Insanity

Chapter 4: Recoveries, I Know 'Em

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Recoveries, I Know 'Em

  I woke up at around noon on Saturday after crashing last night. I hadn't had that much sleep in over a month. Then again, I haven't been beaten up in well over a year. Usually I was the one beating people up.

  As I slowly got out of bed I winced at each movement. Ivy wasn't kidding when she said I'd have a lot of bruises. My stomach felt like it had turned into a punch bag overnight and my head pounded and pulsed. I couldn't see out of my right eye because of the swelling, even though I had ice on it until all hours the night before. I hate recoveries; they hurt more than the actual fight.

  I went straight to the shower and hoped it would take away some of the aching. The warmth soothed my aching muscles a little and my body relaxed. I wasn't so on edge and everything didn't hurt as much. It still hurt, but it wasn't like when I first woke up.

  I quickly dried and pulled some jeans on. I grabbed a t-shirt and walked down the stairs where my Dad was bound to be. I could hear voices as I approached the door to the kitchen so I started tugging my top on. I didn't want guests seeing me half naked.

  I didn't manage to successfully pull my top on until after our guest had gotten a good look at my abdomen and chest with a long scar going from my navel to my left hip. I wasn't ashamed of it, but I didn't like people seeing it either.

  I looked up to see Ivy, sitting in my kitchen, while choking on her tea. Thank god Dad had his back to me.

  I showed confusion as I said "Good morning Dad, hey Ivy." I took a glass out of the cupboard and walked over to the fridge.

  "Hey Ryder," Ivy coughed out as she slowly recovered from choking.

  "Ivy was just telling me how she and her friends fixed you up," My Dad smiled, obviously not catching on that I was probably the reason why Ivy choked on her tea instead of just a random spasm of the diaphragm.

  "Yeah, they did a wonderful job. They even got me food." I filled my glass with milk and joined them at the table.

  "It was no big deal, he needed help and we always like to help people out." Ivy shrugged.

  "Yeah well, it's such a shame that my boy doesn't know how to fight," Dad said with a nervous grin.

  "Dad, don't bother. She knows I used to be a street fighter," I skulled down the milk after delivering a rather hard blow.

  "Don't worry, it's no biggie. He doesn't seem like the fighting type," Ivy instantly wanted to get rid of the tension. She just unintentionally made it worse instead.

  "He never was," My Dad got up slowly, looking like he was a thousand years old and left the room with a hanging face.

  "My Dad doesn't like to talk about it," I told her, wanting to change the subject immediately. "So, how come you're here? And where are the others?"

  "I don't always have the others on my tail, you know. I was just checking up on you. Plus, I found your gym bag in the alley, just wanted to return it to you. Your face looks a little worse in the light, but it'll soon heal," Ivy replied, taking my hint to change the subject.

  "Recoveries, I know 'em." I grinned.

  She smiled back and I finally took her in properly. Last night it was too dim to really see her face. She had tanned features with those beautiful bright eyes. Her hair was parted to the side and fell right down passed her shoulders. Her pink lips were full and luscious, and made her look so much softer. She held herself with an air of confidence though, one that made you want to avoid her for fear of getting on her last nerves. She kind of reminded me a little of people I met in rehab, those who admitted and accepted who they were a long time ago.