Randy was a wreck. Two weeks had gone by and Haile wasn't showing any signs of getting better, mentally or emotionally. He didn't know what to do.
Haile curled up in the corner of the locker room, eyes down. She was scared and confused, torn between looking for Randy and staying alone. What could she do to ease the pain?
Her eyes lit on a piece of broken plastic, sharp and glinting in the lights, and she reached for it. Taking a deep breath, Haile lifted her arm and pushed the plastic down, slowly dragging it across her forearm until blood began to rise to the surface. Instantly the pain made her hiss, but it distracted her from her emotional war.
This. This would be her way out. Her way of coping.
She would survive by bleeding the pain out of her.
Weeks passed and slowly, Randy began to see shades of the girl he'd fallen in love with. She was still healing, but her spirit was beginning to return to normal.
Or so he thought. He had no idea about the scars she hid underneath her long gloves, her ring gear. No idea about the bloody razors she dumped in various trash cans in various arenas around the country. And that is exactly how Haile wanted it.
Randy could never find out about any of this...