I pulled out my phone and called Lorrie. The phone didn’t even ring before going to voicemail. Fuck, she turned her phone off. I tried again. Still no luck. Why would she do that? Was she purposely trying to avoid me?
Damnit, I had to find her. I ran around frantically and checked all of her favorite sketching spots, but she wasn’t at any of them. After an hour of searching and repeatedly trying her phone, I was almost ready to quit, but then I thought of one last spot to look for her.
Feeling sick, I sprinted across campus. My knees were almost ready to give out when I got to the bridge over Lake Teewee. I saw that the frozen lake was undisturbed and intense relief washed over me.
She was probably out with Daniela somewhere, avoiding me.
I’d f**ked it up big time. I should have let Ada go. I should have stayed and talked to Lorrie. She needed me, but I was too afraid to talk to her. Lorrie was right, I should have explained things to her, told her something at least. Now it was too late.
Not knowing what to do and desperate, I went over to the PKD house to talk to Gary. We drank and tried to put together the pieces. Soon we were wasted, no closer to coming up with a way to get my ass out of this mess. I passed out on his couch feeling worse than when I came.
It was only after I woke up hungover that I came back to my apartment and saw Lorrie’s note. It was already noon, Lorrie was probably long gone by now. She had come looking for me, she waited for me and she wanted to talk, but instead, I was f**king stupidly drinking away my pain with Gary.
Lorrie needed me but I wasn’t there for her. Something had happened and she needed me to be there for her, but I was too f**king selfish and afraid to come clean to her. Now she had gone to deal with her pain herself. I had lost my only chance to explain things, make things right with her. That killed the shit out of me.
As I stood in my kitchen and reread the note she’d left me, a cold sense of dread began to sink in.
Rampage nuzzled against my leg. The little guy didn’t know anything was wrong. Or maybe he did. I scooped him up and brought him to my face. His brown eyes looked at me curiously, maybe as confused as I was right now.
I set him down and watched him run off. What the f**k happened that she decided she needed to leave like that?
I exhaled and picked up my phone. Still nothing from her. I had called her a few times but it went straight to voicemail.
How did I keep messing up my life this badly? What was I thinking? I was so f**king selfish. I couldn’t see past my own self-pity to think that Lorrie needed me when I was in the hospital during the flare-up. I had f**ked up again.
And now it was over.
I punched the kitchen cabinet door to the left of the sink. The door caved in, sending splinters and Cheerios from inside flying everywhere. My fist exploded in pain. Breathing hard, I flexed it to make sure nothing was broken. It hurt, but I was okay.
The kittens had scattered at the loud noise of my outburst, but they were now cautiously approaching the cereal and splinters on the floor. Seeing them brought me back to my senses. If I needed to blow off some steam, I should do it at the gym instead; I didn’t want to hurt the kittens.
They were reminders the time Lorrie and I had spent together. Looking at them had always made me happy but now it filled me with grief.
One hour ago
I kept my head down and brushed past the rest of the guys at the gym. They saw the look on my face and nobody tried to stop me to chat. I didn’t see Gary; he must’ve been sleeping off the hangover. I headed straight for the heavy bag and began to work it with my bare fists.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwackathwackathwack.
I wasn’t just punching the faded leather; I imagined punching my own face in. I deserved it. Lorrie was special and I f**ked it up. I couldn’t help her and I couldn’t save her. I was too weak. Too stupid. Too selfish.
Thwackathwackathwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwackathwack.
Lorrie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Feeling dizzy, I tripped over my feet. I shot my gloves out and grabbed onto the bag before I could fall. I leaned heavily against the leather bag for a second before pushing it away and getting back up.
Fuck this disease.
I kept hitting the bag until sweat stung my eyes, my arms were sore, and my fists were angry and raw, but I still didn’t feel any better when I was done. It didn’t matter how hard I punched those bags, I’d never be able to take back the pain that I had caused Lorrie.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if I don’t find something solid in my life.
I bent over, breathing heavy, and leaned against the leather punching bag that had just taken all the punishment I could deal out. When I walked over to the water fountain to get some water, the other guys gave me plenty of space.
It was supposed to be me; I was supposed to be that solid thing in her life. I promised her that but I f**ked it all up. What the hell was I going to do without her?
As I headed back for another round with the bag, the gym doors swung open and Johnson, the fight coordinator at the Squirrel, came in with a clipboard in hand. I stopped for a second to see why he was there.
“Listen up guys! I know this is real short notice, but I’ve got a fight lined up in the next hour. So if any of you want a shot at Walter Morris, here’s your chance. I had him scheduled for a fight with Dan Evans, but Danny boy’s got the flu and canceled this morning.”
Walter Morris was one of the top fighters in the area. Six foot four, built like an ox. I’d never fought him before but I knew that I’d have a hard time with him even on my best days.
Johnson looked around the room at the other guys there. No one was volunteering. I didn’t blame them. One hour wasn’t really a lot of time to prepare to fight Morris. Taking a fight on such short notice against an opponent like that was a deathwish. But maybe I needed that right now.
Johnson was getting desperate. I only half heard him say, “Come on, if you win, I’ll double your winnings, you got my word.”
I couldn’t care less about the winnings but I needed to forget what I had done. I needed to feel that rush of being in the cage, hovering on the edge of violence and oblivion. I wanted the clarity of fighting for survival against a caged animal. I didn’t give a shit that this particular animal was going to be Walter Morris.
Lorrie was gone. She wasn’t coming back. I was supposed to help her heal, not be a source of her pain, but that’s exactly what I ended up being. I was pathetic. I didn’t deserve to be happy.
Then I decided.