It hurts. Bruises blossoming on my stomach, my cheek reddening, a cut on my arm from a ring. It hurts so much, yet it feels right. This is what I'm good at, this is what I am, now. The shock of the impact that ripples up my arm, the feel of my knuckles hitting flesh and bone and muscle. Blood pools from my hairline, obscuring my vision, but I don't need to see, and I don't want to see. I don't even feel like I'm here in this parking lot. I feel the winds of Yamatai in my hair.
The man slumps to the ground, unconscious. One of his teeth crunches under my boot as I wipe the blood from my face. The crowd around me chants my name, a dull roar under the ringing of my ears. Pain twinges in my ribs, but I don't show it. I can't let anyone know there's a weakness there, or they'd just go right for it.
I hear my name again, through the ringing and the roar. Sam. It's Sam. I try harder to wipe away the blood, facing her as she storms through the crowd. She's angrier than I've ever seen her. "Lara! What the hell are you doing?!"
"Training," I say, rubbing at my knuckles. They're raw from three consecutive victories. "Stress relief."
"You look terrible, come on." She grabs my wrist, and it makes me twitch, yanking away before instinct kicks in. Adrenaline is still pumping, and if I hit Sam I'd never forgive myself.
"Sam, I'm fine."
"Your nose is crooked, you're going to the hospital."
"No."
She stares at me. I can't read the expression on her face, but her eyes are bloodshot. For the first time, I notice that she's slurring her words. Sam grabs my arm again and I tense. I hear the sounds of Yamatai again, but they don't last as long this time. "This is what you've been doing, isn't it? Running off, getting into fights. Coming home at all hours of the night…."
"Like you have any room to talk." My voice comes out as a pained hiss. "You're not a fish Sam. You're practically breathing Vodka! Don't think I haven't noticed!"
"Don't turn this back onto me." Sam lets go of me, as if I'd slapped her. "Lara, you have to… You have to stop this. You're going to get yourself killed. You're not even healed yet! Please, please come home!"
"Later," I turn away from her, towards the makeshift arena. "There's another challenger."
"Lara, if you don't come home right now, I won't be there when you do."
I freeze. Is she really making an ultimatum? She can't be serious. I call her bluff. "You're not going to leave, Sam. That's ridiculous."
It's a big man, the challenger. But I know I can take him.
It's well after three when I drag myself into the flat. Every muscle in my body hurts and I probably need stitches in my forehead, but that can wait for morning. "Sam?" She's probably passed out drunk. Our row from earlier comes to mind, but I put it out of my own and pass out in bed.
The sun shines into my eyes, waking me. Groggily, I remember the night before. When I try to move I can't quite stop the cry that the pain rips from my throat. Slowly, I pull myself out of bed. I pop some tylenol. "Sam?" Her room is empty. She's not home, and even worse, her cameras are gone. I check her closet, and her favorite outfits are gone too. "Sam?!" I check the bathroom, and my room, and behind the couch. But she's gone. My Sam is gone. I've managed to chase the most important person in the world away from me.
The next couple of days go by in a blur. I don't hear from Sam, and she's blocked my phone number. I'm too sore to walk very far, but I try to check her favourite haunts. No Sam.
They haven't even seen her, and by the time I run out of places to look I've started to feel numb inside. I fight that feeling by returning to the parking lot. I pound my depression into the faces of my challengers. After one man lays on the ground, bleeding severely from the mess I've made of his nose, I ask myself what I'm doing. I stumble back home, the world ringing and spinning around me. I was sloppy tonight, and I don't really care.
The only answer I have is that nothing matters any more. Roth is dead, Sam left me. Find her! I don't listen to myself. The woman staring back at me in the mirror is a stranger. Bruised and battered, eyes soulless and hard, and alone. So utterly alone.
I settle on the couch, and pick up my phone. My fingers dial Sam's numbers against my will, and I listen to it ring. It's not rejected, and I hear her voicemail. I almost forget to say anything, I'm so distracted by the sound of her voice. Finally, dazed, I say, "Sam...please come home. I don't know where you are and I'm worried. I'm sorry."
Setting the phone down, I press an icepack to my face. Sam doesn't call me back. I wait a little longer, then I start calling hospitals. I know she's mad at me, but I can't just abandon her. Even if I know she's all right and she doesn't want to speak to me that would have to be enough.
It never could be but I'm an expert at lying to myself. The phone rings at the second hospital, and then someone picks up. "Hello? I'm looking to see if a Samantha Nishimura was admitted in the last week?"
The nurse says yes, and that she's in critical condition, and my heart just stops.