On The Ropes

Round 12

Tyreek's POV

"Up." Quan commanded, and I grunted as I lifted my upper body into a full sit up and punched the focus mitts he had on his hands, then lowered myself back onto the ground. "Up." He repeated, and I repeated the same motion.

It's been three days since Quan's pep talk, and he's been making me train in my home gym just like he said he would. In his words, I had my time to sulk...

I just wish everyone would stop trying to make me get over it so quickly. I'm not allowed to wallow about my life being over? I doubt he was forced to get over it when his injury took him out of boxing, but now he's making me get through it... Don't make no damn sense.

"Focus, Pretty Boy." Quan snapped, making my nostrils flare as I sat up again and punched his mitts before going back down. I repeated the motion four more times before I paused, laying on my back and staring up at the ceiling—And then I blacked out.

I've gotten used to this part. I never actually remember seizing, but I always realize what happened once I come back.

Like the doctors told me, they have become less frequent due to the medication... But they're still too frequent for me.

I want them gone.

I want my stupid brain fixed.

I want to be the Tyreek Kingston who bounces back from anything and keeps the fight going.

But I can't...

Being unconscious was like a blip for me. When I came to, Quan was kneeling over me with this look on his face that I was still getting used to. I'm not sure how to describe it... It's like disappointment, but there's more to it. He doesn't smile at me, he doesn't joke with me. He comes to make sure I get up and exercise, then he leaves.

"You back?" He asked once I started to blink up at him. It took me a while to respond, but eventually I nodded my head. "Good... Come one." He reached for me and slowly helped me sit up, then pulled me onto my feet and put my arm over his shoulders so he could help me walk. "I gotta get back to Auntie... Don't just sit 'round here sulkin' and shit, aight? Get up and move around."

He told me the same thing every time he left. I'd agree, and then I'd go back to my room and lay silently in my bed.

DeAndre would come in to talk to me. He'd tell me about his day and ask how I'm feeling, and I'd try my hardest to give responses so he wouldn't worry about me, but for the most part I'd just lay there silently.

The worst part of my day was when the lights would turn off, and Dre would turn away from me to cry into his pillow when he thought I was asleep. Once he was done, he'd turn back over to spoon me, and he'd whisper how much he loves me.

And then he'd fall asleep, and I'd stay awake for the rest of the night.

"You good?" Quan asked once we got to the bottom of the stairs. I moved away from him, wobbling just a bit before I steadied myself and nodded my head. "Right..." He muttered, trailing off for a moment before patting my back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I wish he'd just yell at me... I thought as I watched him turn and walk away. I know he doesn't want to kick me while I'm down, but I'd honestly prefer it at this point.

Letting out a low sigh, I slowly made my way up the stairs and to my bedroom.

DeAndre was sitting up against the headboard while he spoke on his phone, probably talking to Marcus. Once I walked in, he sent me a smile—One of his sad smiles. The ones he'd give me every time he looked at me now...

I know I'm not looking my best. I'm losing weight, I'm losing sleep, I look pale and malnourished... I know it's hard for him to see me like this.

"Marcus was just talkin' about these niggas he saw on vacation in Brazil." He started as I closed the door behind me and slowly started to strip out of my sweaty clothes. "Don't Brazil sound nice? We could get you on a nice beach, get you a tan and shit." He continued, watching as I took all of my clothes off and made my way towards the bathroom.