Page 46 of The Monster and the Masochist

“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.”

Ipuked twice.

By the time Jerry let me stop, my head was swimming, and my legs were shaking so hard they couldn’t carry my weight anymore.

I collapsed on the floor of the ring, my chest heaving and my body slick with sweat.

My mouth tasted like a sewer, and even I could smell the alcohol seeping through my pores now.

The blaring lights of the gym flickered as Jerry’s salt-and-pepper stubbled face appeared in my line of sight as he leaned over my prone form.

“Here.” He dropped a bottle of water on me, and I grunted, doing my best to grab it with my violently shaking hand so I could take a much-needed sip.

“When you can stand again, hit the showers,” he grumbled.

“Gotta… clean… the… puke…” I panted, but he just waved an uninterested hand at me.

“I’ve got it, kid. I’ve punished you enough. Go home. Eat something. Get some sleep. I’ll meet you at the usual spot tomorrow. Don’t be late. Or hungover.”

I groaned as I rolled onto my side and shakily pushed myself up into a sitting position.

“Thanks, Coach,” I rasped, cracking open the water and taking a deep, life-altering gulp.

Fuck. Water was so good.

So much better than vodka.

After what nearly felt like an hour, I was feeling well enough to stand, and I teetered back to Jerry’s now-empty office to grab my bag.

Dumping the rest of the water over my head to cool my flaming face, I tossed the empty bottle in my bag and fished out my phone.

I flicked open the lock screen, intending on getting a playlist or something to hopefully keep my mind clear while I showered, but I paused when I saw a text from Cass waiting for me.

My heart rate sped up, and I clicked it open, wondering what she could possibly be texting me for.

Cass:

I need a favor.