Jamie is the one to end it. He calls me on Sunday, much later than usual, so I know there is something on his mind. It takes a little bit of small talk and some coaxing to get it out of him, but he finally admits it: he doesn't want me anymore.
The first thing I feel is relief, followed by panic. I'd known it was coming, known that our relationship wasn't standing the tests of time, but I've been too scared to admit it. How do you say goodbye to three years of your life? How do you give up on something you thought that you wanted? I'd spent nearly every day with Jamie back in New York; the thought of never seeing him again is sickening.
Then there's the part of me that wonders what I could have done differently. If this was all because of me: why wasn't I good enough to make him want to stay? Why didn't he want me?
The phone call is short. We spent nearly three years together, and it only takes two minutes to end it. We both say goodbye and good luck for the future before I lie against my bed, staring at the ceiling. It's for the best, I know that, but the best doesn't always feel like it in the moment. What I feel is alone. Completely and utterly alone.
I'm quiet the next morning. I sit through breakfast without anything to say, and then on the bus while June talks about her weekend. I keep my head down in class, checking my phone beneath the table in case he's suddenly changed his mind. But why would he? And why would I want him to? Fear? Uncertainty? What exactly is it that makes people want to stay in a relationship that isn't going anywhere?
My vow of silence lasts all the way to the gym. I plan on getting through training as quietly as possible, but the moment I walk in, Hayden steps in front of me and completely blocks my path.
"What's wrong with you?" he asks.
I force myself to meet his gaze. Is he some kind of mind reader now? "What makes you think something is wrong?"
For a second, he is silent. He just reaches into the equipment box and pulls out my gloves. Slowly, he takes my hands and slides them on. "You've been scowling all day."
I narrow my eyes. He makes me sound like a five-year-old, and why has he been watching me at school? "I don't scowl."
"Yeah, you do." He meets my gaze now. His eyes are smiling. "You stomp, too. You're not so good at hiding your emotions, are you?"
"Or maybe you spend too much time examining me," I say, turning to the punching bag.
He takes a step backward and folds his arms, making them look twice their size. "Ready when you are, then."
I stare at him for a second, hesitant and self-conscious. But then I decide I don't care anymore. I turn to the bag and start punching.
It's not just Jamie I'm punching for, it's mostly my dad. I picture his smug face and stupid green eyes and I punch harder than ever, like maybe if I do it hard enough, he'll be able to feel it. I'll be able to hurt him the way he hurt us. Hurt me.
Anger consumes me until it burns at my throat. I hit harder to get rid of it, but it just grows and churns around in my chest, refusing to die. SoI punch and I punch, and it's only when I am struggling to breathe that I realize it's no longer my dad I'm imagining.
It's me.
I must start to fall or something, because the next thing I know, Hayden has got his arms locked around me and is pulling me to his chest. I'm breathing hard, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling, but it doesn't seem to be working.
"Hey, it's all right," Hayden says, gripping me tight. "Just take a deep breath. I've got you." His arms feel heavy and strong around my body, keeping me grounded. I lean in slightly, letting my body relax into his.
It takes several minutes for me to finally calm down, and when I do, I am mortified. Hayden is still holding me like he's afraid to let go, and I shift out of his arms before turning to face him.
"Sorry, I must have overheated or something," I say. "I need to remember to drink more water." I let out a nervous laugh and look at the wall, at the floor, at anywhere but his scrutinizing eyes.
"What's going on with you?" he asks.
When I finally look back at him, his expression is serious. Concerned. "Nothing, I'm fine."
"I'd say you're the opposite of fine," he says, clearly not buying it. "Tell me."
I don't know what I'm supposed to say, so I don't say anything. I'm mad at myself for getting like this. I'm usually great at keeping it together, but with him, it seems harder to fake it.
"Look, can we just forget about this?" I ask. "I'm embarrassed and I don't feel like talking about it."
He isn't going to drop it, I can tell by his face. "I've been where you are," he says, and when he steps forward, it takes everything I have not to take a step back. "I was angry for a long, long time."
Finally, I bite. "About your dad dying?"
He nods briefly. "I kept thinking the anger would just go away one day, but it didn't." His eyes cloud over. In them is a layer of vulnerability I have never seen before. "You think this is bad? I got so angry during a match, I ended up nearly killing a guy."
Hearing this causes me to flinch a little. "Is that what you meant when you said you let your emotions get in the way?"
He nods again, and I can tell this is hard for him. "I brought my demons into the ring, thinking it would help," he says. "The only thing it did was help destroy me."
I'm quiet for a few moments as I study his face. I have never seen this side of him before, this vulnerable, non scowling side. This human side.
I realize I like it.