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Usually, I’m not easily freaked out at work. It’s one of the only places I know I’m safe. Surrounded by huge, powerful men who I know would never hurt me, who would protect me using physical force if necessary. It’s the main reason I took this job. But sneaking up behind me? I’m going to be jumpy, plus, I’m the most ungraceful person I know.
Max sifts through my hair and I stiffen, afraid he’ll find the ten-year knot of scar tissue behind my left ear. His fingers graze the new lump.
“Ow!”
“Sorry. God, I’m an idiot. No, you’re not bleeding. It’s going to be sore though.”
Annoyed, I grab an ice pack from the freezer and place the cold bag on top of my head. “I look ridiculous.”
Max smiles, but it’s stilted. “Yeah, you do.”
Laughing, I shove his shoulder to lighten the mood. “Shut up. What did you need?”
He stares at me blankly.
“Max! You came in here for something. Don’t tell me you scared me to death and possibly gave me a concussion and you don’t remember why?”
“Oh, right.” His cheeks turn pink. “I ummmm, well, a new fighter is coming in tomorrow. Gabriel requested a full workup.”
My eyebrows must fly up into my hairline. “A full workup?” No one gets a full workup unless they’re going to fight in the league. “Is he an amateur?”
Max shakes his head. “Officially yes, but he’s fought before. Greg says he’s been training and fighting overseas somewhere. Thailand or something. The FLA wants him, offered him a contract, so he’s here.”
Thailand. Muay Thai then. I’ve studied all the fighting styles to know what to watch for to prevent injury.
“What time will he be here?” There’s a lot to do to prepare for a full workup. Professional fighters need me to analyze everything they do, looking for missteps or poor posture, which can cause injuries to muscles or bones. Plus cataloguing any previous injuries with a plan to protect those vulnerable places from repeat damage.
“Early. Seven, I think?”
I panic, staring at Max. “I can’t be ready for a full workup by then. That’s twelve hours from now! I’ve never even seen this guy fight.”
“Don’t worry, Britt. Gabriel knows there’s not enough time for you to prep everything for tomorrow. Just meet with the guy, talk to him, and come up with a plan later.” Max winks, his attempt at humor falling flat. I take my job seriously and I don’t like to fail.
Scowling, I grab my laptop bag one-handed, the other hand balancing the ice pack on my head. “I’m not happy, Max.”
He follows me out, laughing, as I lock the door to my office. “I know, Britt. I know.”
Max kindly drops me off at my tiny Westside apartment, sparing me from walking home in the sweltering early evening humidity. Atlanta in June is unbearably hot. Yet as I stare at the door to my apartment, knowing I’m about to be alone, a cold shiver ripples through me.
“See you tomorrow, Britt.”
“Bye, Max.” I wave as he drives away.
Once inside, I quickly lock the three separate deadbolts on my door and start my exhausting nightly routine. Tonight, it only takes an hour to slow my racing heart, to silence the panic in my head, to stop the tingling spread of anxiety in each of my fingers and toes. Once I’m as calm as I’ll get, I haul myself off the floor and force myself to eat.
After dinner, I swallow down the handful of pills necessary to keep the seizures a
nd headaches away. It’s why I only drive occasionally, why I’m concerned I hit my head at work. Anything can trigger a seizure, and doctors aren’t sure if having a big one will cause enough damage to my brain to cut off my hard won independence. It’s been years since I’ve had a seizure, but I don’t want to take a chance.
One at a time, I put a bitter tablet on my tongue and swallow it with a gulp of water until they’re all gone.
I take a quick shower, washing my hair, pretending not to feel the raised and twisted scar behind my left ear and being careful to avoid the new lump on top of my head. I silently curse Max and his carelessness, but can’t stay angry. He means well even if he doesn’t think sometimes.
Tired, I climb into bed and turn on some mind-numbing program to keep my thoughts off of the fact that I’m alone and vulnerable before flipping off the light.
With being anxious over my usual torments, plus the stress of having a new fighter I’m supposed to workup, it takes forever to fall asleep. When I do, it’s the same as always. Pieces of the fateful day almost ten years ago, teeny, tiny flashes of images but never enough to trigger the memories to return, pop in and out of my mind all night long. I can only pray they never break through. I’m not sure I can stay sane if they do.
Killer
