Page 10 of The Breaking Pointe
Another message from him swoops back in.
Gladyouhaveabrain.Itworks,too.Goodjob.
There’s no sense in responding to someone who harbors as much maliciousness as he does. It might sting a little to not take the conversation further, seeing as my curiosity always gets the best of me, but it’s not worth the trouble. I’ve never met the guy, so I don’t resonate with his animosity towards me. I won’t go out of my way to create any, either. Whatever he wants to say can be said in the ring tomorrow night.Otherwise, that’s why we throw fists.There’s nothing to discuss, and no words that could cause me to chase that high. It’s working out great for him, but I personally don’t like all eyes on me.
I say all of this, but it doesn’t burn out my desire to find out more about this guy and what his deal is. It’s smarter to do that than fishing for information about him myself.
Swiping out of my messages, I go straight to Instagram for all of my answers.I type in his name in the search bar, nothing loading at first.Then I type it out differently, hoping for a different result, which I get. Some accounts don’t even look relatively close to real ones, while others are clearly fan pages. How odd to think that people admire you enough to make fan accounts for you? You can take up so much space in someone’s head without even knowing them personally. Finally,aftertappingvariousaccountsandminimizing myoptions,Icometooneofmylastoptions—thisoption
beingtherightone.
The first few pictures are of him,flexing with an abun-dance of diamonds on him. The locations were tropical, and not one picture lacked a voluptuous woman somewhere in the background or on his arm.Even his friends were dripped out in similar attire.They’re like duplicates of each other. Nobody has their own sense of style or self.Not even the women.
The next few photos are your standard gym candid photos. If I didn’t get humbled before, I am with these. He’s huge, but not in a protein-packed, athletic way. He looks scarily strung out and completely unnatural, unearthly. His pupils are dilated like he swallowed a few lines, and based on the veins throughout his arms, I can guess that he’s not getting that pumped without a little aid. I’ve erased a lot of bullshit that came from my father’s addiction and worked hard to not think about the behaviors he held onto because he abused certain drugs. He practically caused me to remember some things against my will—and looking and acting like a freak because of steroid abuse is one of them.
The farther I delve into his pictures, the deeper the lore
gets.He hardly posts anything about training at all and spends most of his days and nights partying around the world.Any man of the city loves a good night out on the town, but it’s hard to believe that this man holds the title of oneof the best athletes in New York City, while simultaneously gobbling down bottles of cognac for days at a time.
It makes the men like me look like the smallest men alive. After working my ass off with everything I have to offer,it’s become quickly clear to me that this career isn’t always about what you have to offer, so much as people would rather have a contract with a client who has little to no integrity. I’d rather go unsigned, making a couple hundred thousand dollars at a time than selling out. You would have to offer me the rawest, most authentic deal you have, and then maybe I’ll consider it.
Out of all of the pictures I mass scrolled through, I finally sloweddownandfoundonethatwasalotdifferent.It’s abitolder,aswell.It’sapictureofhimandaginger- hairedwoman,cozieduponaloveseat—bothsittingin a remarkably romantic atmosphere.He was as fancy asyou could get, when you have a rotten moral, but I quickly forget that I’m looking for any dirt on him. She, however, is something of a distraction. She’s as darling as they come.
Andshe’swithahalf-wittedcretin.
What I would do to have that view in my life.She looks light years out of his league, might I add.And her hair— it looks like it could be made of silk.Every quality of this woman has me at a standstill, and it’s just a photo.I can’t fathom that she’d lay down with the likes of him.I don’t know her, or anything about what she’s like, but I think I knowwomenenoughtoknowthathe’snotbeingchecked,
for sure.Going by the age of this picture, I hope she’s no longer in the shackles of his presence.The sight of him every day would make me rethink my life’s decisions.
“Cole, you ready?”Trey exclaims, walking out of the office.
Disturbed by the sudden lack of silence, my stare shoots in his direction.
“Yeah—coming,” I say, my words falling to a softer tone. “Just grabbing my things.”
I slip my phone into the pocket of my basketball shorts, walking over to him so we can leave the building, finally. “Everything work out alright? How’re we feeling?”
“Never been better.”I give him a tight-lipped smile.
He gives me an uncertain but faint smile, leading us out of the building. The sounds of the city are strong from the moment we step out.
It’s Trey’s job to be the publicity guy, not mine. If he wants me to show my face somewhere or speak for a brand, it’s him who does the thorough background check before consulting withme.Icancredithimforpickinganumberofways to get my name out there without making me look like a fool. Despite what others might say about his status, he has connections that not a lot of people can say they share. He knows details about people that serve a decent purpose, and it’s why I trust his judgment.
“We need to be at the arena early tomorrow.This guy likestocausescenes,andhe’sapparentlyjustpickedup a partnership with some energy drink company.One that might call a few paparazzi,” Trey says as he locks the metal doors to the gym.
“Paparazzi?”I ask, bobbing my head back.“Since when
are we celebrities?”
“Colton,” he says, amused, “I don’t know if you realize, but this guy is extremely social media famous. In layman’s terms, and in this generation, that means he’s equal to a celebrity.And after tomorrow, you might make or break that for him.”
“That’s great and all, Trey, but what’s that got to do with me?If I lose, I’m sure he won’t be greatly affected,” I say with disdain.
“No, he’d be fine. But you’re gonna have some attention either way, and I want you to be ready.” He turns to face me, pushing us along to begin walking.
My jawisstuckinadangle,listeningto him.
“No—I don’t want pictures, and bullshit, and autographs, Trey, c’mon,” I say, waving my hands.
