Released

by Shay Savage

  “You could.”

  “I don’t take handouts like that. Never have.”

  “Well, I’m just telling you that you could,” he repeated. “Don’t forget about food stamps and WIC, too. Tria is going to need that kind of help while she’s pregnant and after the baby is born.”

  I started tapping my fingers uncontrollably against the edge of the bed. I hadn’t thought about assistance for that particular reason. Tria needed to be as healthy as possible so she…she…so nothing happened to her. The baby would need more shit than I was going to be able to give it on a fighter’s under-the-table pay.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  “Think about it,” Baynor said. “I’m going to give you a couple of prescriptions to try out as well. I have some samples that should keep you going awhile.”

  “What are they? I asked.

  “One is to help with withdrawal symptoms,” he informed me. “I don’t want to give you anything too strong, because even though your relapse was relatively short, you’re still in a precarious position. I’m giving you a prescription for anti-anxiety as well. I don’t have any samples, but you can get this one in generic form for about five dollars at that clinic a few blocks from your apartment. That should help keep you stable as well.”

  “I’m not going to fuck up again,” I told him. “I can’t.”

  “I know you feel that way right now,” Baynor said with a nod, “but when you are back home and trying to determine how you are going to cope with all of this, you may feel differently. These can help you get over the rough spots, but I want you to call me each time before taking one. At least until we get you set up with the therapist.”

  I agreed to do as he said because I knew that was what I had to do.

  *****

  Walking back into my apartment felt weird. Once I got there and opened the door, it was even worse than I thought it would be.

  Aside from the obvious emptiness of the whole place without Tria’s stuff and her presence, it was still totally destroyed. Apparently, even after throwing shit around when I realized she was gone, I had further trashed the place during my heroin binge.

  I had to step carefully through the mess. There was so much stuff lying around, I figured my jacket and other stuff I brought back from the hospital wasn’t going to make it any worse, so I dumped them in the living room and just made me way to bed.

  Stripping down to my boxers, I dropped the clothes on the floor and fell into the bed. Even though I had basically spent the last couple of days doing nothing but sitting in a hospital room and talking, I felt like I had been at the gym constantly. My head ached, my muscles ached, and I felt like someone had shoved a bunch of nails into my guts.

  Reaching out, I grabbed Tria’s pillow and pulled it close to me. Her scent had vanished, but the pillow was better than nothing. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep a little. I was going to have to work in a few hours, but sleep wouldn’t come. I tucked my face against the pillow, but it wasn’t the same as tucking my face into her shoulder or her hair.

  I squeezed hard, holding the pillow against my chest as tightly as I could, but it just didn’t help. Even with the slight reminder of her presence, it wasn’t helping me sleep in the least.

  I needed her there—her presence, her warmth.

  Shoving the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, I growled in frustration before shoving myself up and out of the bed. I stomped into the living room and grabbed my cigarettes. Deciding I just didn’t give a shit, I flopped down in the middle of the floor and lit up. I tried not to think, but it just didn’t work. There were so many different pitfalls in front of me, I knew there was no way I could manage to avoid them all. I was going to fall, and there wasn’t anyone around to catch me.

  As much as I wanted to blame someone else—hell, anyone else—for that fact, I knew who was really at fault. I didn’t even need to go find a mirror. Yolanda had picked me up too many times in the past, and she had made it pretty damn clear after the last time that it wasn’t going to happen again. Yeah, that had been years ago, but she wasn’t one to go back on her word.

  Not like I had.

  That was one of the things that drove Tria away. I ran out on her, which I said I wouldn’t do, and I scared her. I scared her at the time when she needed me the absolute most. She needed me, and I just walked away from her.

  No, I didn’t just walk away—I threw a fucking table first.

  I wiped tears from my face. I hadn’t realized I had been crying.

  In my mind, I could see her face. The details of how she looked when I went ballistic about the news were far clearer than they had been at the time. Her wide eyes, the tears streaming down her face, and the way she jumped back—her hands instinctively covering her stomach—all showed me what a complete and total asshole I had been.

  I was so fucked.

  I didn’t have enough money for rent.

  Even after the short relapse, I was still feeling a lot of withdrawal symptoms, both physically and mentally.

  I had no trainer.

  My head was a fucking mess.

  Tria was gone.

  I only really cared about the last one.

  Lying on my back, I stared at the ceiling above me and tried contemplating nothing. There was absolutely nothing interesting there on the ceiling, but I continued to stare anyway. After a few minutes, my head lolled to one side, and I stared across the floor instead. There was a little cup turned over on its side about a foot from my hand. I reached over, grabbed it, and tossed the cigarette butt into it. There was a hissing sound as it went out along with the slight scent of burning plastic.

  On the other side of the cup was the paper sack with the blank book in it. For the sake of something to do, I reached over and pulled it closer. I traced over the fabric cover until I reached the edge. I opened it up and stared at the first empty page.

  It stared back at me.

  It didn’t take too much looking around on the floor before I found a pen. I tried not to think about how it was probably the one Tria had used recently to work out some statistics for her latest project with Elissa. I placed the pointy end on the paper and stared at it for a minute before I started to write.

  I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with this.

  I sat back a bit and looked at the first line. For some reason, it made me laugh a little.

  “What a fucking mess you are,” I mumbled as I rolled over to my side. I stared at the single sentence a moment longer before tossing the book back to the floor and flinging the pen against the wall.

  Amongst the crap all over the floor and the busted coffee table, there was a tube of some sort. I shuffled over a little closer until I could reach it. It was one of the giant tubes of hand lotion Tria always kept in her ridiculous purse, and I had to assume it just fell out when she was leaving. She never would have missed it; she had at least a gross of them in there.

  Rolling to my back, I held the tube up in front of my face and flipped it around a couple of times. I twisted the lid off and sniffed at it. It wasn’t scented, though, so it didn’t smell like her. I rolled back to my side and let it drop back to the ground.

  I looked at my jacket, which was lying on the floor in the same spot it had always been before Tria lived with me and made me hang it up. A little knot formed in my stomach again, and I rolled over to the other side so I wasn’t looking at the jacket anymore, but I had a nice view of the bottom part of the couch.

  “Fucking pathetic.”

  My body was totally worn out, but my mind wouldn’t stop. My eyes burned. I didn’t think I had cried this much since…well, maybe ever. I just needed to sleep. If I could get a few hours, maybe I’d be able to do something with myself.

  Maybe a good jerk-off would help. It used to help me get to sleep during occasional insomnia attacks. I didn’t feel particularly horny, though. I never did when I was coming down from H.

  I noticed the porn mag I had torn up to crush the rock, and
I reached out for it. It was from the previous March—more than a year ago—and had been hanging out under the couch since the summer. It was kind of dusty around the cover, but when I flipped through it, the pages were all okay. Well, except for the one I tore out.

  All the chicks had really big tits.

  Well, except for one, but she was blonde and really hot.

  Still, I flipped through pages with my hand down my sweats, but the moody little bastard had become a lot pickier since Tria came around. He wouldn’t even tease me with a little twitch. I ended up tearing the mag in two and throwing it across the room.

  Of course, that just added to the already disastrous mess in the apartment.

  I let out a big sigh, shoved myself from the floor, and started picking up the shredded paper. I shoved it all in the kitchen garbage and then came back to the couch to grab the rest of the porn magazines and tossed them out as well. The garbage was pretty full, so I hauled it to the dumpster outside and then replaced the paper grocery sack as a liner inside the can.

  I looked back to the living room, sighed, and started filling the can back up again with all the trash lying around on the floor. Once that was done, I flipped the coffee table over and surveyed the damage.

  The place was pretty much a wreck. The landlord was not going to be happy about it at all. The coffee table went with the apartment, and though it was still useable, one of the legs was broken. I positioned it so the table didn’t fall over, but if anyone ran into it or tried to move it, the leg would fall off again. If I ever moved out, the landlord would definitely use that as an excuse to keep the deposit.

  Starting with the living room, I picked up all the shit on the floor and either threw it out or put it away somewhere. I washed the dishes in the kitchen, wiped down the bathroom surfaces, and stacked all my dirty laundry into a slightly neater pile.

  Tria hadn’t taken her vacuum with her, so I used it over all the carpets as I tried to keep my mind from imagining her doing the same thing every Sunday morning after breakfast. In my imagination, she was wearing June Cleaver’s dress and pearls.

  I had managed to work up a bit of a sweat while running around, cleaning. The amount of work I had done in a short amount of time was really pretty impressive—for me, at least. I looked around one more time, picked up a couple things I had missed before, dusted the empty blue bookshelf, and then plopped down on the couch.

  Okay, so the apartment was now clean. There was something I could check off a list if I happened to have a list.

  I looked at the journal again and picked it up. I turned the page and made a list just the way Mom had always taught me to do—with the first item on the list being “make a list,” so there was always something to cross off.

  Make a list

  Clean the apartment

  Make appointment with the head shrinker

  Get the psycho prescriptions filled

  Talk to Mom

  Get my shit together

  Get Tria back

  Well, it was a decent start, anyway.

  I immediately crossed off the first two things on the list, which made me feel good. It was weird how good it made me feel just to cross shit off, but it was like I was actually making steps toward the last one, which was the most important one anyway.

  Okay—time to do something about all this.

  I eyed the coffee table and then poked around at the busted leg a bit. I was pretty sure if I had the right kind of glue, I’d be able to fix it to the point where no one would notice. I decided to ask Dordy if he might have something like that I could borrow.

  I checked the clock. It was really too early to head in to work, but I figured I might as well go. I hadn’t actually talked to Dordy, but even if he didn’t have someone lined up for me to fight tonight, we could always do the impromptu challenge fights with anyone who thought they were up for it. Hell, I could probably spread around the fact that I had been in the hospital and wasn’t up to snuff—it would draw in more challengers.

  I was never one to capitalize on an injury, but I had to do what I had to do.

  Chapter 6—Hit the Bottom

  Walking quickly down the street, I made it to the bar before I was even done with my first cigarette. I sauntered up to the counter and made eye contact with Dordy. He paused while wiping out a glass but only for a moment. Something in his looked definitely put me on edge.

  “Hey there, Liam,” he said. His voice sounded…cautious? Something was definitely up.

  “Hey, Dordy,” I responded. “How’s everything goin’?”

  “Business is good,” he said. His eyes narrowed a bit. “What are you doin’ here?”

  I shrugged my shoulders up and down.

  “The doctor cleared me,” I told him. “I can work tonight.”

  I chuckled and ran my hand over my hair.

  “I kind of have to,” I admitted. “Rent’s due tomorrow, and with the hospital stay and shit, I can’t cover it. I can do challenge until closing. I’m up for it.”

  “Shit, Liam,” Dordy said as he plopped the glass down on the counter. “I figured you and Yolanda had this worked out. We got a new fighter.”

  “You got what?” I asked. That creepy-crawly feeling I had when I realized Tria had moved all her stuff out started coming back.

  “A new fighter,” Dordy repeated, as if I really needed to hear that again.

  Yeah, yeah—I asked for it.

  “What the fuck?” I asked.

  “Yolanda said she wasn’t working with you anymore,” Dordy said. “She brought in a new guy a couple days ago. Frank something-or-another.”

  Frank something-or-another. Yeah, Frank Hess—he worked out at the gym with me. He was about twice my size, and I knew exactly what Yolanda had done. Not only had she replaced me, but she replaced me with someone outside my weight class so I couldn’t even fight him if I wanted to—not without putting on forty or fifty pounds. Hell, where I was right now was really down to middleweight—I’d probably have to gain sixty to have a chance.

  “Sorry, dude,” Dordy said. “I really thought you had it all worked out with her.”

  “You’re the guy that pays me,” I reminded him. “What difference does it make who’s training me?”

  “Liam, you know how this shit works. Yolanda’s my girl. She brings in the fighters. If I don’t use the guy she wants, she takes her business to another bar, and I got nobody running my fights and nobody bringing in challengers. You know that’s the main attraction here.”

  “I’m the main attraction here!” I snarled back.

  “You were,” Dordy agreed, “but Frank is already growing on people.”

  “Fuck,” I muttered. “Can I keep helping you out with the bar, like I was when I was recovering?”

  “Shit,” Dordy mumbled. “You know I only did that to help you when you were laid up—I don’t need any bar help. It only cuts into my profits, which kinda suck as they are. I’m really sorry, dude. I’ll give ya a reference or whatever, but I don’t have anything for you here.”

  There was no arguing with him. Without bothering to even talk to Wade or Gary, I grabbed the few personal items I had in the locker room and left Feet First. As I walked, that slowly growing tingle of dread spread over my limbs and engulfed me.

  There was no way in hell I was going to be able to raise rent in the next twenty-four hours. I’d been there long enough that the landlord would probably let me slide a day, but not any longer than that. Baynor had given me my money back, and I currently had about four hundred and fifty in cash. I needed a hundred more to cover the rent.

  Without fighting, I was completely and totally fucked.

  I was trying my very best not to panic, but it wasn’t easy. The clinic was probably still open, and it would have been a good time to get the prescription filled, but I didn’t want to use even the five dollars Baynor said it would cost.

  Shit—what else could I do to earn money fast? Should I start looking for another place to fight? T
ria never did like the whole fighting thing, so maybe it was some kind of blessing. At least, it would have been if I had enough money for rent tomorrow.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I wanted Tria here so I could talk to her. I didn’t want to worry her or anything, I just wanted her here. I wanted to talk and hold her and…

  Dammit.

  As soon as I got back to the apartment, I dropped my butt onto the couch and my head into my hands. I growled audibly, ran my hands through my hair, and glared at the broken table in front of me. The journal was on it, and I reached over and flipped to the page where I had my list and added Get a job to the top.

  The page next to it was still blank. I stared at it for a moment and decided maybe I could talk to Tria after all. Well, sort of. I picked up the pen on the table and started to write.

  Tria,

  I want to be better for you. I know I told you to get an abortion, but I was just afraid of something happening to you. I still can’t stand the thought of something happening to you, and it scares the shit out of me. But if you want to have it, then I want to be there with you. I don’t know how to say the shit that’s in my head, I just know I want to be in your life. If we’re going to have a baby, I want us all together as a family.

  I’m not sure what I’m going to do to support you so you can finish school, but I’m not going to fight anymore. I thought you’d like that.

  I love you.

  Liam

  I wondered if I should tear it out and shove it under Yolanda’s apartment door, but I was afraid Tria didn’t want to hear from me. There was no guarantee Yolanda wouldn’t just pitch it before Tria saw it anyway. I knew Yolanda wouldn’t normally do that, but the work thing—that pissed me off. She knew I had no other way to make money, and she knew I was going to have to be able to help Tria. Even if Tria never spoke to me again, I still had to get money to her for the baby.

  Our baby.

  Fucking hell.

  I just didn’t know why Yolanda would do something like that. I knew she was pissed, and she had every right to be, but that just seemed low.

  Swallowing hard, I tossed the journal on the table, grabbed all the money I had, and then went to the landlord to see if we’d be able to work anything out. He took the cash I handed him, thumbed through it, and then glared up at me.