by Dee Garcia
On the other hand, just friends was working out surprisingly well for Knox and I. It may have been juvenile but our nightly conversations were the highlight of my day.
Going into this, I expected it to be difficult given the underlying feelings we had bubbling beneath the surface, yet somehow the conversation was always so light and easy. Knox seemed genuinely interested in whatever tidbits of information I divulged. He asked questions and made me laugh often. Of course there were moments flooded with the surge of our attraction where I found myself teasing him or vice versa, but I couldn't say I didn't enjoy that.
All in all, we really were just getting to know each other and with every day that passed, I grew not only more attached, but also hopeful of what this meant for the future. While that gnawing sense of fear was always there, lingering in the back of my mind, I did my best to shove it down and live in the moment.
The night before the fight in Phoenix was no different than those prior. I was neck deep in conversation with Knox about reckless decisions we’d made back in the day. Mine were suitable for children’s bedtime stories compared to some of the shit he’d done.
He had me giggling—yes, giggling—until my stomach hurt and tears streamed down my face. I was coming down from another fit, clutching my stomach as my breathing began to even out when he said, “So this is definitely off-topic but there's something I've been meaning to ask you since Vegas and I keep forgetting.”
I tensed slightly. Not knowing exactly what he wanted to ask made me anxious, especially when there were many a things he didn't know about me yet, some of which I wasn’t ready to share.
“Um, okay. Shoot.” I said, hoping I didn't sound as antsy as I felt.
“How did you meet Bernie?” He asked.
Oh. No.
It was an innocent question, one a typical person could have answered without difficulty, but the circumstances that led me to meeting Bernie wasn’t something I enjoyed rehashing.
Not just with Knox, with anyone. Going back to that time in my life was painful. He was curious though and I couldn’t blame him, not when we’d already discussed how Bernie’s role in my life exceeded being just my coach.
“Knox, I-I… Can we maybe talk about this another day? It's a long story and I…” I faltered, unable to finish my sentence, feeling my stomach churn in distress.
“C’mon, sweets. Please?”
Silence.
Just thinking about the day I met Bernie sent an icy, cold shiver running down my spine. My skin was suddenly littered with goosebumps and my heart was pounding frantically.
Taking a deep breath, I sat up on the bed and crossed my legs, clutching the comforter in my fist to brace myself.
“Fine.” I conceded, because I was going to have to tell him eventually. “Just remember I was at a very dark place in my life when I met him.”
Knox chuckled. “Nothing you say is going to scare me away or make me look at you differently. Just tell me.”
I gulped and blew a mouthful of air between my lips, my cheeks puffing up with the motion. Then with very great detail, I began telling Knox the story.
I wasn’t lying when I said my life was shrouded by darkness back then. After just barely graduating from high school with essentially no one by my side and nothing left to my name, I met Zeke Dumont. Tall, dark, and handsome, he had me at hello.
Little did I know what a hellish mistake it was going to be to allow him in my life. We moved in together almost immediately, spent quite a bit of time together in between work, and for sometime he hid his leisure’s well.
Until one night when I was awoken by a nightmare and noticed he was no longer in bed. I went padding through the apartment and what I saw stopped me dead in my tracks. Zeke had two friends over, friends whom were not there when we went to bed. Each of them cradled a beer in their hand. The strong stench of weed hung in the air, a thick cloud of smoke fogging the entire dining room area where they sat. Not only were they passing around a joint, there were also thin white lines of blow on the table.
Hidden in the safety of the hallway, I watched Zeke hold a straw of some sort to one end of the line and zip across to the other, snorting the entire thing like he’d done it many times before. A few moments later I came to find out he had.
Needless to say, I was crushed. Hurt. I felt betrayed in some way, though I had no right to when I’d jumped into this relationship without knowing a damn thing about him. I remember thinking I needed to get as far away from him as possible but where was I supposed to go? I had no one.
Zeke was legitimately all I had. How could I stay with him when he’d kept something like this from me though? When this was his lifestyle? After what happened to Tori, I promised myself I’d never go anywhere near drugs, yet here I was, in a relationship with a man who was obviously familiar with many.
Even with thoughts of Tori in mind, Zeke somehow convinced me that everything would be alright and just like that, I believed him. What I was expecting from him, I’m not sure, but I believed every word he said.
What's worse is that a little over a year later, I’d grown so accustomed to his use of narcotics that I too hopped aboard the train, regardless of the fact that I knew better. Perhaps it was because they numbed me.
Whatever Zeke gave me, whether it be blow, ecstasy, even acid once or twice, it all numbed the pain of my past. In those moments when I was high out of my damn mind, I was free, or so I thought.
Our lives consisted of going to work, coming home, getting high, and fucking until we passed out. At the time I thought I was living the life. Then Zeke suddenly lost his job when he failed a random drug test. You’d think that would have deterred us or warned us off, made us second-guess what we were doing behind closed doors, right? Wrong. We kept it at without a care in the world. I simply took on a second job to pick up the bills Zeke could no longer pay, and while I was an exhausted mess of sorts, I was happy.
Slowly but surely, things started going downhill from there. The months were flying by and Zeke had yet to find another job. The gym I worked at—which was my primary source of income—cut my hours out of the blue and my second job at this quaint little diner wouldn’t up my hours either. As a result, bills were going unpaid and the rent was late on more than one occasion.
I’d contemplated a third job, but there just weren’t enough hours in the day, unless I planned never to sleep again for the rest of my life.
Eventually everything caught up with us. Stressed from not making ends meet and following Zeke down the slippery slope of drug abuse, I started going in late to work. It wasn’t intentional but sometimes I couldn’t pull myself out of bed. I’d snooze my alarm or bypass it entirely.
Then came the day when my boss at the diner had enough. I would’ve missed my shift completely if Zeke hadn’t woken up to shower. When I saw the time on the clock, I jumped out of bed and rushed to get myself ready. With both of our cars having been repossessed, the city bus was my only form of transportation unless I found a ride, which was a seldom occurrence. I was too late though.
The bus was long gone by the time I made it to the stop, so I ran. I ran all the way to the diner and burst in through the door almost an hour after I was due. As I was clocking in my boss essentially told me to get the fuck out. I pleaded with him, all but begged on my knees for one more chance, but he’d already made up his mind. I’d barely made it out the door when I collapsed onto the sidewalk with tears streaming down my face.
I don’t know how long I sat outside the diner crying but that’s when Bernie walked into my life.
Very gently he approached me, saying he’d witnessed the disaster the was me being fired. He asked if I was okay in which I’d barked a vulgar version of does it look like I’m okay? My gruffness didn’t faze him though. Instead he sank down onto the sidewalk beside me and asked if I wanted to talk about it.
What I wanted was to tell him to fuck off, wanted to think he was a creepy older man hoping to score a woman more than likely twe
nty-five years his junior, but something about him told me otherwise. Something told me I could trust him.
Leaving out the very dirty details of my life with Zeke, I explained to Bernie that my boyfriend and I weren’t doing well financially and how me losing this job was the nail in the coffin. He just sat there, listening intently, letting me vent until I had I nothing left to spew.
And then he offered me help.
He told me he’d seen me at the gym many times after my shift was over, pummeling the punching bag with every bit of force I had.
“You have potential.” He’d said, grappling my attention instantly.
Bernie elaborated that he used to be an Underground fighter, and after retiring, he went on to coach both men and women who aspired to be within the confines of the ring. What intrigued me most was when said he saw that fire within me, that with discipline and training, he truly believed I could rise to the top.
Staying at the gym after hours was just a way to blow off stress, nothing more. Was it exhilarating? Yes. Had I ever considered actually stepping into a ring? No. I didn’t have formal training. Hitting the bag just felt good.
“How would fighting solve my problems anyway?” I’d asked him.
It was then I learned all about the Underground League. How it operated, how much money fighters made per fight. My mouth popped open when Bernie began calculating numbers for me.
If I went through with it and actually climbed up the leaderboard to the very end, I could make more money in six months than my parents had ever seen in their lifetime. Becoming a fighter could solve all my financial issues and give me so much more. I wanted to scream yes but I knew Zeke would never go for it. The traveling alone would turn him off, let alone allow me to step foot into a ring to fight another woman who was likely more experienced. He probably wouldn't even think I could do it, would say it was waste of my time and energy.
That was the ah-ha moment for me, the moment when my subconscious finally broke through and I realized a life with Zeke would always be like this. Struggling in every aspect of life. He had no inclination to better himself, no drive to pull himself out of the depths of the hell where he’d dragged us both. At the rate he was going, he would end up dead, me along with him. I couldn't live like that anymore. I’d known it all along, I just hadn't cared.
Until then.
“So I agreed.” I collapsed back onto the bed, feeling like I could finally breathe.
“Wow,” Knox said quietly. “That was intense.”
“It was.” I agreed, sifting my fingers through my hair. “Not a part of my past I'm proud of but hey, everyone has crap they're ashamed of.”
Knox hummed. I could hear the rustling of sheets and I imagined what he looked like lying in his bed, what he'd look like laying next to me. The thought elicited a swarm of butterflies erupting deep in my belly.
“I’m assuming Zeke wasn’t supportive seeing as he’s not around today.”
I knew he couldn’t see me but I shook my head anyway. “I never told him. Never told him I got fired either. Zeke was so high all the time, he didn’t notice anything going on around him. I guess I got lucky in that aspect.”
“I agree. I’m also assuming you stopped messing around with all that shit once you started up with Bernie.”
“Pretty much. I won't lie, it was hard. Some days are harder than others. Bernie kept me focused though. That was another thing Zeke never really noticed. He asked about it once and I told him I was being threatened with drug tests. Didn't question me again after that.”
There was a thoughtful pause and then be said, “This is my last question. I promise.”
I chuckled. “Ask away.”
“How did you get him to agree?”
“I didn't. When Bernie finally thought I was good enough for the League, we did everything under the radar. From registration day to preliminaries, I kept quiet about it all. Then when the League accepted me, I packed up all my shit and left him behind. By the time he realized I was really gone, Bernie and I were already in Phoenix.”
“Dumb ass motherfucker.” Knox growled.
“Definitely not my greatest feat, no.”
We laughed and then the line fell silent. It was comfortable yet awkward all at once. I could hear his breathing filtering in and I wondered what he was thinking about. If maybe he did see me in a different light now that he knew who I was just a few years ago. My mind began to spin when suddenly his voice burst through the haze.
“Hazel…”
“Yeah?” I offered quietly.
“I'm really glad Bernie found you that day…”
Me too, baby, me too.
The incessant ringing of my cell phone slowly lures me out from the depths of sleep. I groan and snuggle further into my pillow, thinking to myself—it can go to voicemail. But then I hear the melodious tune once, twice, three more times, and my mind refuses to drift away.
My eyes snap open and nothing but the darkness of my bedroom greets me. Reaching out blindly, I touch the surface of my nightstand. It's barren and cold. The ringing ceases suddenly, and I still, waiting for the tune to restart once more.
But it doesn't.
The silence stretches, growing louder by the second to a deafening degree. All I hear is my breathing, each breath coming more erratic than the last. For some reason, I feel scared.
Rolling to my side, I feel around my bed with shaky hands. My fingertips graze the hard shell of my phone somewhere beneath the pillow and I snatch it up quickly, illuminating the screen to discover ten missed calls from Beth, my best friend’s mom.
The sight of her name repetitively displayed in red churns my stomach and skyrockets my heart rate. Bone-chilling fear consumes me in an instant, goosebumps spreading over my skin like a hailstorm.
In my disquieted state, I sit up and click on Beth’s name. It rings only twice before she answers breathlessly.
“Hazel, honey, I’m sorry to wake you at this hour, but please tell me you’re with Tori!”
The trepidation in her voice runs my blood cold. I comb a rattling hand through my messy hair and take a deep breath. “No, I’m not. Where’s Tori? What’s going on?”
“She’s not with Hazel!” I hear her yell to someone. “Call her again!”
Panic bubbles to the surface, triggering alarm bells in my mind. I clutch the phone harder. “Beth, please tell me what's going on. I'm freaking out over here.”
“I’ve been hoping and praying she was fast asleep at your house and that she simply forgot to call us, but you...you said she’s not…” Her voice trembles around the words and I hear her sharp intake of breath, then a shuddering sigh. “Tori’s missing,” she sobs.
My entire world screeches to a halt, the two words shocking me to silence. The enormity of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks.
My best friend is missing.
Tears well in my eyes and spill over in heavy droplets as a tremor wracks through my body. Dozens of questions flock to the tip of my tongue but the despaired sound of Beth’s wails clogs my throat and I lose it.
Thoughts of Tori and her whereabouts flood my mind at once. Just knowing there’s a possibility she could be in life-threatening danger pains me in ways I’ve never felt before.
My heart constricts tightly as though sharp knife has impaled me and I want to scream. I do scream. Gutturally, loudly, savagely. I expect my parents to burst through the door at any moment but then I’m no longer alone in the darkness of my bedroom.
I’m sitting in a brightly lit waiting area at the hospital. I look around the room, confused, and something on my right snaps my head in that direction. The Whitlocks are rushing toward me. Beth is crying and Eric appears overly distraught. When Beth sinks to her knees in front of me and throws herself into my lap, I'm all but slapped in the face with a clusterfuck of memories, and suddenly, I remember everything.
Tori is dead.
She has been for a year.
And now my parents are too…
I woke with a start, disoriented, my breathing ragged and a heavy sheen of sweat sticking to my skin. My heart was hammering wildly.
Again? What the hell?
Nightmares that had dissipated sometime while I was dating Zeke were suddenly resurfacing with a vengeance since regaling Knox with the tale of my past prior to Bernie.
Thankfully they weren’t a nightly occurrence as they once were but at least three times a week they woke me without mercy.
Throwing off the comforter, I shuffled out of bed and padded into the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I flipped on the light and shuddered. The mirror was not my friend these days. My reflection unsettling to say the least.
The dark circles under my eyes grew more prominent by the day as a result of staying up for hours after the nightmares attacked. I clenched my eyes tightly and drenched my face once more, turning off the faucet with a heavy hand.
I willed myself to relax, to think about what made me happy, rather than dwell on the images still flashing through my mind. When my breathing returned to its normal state, I dried the cool droplets off my face and scurried back to bed, wrapping myself in the plushy hotel comforter.
As predicted, any hope of falling back asleep was way out of reach. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and clicked on the screen. There was an unread text from Knox that came in just before midnight.
You must have passed out early. I missed hearing your voice tonight. Sweet dreams.
We’ll talk tomorrow.
I smiled but quickly it morphed into a frown when I realized I had indeed missed Knox’s phone call. I couldn’t remember when I fell asleep. Actually, I couldn’t remember much of anything following my shower.
It had been that way since the nightmares started up again a month ago back in Phoenix. Some nights Knox and I spoke for hours and others I was out prior to his call. I loathed those nights. They ruined my morning and threw off my day which in turn made Bernie difficult to deal with.
