Chapter 4: Poisoned Promises and a Diary of Lies

After the party, we went home. Emily brought me a glass of water and a bottle of medicine. The apartment was quiet, the air heavy. I watched her, searching for any sign of guilt. She handed me the glass, her smile bright and innocent.

"Honey, I had this medicine made just for you. Three years ago, you hurt your arm protecting me, and it's never healed right. Take this. I don't want to see you in pain."

Her words were gentle, her eyes shining with concern. I almost believed her. Almost. My hands shook as I took the glass.

Her eyes were red, her voice full of concern. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, blinking back tears. I wondered if she was crying for me, or for herself.

I remembered how, when I was booed and driven out of the ring, Emily was the only one defending me, insisting there was something fishy about what happened. She stood by me when everyone else turned away. She argued with reporters, fought with my friends, refused to let me give up. Back then, I thought she was my angel. Now, I wasn't so sure.

Some angry fan even threw something at her, and I blocked it with my arm. I remembered the sting of the blow, the way she clung to me afterward. She cried in my arms, promising she'd fix everything. I believed her.

That day, she cried and told me, "I'm going to get to the bottom of this and clear your name." Her words were fierce, determined. I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her.

But I told her—I didn't care. I just wanted to protect her. I said it softly, my voice breaking. She hugged me tighter, whispering that everything would be okay. I clung to her, desperate for comfort.

Thinking of that, I forced a smile and looked at Emily. I tried to summon some warmth, some trace of the love I used to feel. But it was gone, replaced by a cold emptiness.

"Emily, can I... not take the medicine?" I asked quietly, my voice trembling. I watched her face for any sign of guilt, any flicker of hesitation.

She paused, then insisted. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw set. She wasn't taking no for an answer.

"No. You have to take it to get better. If you don't like the taste, I'll give you some candy."

She pulled a piece of candy from her pocket and smiled at me. It was butterscotch, my favorite. She pressed it into my hand, her fingers lingering on mine.

"It won't taste bitter with candy."

Her voice was soft, almost pleading. I stared at the candy, remembering all the times she'd comforted me with sweets after a tough fight.

It won't taste bitter with candy… The words echoed in my mind. I remembered saying them to her once, when she was sick. It felt like a lifetime ago. My throat tightened.

I smiled and took it from her. I forced a smile, slipping the candy into my pocket. I didn't trust myself to speak.

I was the one who'd said that to her, once. I remembered the way she'd looked at me then—grateful, vulnerable. Now, it all felt hollow.

I put the pill in my mouth. It was bitter, all right. I rolled it around on my tongue, grimacing at the taste. I reached for the water, swallowing hard. My hands shook.

Emily smiled.

"Mason, once you're better, let's travel together, just the two of us, doing all sorts of things."

She painted a picture of a future I no longer believed in—road trips, sunsets on the beach, lazy mornings in bed. I nodded, playing along. My heart ached.

The funny thing was, I actually saw love in her eyes. For a moment, I wondered if she really meant it. Maybe she loved the idea of me, or the security I gave her. But it didn't matter anymore.

She turned and left. I spat the pill out, gulped down water, and forced myself to calm down. I rinsed my mouth, staring at my reflection in the sink. I barely recognized myself.

I grabbed my phone and dialed. Coach picked up on the second ring.

"What's up, Mason? It's been a while since you called."

Coach Daniels' voice was warm, familiar. I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself.

"Coach Daniels... I want to enter the championship again."

My voice was steady, determined. For the first time in a long time, I felt a spark of hope.

I wanted to compete one more time. I needed to prove to myself that I still had it—that I wasn't broken. I needed something to fight for.

Not for Emily anymore. This time, it was for me. For the boy who learned to box to protect someone he loved. For the man who refused to be broken.

From now on, I just want to live for myself. I made a silent promise to myself: no more lies, no more betrayals. I was done living for other people. It was my turn now.