16. Theo Fairview
Iwas hours late for the fight strategy after my little impromptu meltdown.
The problem with using booze as a coping mechanism is that it’s a very temporary solution. The next day was usually wrought with what I privately called ‘the fear,’ and today was no exception.
I was anxious and shaky as I slowly made my way back home to shower.
As I scrubbed the shame from my body in the hottest shower I could handle, I fought off the constant onslaught of self-deprecating thoughts that always seemed to consume me after I had a slip-up like this.
It was even worse today as I couldn’t seem to decipher whether I’d actually seen Samwell at that event or if I’d just hallucinated him.
By the time I’d cleaned myself up, brushed my teeth, and thoroughly rinsed my mouth out with Listerine, I was so late for my meeting with Jerry that I didn’t even bother heading to the cafe. I knew he would have given up and gone back to his office at the ring.
I let myself into the back of the venue and slunk down the concrete, industrial hall that led to Jerry’s office with my tail between my legs.
He wasn’t going to be impressed, and I knew I deserved whatever tongue-lashing he was going to give me.
I’d stopped to grab a muffin on the way, and it tasted like freaking cardboard as I forced it down my throat, hoping the carbs would help soak up whatever vodka was still left sloshing around in my stomach after puking my guts up in the cemetery.
The crappy, hollow steel door that led into Jerry’s office screamed on its hinges as I pushed it open, and I winced as the ungodly sound aggravated my already unbearable headache.
Jerry was sitting behind his disheveled desk, and I squinted against the flickering fluorescent lights that lit up the dingy space.
“Hey, Jer. Sorry I’m late,” I croaked as I entered.
I tossed my gym bag into one of the two empty folding chairs set in front of his desk before throwing myself into the other one.
Jerry looked up from whatever he’d been doing on his laptop, and I forced myself not to cower beneath his unimpressed glare.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I just sat there, staring at him, feeling like a kid who was about to get grounded for missing curfew or something.
“It’s happening again,” he grunted, and I bristled.
“No. It was just a one-time thing. It won’t be like last time,” I insisted. I expected his expression to darken, or for him to get pissed at me like he usually did when I started crashing out like this, but he didn’t.
He looked almost… sad, or worried, or some other soft emotion I wasn’t equipped to accept in my current state. For some reason, my throat tightened, and I swallowed, trying to push back a painful lump that seemed to be growing without my permission.
After another long, painfully silent moment, Jerry sighed and leaned forward, crossing his arms on his desk and pinning me with a look.
“We can’t keep doing this, kid. Something’s gotta give.
It’s like clockwork. You’re fine for a bit, then every three to six months, you go off the rails.
I’ve been quiet about it because I know what it’s like to deal with some shit, but you can’t be doing this when we have the fight with the Russian coming up. I need your head in the game.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was just a small slip. But it’s out of my system. I’m good. I swear,” I lied, hoping like hell that if I said all the right shit, he would drop it.
Jerry pursed his lips and shook his head.
“Do we need to get you in to see one of those head doctors or something? You need a shrink, kid?”
My lip twitched, and I chuckled softly.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to call them that anymore, man. They’re therapists, now.”
He scoffed but didn’t smile like I was hoping he would.
“Whatever they’re called. You need one?”
The thought of telling anyone about what Father Samwell had done to me made me want to bolt out of this room to head straight back to the liquor store. Telling a stranger was even worse. There was no way I would be able to do that.
“No. I don’t. I just… I just need to train. Sweat it out. I’m fine.”
Jerry scowled.
“You’re not fine. You smell like a brewery, kid. I can taste the vodka from here. You think I don’t know what it’s like to chase peace at the bottom of a bottle? I don’t know what you’re running from, Theo, but I know you won’t find what you’re looking for in a bottle of booze. Trust me.”
His words felt like a violent slap in the face.
Was I that transparent?
I was always so careful.
Outside of a few casual drinks with my family, I did almost all of my drinking alone. I waited until Ryan and Iris were out of the house to dispose of the bottles when it got bad, in case they saw them in the recycling.
Besides, it wasn’t like I was an alcoholic. I went through long stretches where I didn’t drink at all. An alcoholic wouldn’t be able to go months without booze, right?
When Cass stayed with me, I hadn’t had anything to drink for her entire six-week stay.
But it looked like I’d fucked up this time. I’d been in a rush and hadn’t been as careful as I normally was covering my tracks… Even though I’d showered and brushed the crap out of my teeth before coming here, Jerry could still smell it on me.
Was the shit literally seeping out of my damn pores?
Shame and terror roiled through my gut, making the muffin I’d scarfed down churn in a queasy rush.
Maybe I wasn’t hiding my little problem as well as I’d thought.
“Enough, Jerry,” I snapped, finally losing my patience. “You’re not my fucking father, okay? I said I’m fine, so I’m fine. I’m here to train, aren’t I? Give me something to hit and drop this shit, or I’m out of here.”
Jerry’s eyebrows rose in surprise at my tone, and a flash of something that looked like hurt flickered across his face.
Guilt joined the nauseous pit of shame roiling in my core, but before I could open my mouth to apologize, Jerry just shrugged and grunted.
“Fine. You want to sweat it out? Guess you’re doing suicides today, kid. Get your ass in the ring.”
“What!? C’mon, man. We need to run through drills for Friday. I have that fight with DeLuca, and she’s –”
Jerry stood abruptly, bringing his hand down hard on the table.
I jumped as it connected, blinking as Jerry morphed for a second into Samwell, and I was suddenly in a much different office.
My blood turned to ice in my veins, and my breath caught, but Jerry didn’t seem to notice he’d unintentionally triggered me.
“It’s coach, to you, kid. Now get your ass in that ring. I want twenty-five to start, then we’ll see how I’m feeling about letting you rest.”
“Coach, please,” I whispered, still feeling slightly shaken from the minor flashback I’d just suffered. I wasn’t going to be able to do this without puking. I knew it in my bones.
“Don’t argue with me, Theodora. You want to run from your demons instead of facing them properly? Well. Get runnin’ then.”