Page 100 of Revive Me

And if I’m not in the fight world, what the fuck am I doing?Who am I?At twenty-eight years old, I don’t have a single thing to offer beyond my fighting skills. So, what am I supposed to do? What do I do with my time, and what do I do for money?

And then I think about Lily.

And I realize that even if I could figure out this job shit, I still wouldn’t haveher.

So if I don’t have a purpose, andI don’t have Lily…then what’s the point of anything?What’s the fucking point?

In a now-unfamiliar move, I grab the whiskey from my kitchen cabinet. And then I yank the cork out and chug several mouthfuls right out of the bottle.

I just want oblivion back. I don’t want to exist in my reality anymore; there’s nothing here for me but pain.

Moving back to the couch, I wait for the buzz to hit me. When I get impatient, I take another swig.

But it’s still not working quickly enough. I don’t feel anything, and nothing is dissolving the pain and anger that are raging inside me.

I glare down at my useless legs. At the cause of every single problem in my life. “This isyourfucking fault,” I growl.

With the hand not holding the bottle of whiskey, I make a fist and punch my thigh, ignoring the fact that I can actually feel the strike. I’m too lost in the moment to be rational.

“If it weren’t foryou,” I spit out, chest heaving, “I’d be the reigning champion of the world right now and the greatest light heavyweight in the history of the UFC.Youtook that from me. You made me into this… this… thisdegenerate. I’museless. A fuckingtoddlercan do more than I can.”

Saying that out loud triggers something in me. And in a fit of frustration, I slam the bottle of whiskey on the side table and adjust my feet in front of the couch. And then I push myself up to a standing position.

Fuck this. I’m going to walk, even if it kills me.

I sway slightly, but it’s my usual attempt at regaining my balance—the whiskey hasn’t hit me yet. It always takes me a second to feel like I have my feet under me.

The moment I’m stable, I squeeze my hands into fists. And then I will myself to move.

I barely make it three inches, and I wobble so hard afterwards that, for a second, I think I’m going to do a faceplant.

But I don’t. I’ve taken my first ever—unassisted—step.

I don’t think it fully registers at first. Nothing feels different. I still hate my reality just as much as I did a minute ago.

So, I clench my jaw, and I force myself to take another one. And then another. And another.

Four steps later, I’m not even three feet from the couch, and I have no idea how to turn around. I’m stuck. Frozen in a state of shock.

Which is when the whiskey takes effect.

The dizziness hits me so hard that I have to close my eyes to fight against it. But that just makes me wobble, and I extend my arms out to try to regain my balance.

It doesn’t work. Before I can even attempt to aim my fall toward the couch, I go crashing to the ground.

I let out a pained groan as I roll onto my back. I managed to keep from faceplanting completely, but I can already tell my elbow and hip are going to be bruised as fuck tomorrow.

Whatever. It’s not like any of this shit matters.

I stare up at the ceiling in utter defeat. I don’t even want to get up right now, because…what’s the point?I hate everything. I can’t doanything. And I don’t bring any value to anyone else’s life, so it’s not like I matter to anyone outside of myself. I should stay down here.

Not for the first time, I wish the injury had been a little more complete—a little bit more permanent. At least if I was dead, I never would’ve known what it was like to have everything and then lose it. To become nothing when I used to be everything.

I look toward the whiskey on the side table not far from me. I’ve never seriously thought about finishing the job, but feeling like this is why I started drinking in the first place. I just wanted to escape my thoughts, myreality, for a little while.

With that, I crawl toward the table, dragging my useless legs like a slug behind me. And I reach up to grab the bottle.

Fuck this. Fuckallof this. Nothing matters. Might as well lose consciousness so I don’t have to be in my own head. Maybe I can get drunk enough that I’ll do something so I don’t have to be in my ownbody.

---