Page 155 of The Monster and the Masochist

“Ya stepped into that fucking ring wasted, Theodora!” he bellowed suddenly, and his cheeks grew red with fury. “Ya think someone who doesn’t have a problem would do some shit like that!?”

Shame twisted in my chest, and I found myself cowering in my seat before him. My eyes stung with the sudden and unexpected burn of tears, and I swallowed back a painful lump that seemed to be growing in my throat.

“Jerry–I–”

He held up a hand to stop me, and his own throat rolled as he swallowed nearly as hard as I had. I watched him as he tried to compose himself. After a long moment, he sighed, leaning forward and crossing his arms over his desk.

“This has been going on for as long as I’ve known ya, kid. I haven’t said anything up until this point because it’s never interfered with an actual fight. Sure, you missed a few planning sessions or showed up to training hungover, but what happened with DeLuca can’t be ignored.”

My blood turned to ice in my veins, and I clenched my hands into fists in my pockets.

What was he getting at?

“You have a problem, kid. I know ya don’t think you do, or ya think it’s justified because yer using booze to cope with some fucked up shit that happened to you that ya don’t want to talk about, which is fine. I’m not gonna make yuh tell me nothin about that. I’m just gonna tell ya that I was a lot like you when I was yer age.

“Ya think I drank as much as I did because it was fun or something I wanted tuh be doing? No. It was because I didn’t know how else tuh drown out all the fucked up shit my pa had done to my ma and me as a kid. Took me years in AA to come to terms with that. The difference between you and me though, Theo, is I was never quite as fuckin’ suicidal as you clearly are.”

“Wh-what?” I rasped. “I’m not fucking suicidal!” I snarled, but Jerry’s eyes just hardened.

“Yeah, ya fuckin’ are.”

“Fuck off. It’s not like I’m slitting my wrists or some shit. So I have to drink sometimes to level out… That’s not… That doesn’t make me suicidal!”

“No. What makes ya suicidal is yer determination to fuckin’ drink yerself stupid before stepping into a ring in a league where casualties are encouraged. Ya knew DeLuca would kill yah if she could. And ya still showed up drunk. Ya gonna get wasted before the fight with the Russian, too, just to make sure the job gets done right this time?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t do that on purpose… I’d just… Something happened the night before, and I was triggered. I couldn’t very well call off the fight the night before it happened! I wasn’t trying to kill myself!”

Jerry gave me a flat look and pursed his lips.

“I think ya’ve been tryna kill yerself for a long time, kid, and I’m not gonna stand by and watch ya do it anymore.”

My mouth gaped as I realized what he was telling me.

“Wait… you’re not… Are you quitting on me?”

“Unless ya agree to get some help, then yeah. That’s exactly what I’m doing, kid. I’m not gonna help ya end your life. I care too much about ya tah stand by and watch yah destroy yerself like this. I thought I was helping yah before… making sure you could hold yer own in this fucked up league you insist on competing in… I told myself, ‘she’s gonna do it with or without my help anyway, might as well make sure she has a fighting chance,’ but… I can see now it doesn’t matter what I do. Yer gonna find a way to get yerself killed no matter what. So, I’m out, Theodora. If you’re so determined to destroy yourself, yer on yer own. I can’t be a part of this.”

“Jerry! No! What the fuck!? Wait… let’s at least talk about this. I am getting help. I have a session scheduled with a therapist first thing after the fight with the Russian. I swear!” I rasped desperately.

My heart was slamming against my ribs as pure panic ripped through me.

Jerry couldn’t quit on me… I fucking needed him!

There was no way I could secure another coach in time this close to my fight with the Russian; besides, training with anyone other than Jerry just felt… wrong.

He’d been a rock, a safe, calm presence in my life that I hadn’t even realized how much I’d come to rely on until I was faced with the prospect of losing him.

Getting out of my seat, I stalked up to his desk and literally dropped to my knees in front of it. Reaching across the table to grab his hands in mine, I pinned him with a pleading look. My eyes were full of tears, and I knew if I so much as blinked, the evidence of my shame would spill down my cheeks.

“What can I do?” I begged. “What can I do to convince you I’ll take this fight seriously? I won’t show up drunk. I’ll… I’ll quit drinking for good if that’s what you want. Please, Jerry. I’m not suicidal, I just… I need to fight. I need it.” I choked on my words, and I hated the way he was looking at me like I was breaking his damn heart.

“It’s not that simple, Theodora. Yer reasons for fighting are just as bad as yer reasons for drinking. It’s not a career for yuh, it’s a way for ya to hurt yerself. For some reason, ya think ya deserve it, and until ya work through all that, I can’t trust that yer not gonna pull a punch one day that’s gonna get ya killed. Ya think I didn’t notice that ya let Andrea Bulgetti get that lick in a few fights ago? Ya always do that when they can’t land a hit. It baffled me for years, but I get it now. Ya want them to hurt you. Can ya not see how fucked up that is? Can ya not understand how hard it is for the people that care about ya to watch ya let shit like that happen?”

“I told you, I’m gonna go to therapy. I’ll quit drinking. I just… Please don’t bail on me now, Jer. We’re so close; the fight with the Russian is only a few weeks away. I can’t pull out now. Everyone’s gonna think I’m some weak bitch or something…”

They’re gonna know.

They’re all gonna know how fucking pathetic I am, and I can’t handle that. If the whole world sees me for what I really am, then I might as well actually just fucking kill myself because I would never survive the shame…