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The cat in question struts in, meowing loudly as she twines herself around my leg.
“I’ll feed you in a minute. Let me finish this first.”
Finish putting away the laundry? Or finish beating myself up for talking to that girl? I don’t even know her name. She’d never introduced herself at the Stress Lab.
But still, despite her reaction to me, there’s something about her that’s… endearing.
I scrub a hand down my face, groaning. What the hell am I going on about?
I put everything away and head into the kitchen to open a can of Friskies for Boots, enjoying the way she chatters at me as she waits for her meal.
On the counter is that questionnaire for the study I still haven’t filled out. I have to do that, don’t I? The longer I look at it, the more weighed down I am by guilt.
After putting out the dish of wet food for Boots, I grab a pen out of the drawer, going through the first few questions about my daily stress levels, then a chart rating the frequency of my stress symptoms. Let’s see, no headaches, insomnia, or depression. A bit of fatigue and tense muscles, but that’s probably more because of my job and boxing than actual stress. Anxiety, worry, or phobias? No, not really. I pause at the box asking about irritability. Haven’t I just spent the last ten minutes irritated? Yeah, but I was supposed to fill this out on Tuesday.
Even though I was irritated then, too.
But not because of me. Because of her. She was the one who said those things.
And why do I care? I told myself I didn’t, but seeing her again today…
Fuck, I’m not some psychologist like her. I don’t know the answer.
The wordsPerceived Stress Scaleare in bold along the top of the next page. I skim through it, my brows narrowing at the questions. How often have I felt things were going my way? How often have I felt not in control? How often have I felt nervous? Upset? Angry?
Why are these so hard? I swear, before this week it would have been a breeze to answer them. But suddenly, it doesn’t seem so simple.
I set the paper aside, scratching Boots above her tail as she jumps up next to me. “You’re lucky you’re a cat. You don’t have to worry about stress, do you?”
She arches her lower back into my hand, telling me without words that she wants more pets. I comply, letting go of any anxiety about this stupid form. It’s ironic that filling this out is what’s stressing me out.
I bubble in some responses, not putting too much thought into it. What is she going to do? Argue with me about it? The thing is too hard, anyway. All that schooling and she couldn’t come up with something easier?
Jesus Christ, get a grip. She said she’s doing this whole study unpaid. Combined with going to school and having a serving job, she must work her ass off.
And what am I doing with my life? I work all day in a warehouse and then come home and sit on my ass or go to the gym and box. I’ll go pro soon if Dad has anything to say about it, not that he ever actually asked me if that’s what I wanted.
And why am I even comparing myself to this girl? We’re nothing alike. She’s smart enough to go to college and have some fancy psychology study. She even said she had a scholarship. They don’t just hand those out.
Kind enough to apologize to me for what she said. Brave enough to keep talking to me, despite how she really feels. Beautiful with that long, dark hair and warm, brown eyes, the lightest dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose…
Fuck. There I go again. I need to stop thinking about her. I’m no one to her.
Even if a part of me wishes… No. Best not to go there.
* * *
“You let him put you in the corner already,” Lawrence shouts at Ethan. “You need to find a way out.”
“Nobody puts baby in the corner,” Ethan says, grinning, but it doesn’t have the effect he wants it to with his mouthguard in, his words muffled.
I crowd him in, toying with him, and keep my fists at the ready, waiting for his strike.
He sends a jab toward my face, and I automatically step back to avoid it. He uses the opportunity to slip by me to the center of the ring.
“There you go,” Lawrence says. “Don’t let him get you back in.”
I feel him out, feinting a few times, and eventually maneuver him to the corner again.
