Caught Cold

Cain POV

The average person is usually raised to set their expectations high, and to not accept the bare minimum. Whether it’s with mannerisms, punctuality, or just being a decent human being. If you make a promise, then you keep it. When you hurt someone’s feelings, apologize.

I say fuck that.

I was raised in a home where there were no expectations. It was always better this way. Then there was no room for disappointment. You didn’t do your homework? That’s okay. You’re not going to amount to anything, anyway. You have to wear the same ratty sneakers you’ve had for five years? Oh well. Should have taken better care of them. If there are no expectations at all, then there’s no room for being upset when it doesn’t go your way.

“At least you’re alive.” My mother would say to make it seem like it wasn’t all that bad.

“The least you can do is help out,” she would complain when I was only seventeen. I was already working 40 hours a week. It was never enough since I was the only one working to keep a roof over everyone’s heads. If it weren’t for my little brother and sister, I would have just left my mother and her shit stain boyfriend, Tim, to perish.

I scoff to myself at the thought and finish my coffee in one gulp. When I place the mug down, it’s harder than I intended when the sound of the glass clanks against the wooden table. The sudden noise causes everyone in the cafe to turn around and glare at me with a scowl. That is until they actually see me and they avert their eyes the other way.

I can’t really blame them, though. If I had a brain the size of a damn pea, I’d be intimidated by someone like me, too, I guess. Almost every inch of my body is decorated in large, colorful tattoos—even my scalp. Although I’ve let my hair grow out longer than usual, so you can’t even see them. The giant scar that travels from my forehead to my upper lip doesn’t help with my angelic look either, but what can you do? It’s definitely helpful for keeping people the fuck away from me.

Standing from my chair, the wobbly legs scrape loudly against the tiled floor. This time, nobody bothers to turn their heads. I carelessly toss my trash in the can before stepping outside and instantly regret leaving the warmth. After adjusting the beanie on my head, I shove my hands deep inside my pockets to shield them from the bite in the air. The winters in the Bronx, don’t give a rat’s ass if you have proper hand wear or not this late in December.

The snow crunches beneath my feet while I walk down the sidewalk. I don’t even know where I’m going. I just know I’m not going home, and that’s for damn sure. It’s probably best if I stay away at this point. At least for a few hours, anyway.

I wander around the streets endlessly until my nose is freezing to the point I wonder if it’s even still attached. It has to be at least in the single digits, if not below that. Everyone that passes by me is wearing big fluffy coats, hats that swallow their small heads, and boots up to their thighs. Bunch of pansies if you ask me.

I inhale a deep, painful breath while the frigid air burns my lungs. While blowing it out, I watch the condensation cloud in front of me, and dissipate into nothing as if it wasn’t ever there. If only it were that easy to just evaporate into nothing, I’d already be a mere memory. God, that almost sounds like a cry for help, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. I just simply don’t give a shit enough to be here.

Feeling the daunting vibration of my phone from my pocket drags a low grunt to bubble in my throat. I should have turned the damn thing off before I left.

I reluctantly fish out the device and immediately regret ever pulling it out in the first place. The name “Angie” flashes across the screen while I press the decline button and shove it back in my pocket. I don’t know why I’m surprised I can’t spend one morning by myself. That’s all I ever want is to be alone, yet not one person can respect that. Not even my own “mother”.

It’s been months since I could be by myself, and that time it wasn’t even by my choice. Everyone was just too afraid to come near me. Scared they might say the wrong thing. I’m almost salivating at the memory of my seclusion. What I don’t want to remember is the way Cassie looked at me. Like she was afraid I’d hurt her, too.

One would think with how long we’ve been friends, she’d know I wouldn’t ever hurt her. Yet I’ll never forget the way her body trembled while her eyes were glistening with tears. Tears that I caused. The blunt reminder causes my spine to heat and my fists to curl within my pockets.

I stop in my tracks and look around the bustling sidewalk to figure out where exactly I am since I haven’t been paying attention. Numerous storefronts line the streets, all advertising the same Christmas bullshit in their windows. They offer half priced handbags while refusing to disclose they’re not actually authentic, and the flower shops promise their arrangements won’t die in a week. More bullshit. Christmas has always been one huge marketing ploy to make people feel good about themselves, and nobody can convince me otherwise.

Before I get the chance to resume walking, my phone vibrates. Yet again. I know damn well if I ignore this one too, there will be a million more to follow.

Without bothering to check the caller ID, I slide my thumb across the screen and hold it to my ear.

“What?” I bark into the phone.

“Good morning to you too, Cain,” my pain in the ass best friend, Cassie chirps. I can practically hear her smile on the other end.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and let a low laugh escape. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says in a singsong way. “I was just wondering what you were up to since I haven’t heard from you in a few weeks. That’s not like you.”

“Nothing. I got breakfast and now I’m just walking.”

“So, you’re just walking around aimlessly in the Bronx? In the middle of December?”

I don’t bother answering her question. Cassie and I have been friends for far too long for her to not know why I thought this was a good idea. Which I’m now slightly regretting since I can barely feel my fingers anymore.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” she asks. Her tone sounding more concerned than anything. No judgement. Just genuine concern.

I let her question linger in the air while I contemplate my options. It’s either I go home, which is a bad idea all together. I can continue walking around and possibly get frostbite—which is still better than the first option. Or I can allow her to pick my sorry ass up and deal with her million and one questions—but I’ll get to see Poppy. So there’s at least something positive.

“Sure,” I finally say with a sigh.

It’s not that I don’t want her around me. I just don’t trust myself anymore to keep my cool. There’s so much shit that’s been bottling up in the last few weeks since I last saw her, and she’s dealt with enough of my blow ups. She’s been the one to pick up the broken pieces that is my life for as long as I can remember. She doesn’t deserve the heartache she goes through when continuously watching me fuck up. She got out of this shithole city. I didn’t.

“Okay, just stay where you are. I’ll be there soon,” she says before ending the call.

My eyebrows pinch together while I pull the phone away from my ear. She didn’t even ask me where I am, yet she’s going to be here soon? While staring at my phone in confusion, a notification flashes across the screen.

Life360: Cassie Left Home.

I roll my eyes and shove the phone back in my pocket. I forgot she downloaded that shit on my phone. The last time she had to come to my rescue, it took her well over an hour to locate which bar I was at. The dumbass bartender didn’t bother telling her where we were, just said if she didn’t come get my ass, then the cops would.

My eyes scan the overcrowded sidewalk in search of the nearest bench until my eyes land on a thankfully vacant spot. I do my best to dust off the snow before sitting on it, but the cold metal easily seeps through my jeans. I lean forward and blow hot air into my hands to warm them up, but it proves to be useless.

Suddenly feeling the bench shift beneath me, I peer up to see a man around my age sitting beside me. I instinctively inch over to leave us more space, since the guy is just about in my personal bubble.

His head slowly turns toward me when his eyes squint. “Hey, you look familiar,” he says while shifting his body to face me.

I look at him for a split second before shrugging and returning my gaze to the ground. “It’s a big city.”

“No, I mean you really look familiar,” he persists. He snaps his fingers suddenly with realization. “You’re Rage, aren’t you?”

His question catches me off guard when my head whips in his direction. “Uh, yeah,” I confirm awkwardly.

“Man, I was in the crowd for your last fight! You beat the shit out of that guy!” he gushes while shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah.” That’s all I have the energy to say. I don’t want to relive that memory. I haven’t been back in the ring since that fight for a reason.

“So, when’s your next fight?”

“I don’t know.”

Take the hint, dude. For the love of God, stop talking.

“Do you think it’ll be at the same place?”

“I don’t know,” I say through my teeth. I can already feel the blood starting to boil under my skin. Just another reminder that people can never just leave me alone when I need it.

Before the guy can say anymore, the sound of snow crunching beneath tires and a light honk pulls my attention.

“Perfect timing,” I mutter to myself.

I stand without acknowledging my bubble invader and slowly make my way to Cassie’s car. If I thought I was in a shit mood before, that just brought it down further. Fighting has been a big part of my life since I was fourteen years old, but that last fight only proved I need to learn self control before I step back into another ring.

If I ever get back into the ring.