The alcohol numbs the pain far better than the damn pain killers the doctors keep prescribing me. It has been nearly a month, and I still have not been approved to fight. Donte really fucked me up bad, and there is nothing I want more than to get back in the ring and kick that guy’s ass. Brandi thankfully has wedding planning to distract her; I don’t want her to realize how bad my drinking has gotten. I can’t workout. My trainer won’t let me do anything more than physical therapy crap. I’m bored, and I’m pissed.

I ask the bartender for another drink, and he shakes his head at me. “No way, man, you’re cut off.”

“Fuck you!” I shout, but I didn’t really want to yell at the guy. It just sort of comes out. I am drunk; I feel way more than a buzz, and I know that I should stop –but I want more.

“Fuck you,” the bartender says calmly and then waves at the end of the bar. “Do you see anyone else here? It’s fucking eleven in the morning; you’ve been drinking since eight this morning. You’re cut off. Call someone to drive you home, or I am going to call a cab for your ass.”

“I’m not taking a damn cab,” I say and start looking for my keys like a moron. I know I don’t need to drive, but for some reason, I just can’t keep my head on straight.

The bartender jingles some keys, “I took these from you hours ago, asshole. Remember? That was the deal to get you those two shots.” He turns away from me, grabs the bar phone, and hands it to me.

“Where’s my fucking cell phone?” I snap as he hands me the bars phone.

“You fucking threw it at the dart board, moron!” the bartender hisses; he is ready for me to get out of here. I don’t remember throwing my phone, but apparently, it’s busted. I sure hope Brandi hasn’t tried to get in touch with me. As I’m holding the phone in my hand, I debate calling her… I really don’t want her to see me this incredibly drunk. My left arm is in a sling, and I’m covered in stitches. Between that and the droopy drunk eyes, I’m sure I look like a damn Halloween costume.

I call the only other number I know by heart, but honestly, I can’t even understand what I am saying. I’m fairly certain that I hear Gabe’s voice, but I’m not sure. I try to leave, but the bartender convinces me to stay by promising me another drink. I don’t know if he gives it to me or if he just poured me a glass of water and dipped the straw in tequila to try to trick me. I have no idea, but I drink it.

I’m not sure how much time passes by before Gabe is standing next to me, calling me a jackass. “Brandi is going to fucking kill you, man,” Gabe says as he yanked me off of the bar stool. “This is the third time this week one of us has had to come get you. She’s trying to plan a wedding, and you’re acting like a tool.”

I don’t remember the details, but suddenly I am sitting in Gabe’s car. He is cussing at me and calling me a moron. He turns and looks at me, and I take note that we are still in the parking lot. He’s gripping his steering wheel as he shouts at me. “You are so drunk! Why do you keep doing this? What, because you can’t fight? Come on man, get over yourself. So what if your perfect record got scrubbed this week? You’re a grown ass man! Quit pouting like a damn child. Grow up and get over yourself.”

“Shut up, Gabriel,” I hiss, and he punches me in my bad arm. “Ah! Knock it off that hurts!”

“Oh, does it? I’m surprised you can feel a damn thing as drunk as you are!” He shouts.

I think I black out for a second because at some point Gabe took out his cell phone; I think he’s talking to Brandi. “Yeah, I found him. He wound up calling me. No, I’m not taking him home –you don’t need to see this shit. I’ll get him cleaned up for you… no, don’t do that! No, Brandi, don’t. Finish your dress shopping with your mom; he’s fine… no, I don’t think this is going to keep happening. He's just a wuss about his loss, don’t worry –he’ll get over it. No, no, Brandi, I told you, he’s fine.”

I suppose I should thank him at some point about this. I had forgotten why I had left the house in the first place; Brandi was dress shopping today, and I had decided to go grab a bite to eat at the bar… and I had ordered a drink and another and another and another. Geeze that had escalated quickly.

Gabe hangs up the phone, and we pull out of the parking lot. I am talking, but I can’t understand my own words, so I doubt that Gabe has a clue. Suddenly Gabe is screaming and cussing at me again…. Fuck, I threw up in his floorboard. This is not the most appealing side of me. He looks like he’s ready to kill me.

The next thing I know I’m sitting in his bathtub, and he’s hosing me down with his shower nozzle. “I swear, if you tell anyone about this-” Gabe grumbles, and I realize I’m naked. Did he strip me? Yeah, probably.

I start telling him that he needs to take my sling off, but then I realize I’m not wearing it. Yeah, I’m gone. I am so clueless. He sprays me in the face and tells me to shut the hell up. He starts pulling me up to help me stand, and he makes me wrap a towel around myself. I drop the towel, and he cusses at me again.

He throws me down on the couch and then tosses the towel over me, saying, “I don’t want to stare at your dick while I’m looking for some clean clothes,” and he disappears for a second.

I feel really numb now. The alcohol is really starting to affect me. Damn it, how could I have let myself get this drunk? Soon Gabe is standing me up and helping me get into a pair of sweatpants and an old, baggy t-shirt that he had lying around his apartment. I wind up on the couch again, and I can smell him brewing some coffee in the kitchen.

“Yeah, Brandi, don’t worry, he can stay here tonight. You and your mom just have fun,” I can hear him saying from the kitchen; he’s on the phone with her again.

“Let me talk to her,” I say, spinning my head towards the small kitchen, and I can see him flicking me off while talking to her. He’s a good friend. He’s not going to let me talk to her, and I know I probably would have regretted that later.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll give him hell about it,” Gabe says. “Oh yeah, don’t mention it. Just go have fun. Don’t let one little fuck up by Jonathan ruin your day.”

Soon he is placing a cup of coffee and a glass of water on the coffee table, telling me he’s not going to leave me alone until I drink both. I obey, and I manage to stammer out a thank you. “Whatever, dumbass,” Gabe says and plops down on the couch. “Brandi would have killed you if she saw how fucked up you just got. You got to snap out of this, man. Your manager is already working on setting up some fights in a few months, but until then you got to stay out of trouble. All right?”

“I know,” I say, and I pass out on the couch.