zoë has done to me. “If you lost Mom, how would you be after a few months?”
“A few months, Krane, it’s been almost six.”
“I asked you a question,” I bark back, since he’s evading answering. He ponders my question, blinking a few times. I can see the look in his eye, and it’s pissing me off. I need to leave before this escalates. I’m a loose fucking cannon, and if this goes further with him it won’t help a thing.
“That’s totally different.”
“The fuck it is,” I yell at him and walk off.
“Krane, wait!” he shouts, but I don’t look back.
If he can’t understand, then fuck him. I was with Zoë for years. She was my world, the only one who understood me. She stole my heart and tamed me when I was out of control. A lot like my mom did for my dad, so I thought he would understand, if anyone. But that’s not the fucking case.
“Can you be here in an hour?” Ling asks me.
I look around my empty apartment, like I have anything else to do. He knows I can be there whenever, so really the question is a moot point. Especially because fighting for him underground is my only source of income since I left the city and the life that Zoë and I had, where I was training every day with Logan. I used to have a plan to one day fight for a title, but that was before I lost it all.
“Yeah, the usual warehouse?”
“Yup.”
“See you soon.”
“Don’t you wanna know who you’re fighting?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I hang up and look through my clothes for a pair of shorts. Everything is in a pile, the clean and dirty clothes have become mixed and I kind of have a recollection of doing some laundry last night, walking to the dryer, I’m stoked there’s a clean load in it. Pulling out a pair of black ones, I toss them into my gym bag and then rummage through it to make sure I have everything else before I zip it up.
Opening the fridge, I grab a gallon of water from it and am thankful that I didn’t drink too much today. Heading out, I load everything into my truck and make the trip into Jersey. Since it’s illegal to fight in New York, I try to avoid it if I can. I don’t care much if I am in jail or not, but if I land there, I can’t drink, and that would probably force me to face a lot of demons that I’m just not ready to.
My phone rings and I answer it right as I begin to drive.
“Hello?” There is no response and I look at the screen. It’s Ivy. “Just breathe, girl.”
I hear her exhale and tell her, “Take your time; you know I’m not going anywhere.” I watch the lights of the other cars pass me by, her quiet sobs faint on the other end of the line. Ivy is really the only person I’ve been able to relate to since losing Zoë. We’ve both been crushed by the loss.
“I…” she trails off and cries harder.
“Breathe, Ivy.”
Deep sounds of air come through the phone and I know she’s trying. To distract her from what has her so upset, I say, “Close your eyes, let’s go somewhere together. What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Ivy, you can do this, take us somewhere.”
She’s quiet and then finally whispers, “The jungle.”
I chuckle at her, “Okay, the jungle, let me get there.”
She laughs a little, I assume knowing my male brain was probably thinking something else. “What do you see?”
She sniffles a few times, thankfully calming down and I know my distraction tactic worked. “The sun is bright, everything is so green and beautiful.”
“You always go to bright places,” I tease her.
“It’s better than some of the holes you’ve taken us to.”
I recall a few of these similar conversations and it’s true I have taken us down some dark roads. “So what’s bothering you, girl?” I ask now that I have her attention diverted, keeping my eyes on the road.
“I found a card I got for Zoë. I got it for her when she got her last promotion at work, but I never sent it to her because I was too busy caring only about myself.” She gets choked up. “God, Krane, I was such a terrible sister.”
“Stop, you were not. Zoë loved you. Yeah, you guys had grown apart a little, but you were traveling so much with work and she was busy with the transition into the city. Sometimes life interferes, but that doesn’t make you a terrible sister.”
“Thanks for saying that, but I can’t help but feel that way. It sucks that now I’ve figured out what’s important…and she’s gone.”
Hearing her words, I wish I could figure things out myself. “What do you think Zoë would say?” I ask Ivy, hoping that she can shine some clarity on things for herself.
“She’d tell you to let her go, to move on with your life, and be happy.”
“That wasn’t what I was asking.” She doesn’t say anything else so I ask her, “I meant what would she tell you?”
“That she loves me, and always will…no matter what!”
“See, Ivy, those words you speak, you have to believe them too.”
“I know…I just can’t let go of the regret.”
“You have to, for Zoë.”
“I try, but—”
I cut her off. “Then you need to try harder.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Good! Listen, I hate to run, but I’m fighting tonight and just pulled up,” I tell her.
“No worries, go. Thank you for calming me down. Stay safe.”
We get off the phone and Ivy’s words resound in my head, Let her go, move on, and be happy.
I don’t believe that is what Zoë would say, but it doesn’t matter what I think because she isn’t here to tell me otherwise. Getting out of my car, I walk up to the back of the industrial warehouse where one of Ling’s men watches the door. He nods his head at me and then opens it. I walk in, the sound of the crowd chanting and yelling echoes throughout the halls over another fight. Rounding the corner, I find my name on a paper taped to the door of the room that Ling usually has me change in.
He runs this place like a well-oiled machine. It’s as close to legitimate as any underground fighting association can be. Except everyone here places bets on the fighters, so it gets rowdy and crazy at times. Going into fights now, I’ve got a different mentality than I did when Zoë was standing by my side. Fighting has become a means of survival. A way to release the blocked aggression and rage that lives inside of me.
I’m not fighting for a future or a career as I once dreamed of. I’m fighting to kill my opponent, to unleash upon him what the universe refuses to bear. Getting dressed, I sit on the bench and begin to wrap my knuckles. As I look down at my hands, I stretch the white tape, and there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I call out and Ling pops his head in.
“What’s up, man?” he asks.
“Not much, just wrapping up,” I respond, raising my fist to him.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. I shake my head.
“Do you have someone to be in your corner?”
“Nah, but I’m good, it won’
t go past the first round.”
He laughs out loud. “You don’t even know who you’re fighting.”
“Told you, doesn’t matter.”
He nods his head. “Okay, I’ll have Bo stand by, in case it does go into the second round.”
I raise my chin in agreement as he leaves and finish up wrapping my hands. Looking down at them, they look pretty shitty. But this isn’t my forte; Logan always used to do it for me. But that’s all in the past; I turned my back on him and everyone else that helped me out to try and achieve my dream, the night I lost Zoë. Which is really for the best. They don’t need me bringing them down. Especially Logan – he’s got a bright future ahead of him and doesn’t need to waste it trying to help me. No one can help anymore.
Standing up, I stretch to get my body ready, then air box to get my heart racing. Two quick raps sound on the door and Bo pops his head in. “Ready, man?”
“Yeah.” I grab my jug of water from the floor and he takes it from me. Fucking Ling probably told him to stay in my corner the entire night. Regardless, the moment that bell dings, all I see is red.
Walking out, I keep my eyes on the cage and look for my opponent. Fighting is just as much mental as anything else. Once I see him, everything changes. I want nothing more than to rip his head off, demolish him in the ring, and make him feel some of the pain that I do.
The crowd cheers upon my entrance. I’ve fought for Ling a dozen times and he says that I bring in the most revenue. Doesn’t make much of a difference to me. The ref stops me before I enter the cage, checking my hands, to make sure they are wrapped properly. Then I show him my teeth to prove that I have a mouthpiece in, jogging in place, antsy, angry, needing to fight.
Once he gives me the go ahead, I run into the ring and right up to my opponent, catching him off guard as I tower over him and press my forehead against his, looking into his beady little eyes.
The ref pulls me away and the crowd cheers as I lunge back at him. But I’m stopped by a hand in the middle of my chest. I stand there waiting as we are both introduced and the rules are called. I feel like I am growling, waiting, like a beast is about to break out of me.
Then the bell sounds and I lunge at him again, swinging viciously. He ducks and bobs my hits; little fucker is quick. Backing away, I need to play this smart and keep myself in control. Using my footwork, I can hear Logan’s words as he used to yell at me when we would train together. Let up a little, make this guy feel safer. He weaves back and forth like a fucking boxer and I wait for him to attack. The crowd is screaming, and I notice he isn’t really picking up his feet. Kicking as hard as I can, I connect with both of his legs and bring him down.
The room echoes and I scamper on top of him, laying hit after hit. The sensation each impact sends through my system is fucking amazing. So exhilarating. But it’s fleeting relief from the pain and agony that is my life, because I know its release will end the second the fight does. His eye busts open, and blood pours from it. However, I don’t let up knowing the ref will call it soon and I only want to enjoy this moment.
So I stand, like I’m giving him the chance to get up…he blinks a few times clearing his vision as I take my elbow, throwing it down hard on his nose. Blood spews from it and the ref gets between us. I look back at him waving his arms as he calls the fight and then I walk off.
The crowd screams for me, but the satisfaction of the win is nothing. As I scan the crowd, I’m reminded that Zoë is not here and quickly my reality sinks in. The three minutes of fighting made me forget things briefly, but it’s just a band-aid like everything else in my life right now. It’s a temporary fix, but…all I have.
Sitting back on my couch, I look down at the half consumed bottle of tequila and Zoë’s engagement ring on the table in front of me. I run my hands over my face as I get up and head into the bathroom. Christ, I look like shit. Staring at my drunken reflection in the mirror, I turn on the water and splash some on my face before running it through my hair. I haven’t been sleeping for shit; the pain seems to never stop.
Heading back to the living room, I stare at Zoë’s ring and know I need to get out of here. If I sit here and stare at it any more, I’ll go fuckin’ crazy. It’s late enough, so Ling won’t be calling me to fight tonight. Grabbing my phone and wallet, I contemplate where to go. As I walk down the stairs and out of my building, I decide on the bar just down the street from here. With my hands in my pockets, I walk letting the cool air run through me.
Zoë and I used to go here before we moved to the city. I can remember walking this same route with her. Approaching the bar, it’s not that busy and then I notice the same red sports car with the dumbass FA5T license plate that cut me off the other day.
The wheels inside of my head start to spin – anything to take my mind off of Zoë I’m all about. Walking into the dimly lit establishment, Hazel, the usual bartender, notices me and smiles. I give her a wave and take a seat on one of the open bar stools. “What’s up?” she asks, passing me a Budweiser and then pouring me a shot of tequila.
“Not much, you?”
She spans her hand outwards towards the patrons scattered through the bar. “Just this,” she says. I drink to her comment, tipping my beer back at her as I set it down. “You doing okay?” she asks.
I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to talk about things, and raise the shot before knocking it back. She glares at me, and knowing Hazel isn’t one to drop things, I nod my head. “I’m doing okay.” She smiles at me. “Hey, do you know whose red flashy douchemobile is out front?”
She points to a group of guys playing pool in the corner. “I think it’s the one with the shaved head. I saw him pull up when I was coming in tonight.”
“Fucking prick cut me off the other day.”
“Sounds like him; he seems to be an asshole, making his girlfriend get his drinks all night.” I notice a girl sitting behind him texting on her phone.
“Is that her?” I ask, pointing.
“Yup.”
She has short black hair and looks miserable, poor girl. She takes a drink of a Bud Light and I turn back to Hazel. “Will you give me a Bud Light, please?”
“Fuck no,” she hollers, knowing what I’m up to. “I already covered for you last week.”
“I’ll take this one outside, I promise.” Hazel knew Zoë – we all went to school together – so on some level she can relate to what I’m going through as she lost her too. That’s why she accepts this fucked up drunken rut I’m in. She shakes her head not agreeing with me, but still hands me a Bud Light; I knew she couldn’t say no.
Getting up, I take my beer and the girl’s with me and walk right towards the douchebag’s miserable girlfriend. Plastering the best smirk on my face, I tip the beer towards her and she looks up at me caught off guard. “A real man would never make you get your own drink, sweetheart.”
She smiles at me and reaches for the beer. I give it to her and can sense eyes on the back of me. Holding true to my promise, I walk out the front door and head towards the dumbass’ red car.
“Where the fuck are you going?” a whiny male voice says from behind. I take a swig from my beer as I make the last few steps and turn around, hopping up onto the trunk of his stupid car. Watching him and his two friends look at me stunned.
“Get off my car, asshole.”
“Or what?” I challenge.
“Or I’ll make you.” He and his friends don’t look like they can do shit. I’d love to fight all three of them. I’d put a good ass beating on all of them at once.
Taking the last chug of my beer, I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, tapping the bottle on his car. “I’m waiting, motherfuckers.” I raise my eyebrows and can see that he’s about to snap.
He lunges towards me, and with the bottle gripped by the neck, I strike it over his head. The glass shatters with a loud, satisfying pop, and he falls to the ground, his two friends standing there frozen, looking at me. “Come on, bring it, you pussies!” I yell with ad
renaline pumping, but they back away and then his girlfriend comes running out panicked when she sees him on the ground. If he wasn’t knocked out cold, I’d lay into him, but looking at his face…he’s taking a nap, poor guy must have been tired.
I walk away and give Hazel a wave on the way back to my apartment as she stands at the entrance to the bar. She looks at me dumbfounded and just shakes her head. It’s time for me to get home. I don’t feel like dealing with the cops over this shit.
“Krane, you really need to be eating more,” my mom says as she fills my plate with a bountiful helping of eggs.
I look down at the yellow slimy mess and know she’s right. But I lose my appetite when the reason why I haven’t been eating much hits me.
“I’ve been eating, Mom, I promise.”
She puts the pan in the sink and looks at me, leaning over the breakfast bar. “Your dad told me you guys got into it. We’re both worried about you, baby.” I set my fork on the ceramic plate and look her in the eye. “You need to talk about what happened,” she pleads.
“What do you want me to say, Mom?” I ask her completely frustrated. “Zoë died in my arms and I couldn’t do a damn thing to save her. Without her, I don’t care about my life, bottom-fucking-line. I can’t just get over that like everyone else wants me to. Every time I close my eyes, I’m haunted by those visions.”
Tears gloss over my mom’s eyes. I haven’t spoken about what happened to Zoë except to the cops on the night that she passed. Revisiting the events breaks me and I’m about to lose control. Leaning into my mom, I kiss her forehead holding on to the back of her head and then flee her house.
I can’t do this.
She sobs as I leave her and I feel terrible, but there’s nothing more that can be said. I’m tired of other people telling me how to be, how to move on. This is my life and I’ll fuckin’ handle it the way that I need to. Driving home, I’m agitated, lost. My mind is haunted with horrific images of the worst day of my life, and somehow I end up at Ivy’s work.
