Alyssa ♔
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I'm such a mess that I spend the morning training with Maddie to clear my head. She can tell I'm upset, so obviously, my acting skills need work, but I don't tell her what happened. Not only would she rip Max a new one, but right now, I just want to focus on releasing this pressure, which means hitting something. In this case, Maddie.

Over in the ring, she motions for me to join her. I step forward, feeling the coolness of the aircon on my face. The gentle untwisting of the knots in my stomach. I tighten my glove straps, trying my hardest to focus on the simple things, like the familiar protection they provide or the lightness in my step as I bound toward the ring.

The air is thick with the distinct scent of sweat. Maddie shifts before me, cradling the worn-out training pads in her hands. She looks different this morning, brighter for one, like maybe she's having one of those mornings – the kind I haven't had in forever.

"You look happy," I say teasingly. "Morning sex?"

She laughs a little, keeping the mitts at forehead height, a few inches before her, and angled inward slightly. "You're here to train, not comment on my sex life. Get in position."

I do as I'm told, raising my chin as I focus on the center of her pads. I prefer the pads to the heavy bag sometimes. They force you to focus on something in particular, whether it's rhythm, accuracy, or in this case, speed. Scratch that, anger.

The anticipation builds within me as I prepare to unleash, and then I realize how crazy that is. Once upon a time, my way of relaxing was to hit Rodeo Drive with Tiana. Now it's punching something.

"Ready when you are, Liss."

I don't need telling twice. My fists explode with power as they collide with Maddie's pads, the impact resounding through my body. I feel the energy in my arms, the strength coiling my tendons with each strike. Jab, cross, hook, hab, cross hook. What once felt impossible comes as naturally as breathing.

Easier.

"Good," Maddie says, grinning. "Just tighten up."

I do as she asks, centering my punches in the middle of the pads. The longer we go, the clearer it becomes how angry I am. Scratch that, furious. At my parents, at Max.

Everyone's set on doing what's best for me; nobody stops to think about what I want. It's why, deep down, I'd agreed to this fight in the first place. For once, I'm doing something completely unexpected that doesn't serve anyone else.

Something just for me.

The urge to punch somebody right now is intense, and unfortunately for Maddie, she's in my firing line. I land another blow to the pads, nearly sending her stumbling.

"I'm glad we're not sparring today," she jokes, but I can't bring myself to smile. All I can think about is everything that happened, how powerless I've felt, and I refuse to ever feel that way again.

"Hey," Maddie says, frowning, "is everything okay?"

I'm about to tell her I don't want to talk about it, which is true, technically, but keeping it inside isn't the brightest idea either. I'd usually go to Tiana with these things, but the truth is, as understanding as she tries to be, sometimes it feels like we're no longer on the same page. She's still in their world, living the life of money and glamor, and doesn't get why I want to stay away from it.

"Max told me he's sorry," I say through tight, controlled punches. "He never explicitly said he wanted to get back together, but that's the impression I got."

Her eyes soften. She's got that look on her face, the kind that suggests she's been where I am, giving me some semblance of comfort. "How do you feel about it?"

I shrug and keep punching. Maddie and I don't often talk boys, for which I'm usually glad. It's nice to have a friend I can talk to about other things, but given that Tiana's not here and I'm ready to explode, I find myself dropping my hands.

"Angry," I say, and it feels good to say it out loud to somebody, to not have to pretend that I'm okay. "I'm angry that Max left in the first place and angry that it took him this long to realize it was a mistake."

"He's a dummy," Maddie agrees.

I can't help it; I laugh. "Are you only saying that to make me feel better?"

"No," she says thoughtfully, "I mean it. Max's problem is that he's got this huge heart, and sometimes, he gets so scared of losing the people he loves that he goes to crazy lengths to protect them. But that's unhealthy, and if he doesn't keep it in check, it'll become toxic."

I've never thought of it that way, but she's right. One of the things I've always loved about Max is how protective he is, but it's also why we're in this mess. "Has anyone ever told you you'd make a good psychologist?" I ask.

She smiles and raises the pads again, ushering me to continue. As soon as my fists find a steady rhythm again, she says, "Obviously, it's up to you whether you want to give Max another chance, but for what it's worth, I don't think he'll make that mistake again."

Maybe she's right. Maybe if I took Max back, things could work out, and I'd find a way to trust him again. Or maybe there'd always be this doubt in my head that if Max could walk away from me once, what's stopping him from doing it again?

"It's not just about Max." I say it so quietly that I wonder if she hears me over the sound of my punches. "Things are still complicated with my parents. I found out they did something pretty messed up, and I don't know what to do."

She pulls back a little, her hazel eyes softening like honey. I know she has a complicated history with her parents, and bringing up mine always leads to this look, one I feel guilty for.

"I'm sorry," I say, nervously laughing. "None of this has anything to do with training. We can–"

"Alyssa," she says, her, don't be an idiot voice on, "you're my friend. Why wouldn't I want to hear what's going on with you? And in terms of your parents–" she stops for a moment, searching my face like she's looking for something in particular. The moment she finds it, her face falls. "I know what it's like to have complicated parents. The people who don't are the ones who love to say that family is family and you have to forgive them, but that's not true. Sometimes walking away from your family is the only way to protect yourself."

I feel the familiar lump in my throat as I study her face, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around her and never let go. All this time, Maddie has been like the protective big sister, but who's protecting her? "Is that what you had to do?" I ask. "Walk away?"

She lowers the pads and focuses on fiddling with the velcro. "My relationship with my mom is better than ever, actually, but my dad is out of the picture for good." She doesn't elaborate, and I don't need her to; it just helps to know that I'm not the only one conflicted. That if push comes to shove and I have to cut them out, it doesn't make me a bad person. Loving them doesn't, either.

"How do I know?" I ask. "How do I know whether to try and fix things like you and your mom or walk away?"

Her gaze floats back up to me, the tiniest glimmer of defiance in them. "Only you can decide that," she says, "but in my experience, everything starts with that first conversation."

Once again, she's right. I've been so hellbent on avoiding my parents after everything that happened, but avoidance only delays the inevitable. If things are ever going to get better, we need to talk it through, and if not, I need to let myself move on for good.

"Now, keep your hands up," Maddie says, grinning. "You're flagging."

***

By the end of our session, I step back, sweat-soaked and breathless but feeling better than I have in days. And not just because of getting hit something, I realize, but through talking with Maddie.

Wanting to hold onto this feeling, I shower and change before heading to my parents. It's been weeks since I've seen them, mostly because I was determined to prove that I'm fine by myself, but talking with Maddie made me realize that most of the anger I feel is because of them. I have so much to say to them, so much I've been keeping inside, and it's about time I let them know it.

The whole ride to my house, I'm jittery. I feel like this is it, the moment we finally make some leeway or the moment I lose my parents for good, and it's terrifying. What I do know, though, is that no matter what, things can't continue like this.

I need closure.

My steps feel heavy as I walk up the drive to the house. I knock on the door, waiting a moment for movement through the glass before knocking again.

When it looks like no one's in, I'm about to turn around when Mom opens the door in her pink yoga gear, blinks a few times, and starts crying. I stand awkwardly on the doorstep, torn between screaming profanities in her face and wanting to wrap my arms around her.

It's clear from her red-rimmed eyes that the tears started before I arrived, and I peek over her shoulder into the expanse of hallway for any signs of Dad, only to find everything is gone.

And when I say everything, I mean everything. I step through the ornate double doors as confusion takes hold. The fine-crystal chandelier that once hung from the ceiling is missing, leaving a sparse single bulb. The one-of-a-kind paintings flown in from Europe? Gone. Italian Veneto Walnut Center Table? Handmade Ghom Silk Persian Rug? Gone, and gone.

"What's going on?" I ask, turning around, but my mother's mouth is a tight, thin line, pressing her sobs in. "Mom."

Eventually, in a voice so quiet it's barely audible, she says, "Your father and I needed to sell a few things."

"A few things?" I look around as if I'm wrong, but no. The place is as empty as when I walked in. "Mom, there's nothing left. Where's Dad?"

The last of her resolve falters. She lets out a sob, turning her back on me to walk into the kitchen, where she presses her arms on the empty island counter, burying her face.

"He's out of the country on business," she says, but her voice cracks, betraying the lightness of her tone.

"What business?" My father has never needed to do business outside of the country, which means, for whatever reason, she's lying. Or he is.

"I don't know, okay?" she says through sobs. "We had a huge argument after you left. I told him I wanted a divorce, and we hadn't spoken in weeks when he suddenly came home all panicked and told me he had to fly out for business. He caught his flight a few days ago and–" she pauses to let out another heaving sob, "–I haven't heard from him since."

I'm trying my hardest to process what she's saying, but none of it makes sense. "He just left you? Why? And why wouldn't you tell me?"

Finally, she lifts her head, mascara-stained cheeks flushed red. "I thought trying to reach out to you again would only push you further away. I wanted to handle things on my own for a change, but then–" her eyes water, filling with something I've scarcely seen in them.

Fear.

"Then what?"

She doesn't look at me. Doesn't breathe. The only thing she does is cry. "After your father left, Justin's dad started calling me to find out where he went. He's scaring me."

I lean forward, grabbing her shoulders to look at me properly. "Mom, I need you to be very clear with me. What exactly is happening? How is he scaring you?"

Her gaze falls sideways, refusing to look me in the eye. "He says your father owes him a lot of money. If I don't find a way to pay it all back–" she breathes in slowly, her skin so gaunt that it shakes her collarbones, "–he's going to kill us."

A/N

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