Rika, the Cuban Flame

10. A Demon Approaches

Lucas

I turn the television off. "Serves her right," I mutter.

I love watching fights even if I can't fight myself. It's something that I've always done to pass the time. I'd even shill out the enormous fee to watch pay-per-view, but I couldn't do that this time. Coach Perez paid the fee for me so I could watch all the fights tonight. Though, this month, like very month, money has been tight and I've had to rely on help and that's not something I enjoy asking for. After turning the lights out in the living room, I zig zag around my studio apartment over to the bathroom, passing two medical bills on the counter. My apartment is small, so everything is in the way.

When I left AMA three weeks ago, I couldn't take the pain for even two more days and had to go back. They took an x-ray, MRI, and then gave me a pretty nice cast. Everyone was very nice to me and understood why I freaked out the first time. I didn't see Dr. Offolberg. I made that blatantly clear and I still think he's a quack and that won't change.

The aftercare instructions for my broken arm infuriate me. The list is hard to keep up with and I've missed two follow-up appointments since the university hospital put the cast on my arm. Once I got the medical bills, I freaked out and decided not to go to any other appointment unless I'm in obvious pain or I have an infection. I can't afford it all, especially after seeing the first bill.

Those medical bills are the bane of my existence, and it sucks that asking for help comes with such a high cost. Especially when I need that help, as a broken arm won't heal itself. I've used the internet to scour if I could go to jail for not paying medical bills, and I'm relieved to know that's not true. However, the medical debt can go to collections and they could sue me for not paying. They can sue all they want. What's the worst they could take? My shitty studio apartment? They can have it.

As I get ready for bed, my phone rings from the nightstand. I spit into the sink after brushing my teeth and wipe my face off before I walk over and see who's calling. My phone says Coach Perez. I don't know why I put 'coach' in front of his name... he's not my coach.

I tap the green button and bring the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Lucas!" Coach Perez yells into the phone. "How are you?"

Even with his yelling, it's hard to hear him. "I'm doing okay..." I pause for a second. "Aren't you busy right now? Rika just lost and it's only been like, an hour at most..."

"Get out of the way!" Coach Perez yells. There's a lot of commotion on his end; could just be movement near the mouthpiece, muffled yells and screams, or something else entirely, but the consistent, loud shuffling makes me pull the phone away from my ear. "Lucas? Lucas! Can you still hear me?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I say calmly.

"Okay, great. Can you come by the gym in the morning?"

I pause, thinking about how to decline in the nicest possible way. "No, I can't. I have class—"

"No, you don't," he interrupts quickly. "I highly doubt you have classes on the weekend."

"You don't know that," I counter.

"Why don't you want to come in?"

I return to the television and switch it back on. Rika's card was the last fight card for the night. The only thing on now is mostly commentary, post-fight interviews, and speaking off... the television shifts to a press conference with Rika sitting at a table in front of a bunch of hungry reporters. The camera pans around and I even see Coach Perez talking on the phone before the camera pans back to the table Rika sits at. It feels really strange to see Coach Perez on television, on the phone, talking to my ass.