Unburning Bridges

Amy turned her phone over nervously in her hands. It shouldn’t have been this hard. The text was already written; all she had to do was press send. She wanted to. She needed to; her conscience nagged louder the longer she put it off.

But she and Drake Vyril, or Domino in the ring, hadn’t exactly parted on great terms. She was almost certain that he’d never expected to hear from her again. She was almost that sure that he’d deleted her number from his phone.

She was texting to apologize, but she was stalling, trying to rack her mind for a way to guarantee a renewed friendship. Eventually though, she sighed. Apologies weren’t supposed to be easy. And if he was too hurt to make up, at least she'll have tried to make things right. Which would be little consolation, true. She'd much rather have had Drake back as a friend.

“Fuck it.” She pressed send. Then she tossed her phone further down along her bed and leaned into her pillows. What happens now, happens.

hey. can we meet up? i have some things i'd like to say, and i'd like to say them in person

Drake? Drake is in the middle of uploading a few pictures to his Facebook. A couple freebie shots from a photo shoot, a couple choice shots from some recent matches, things of that nature. Oh, and let's not forget updating his 'Relationship' status. Because it's not official until it's on Facebook.

His phone buzzes.

The message is scanned. It's from Amy. He didn't delete her number. He held out and generally dragged his feet about removing people from his contact list. It's in those rare moments like these that he's glad he has that habit.

He begins tapping a response:

"Where to? Just tell me where to meet you"

No questions of why or what about. He's just happy she wants to talk again. ...As long as it doesn't lead to more fighting. Eesh.

Amy had all of about fifteen seconds to worry that Drake wouldn't answer her text. He was still a speedy texter, and she took that as a good sign.

She pulled herself up off of her bed and retrieved her phone. When she read the text, she gave an awkward laugh. "Well..." she began out loud. She looked around her room. It was fairly sparsely furnished- a television hung from a corner, a simple night stand sat next to her bed, and a cheap chair stood beside that- but most hospital rooms didn't need much more than that.

She was in for a handful of mild injuries, the worst of which was a sprained wrist, so this was a hospital visit that she'd be bouncing back from in a hurry. But considering that the man who put it there, Killer King, was certainly capable of- and had been eager to inflict- so much worse, she considered herself lucky.

She started to write her text-

I'm at the place we first...

Then she deleted it. It was too jaunty, too fast. Business first. Amy proceeded cautiously.

don't get mad.

but I'm at the hospital again. same one.

Buzz! Buzz!

Drake accesses the text and his heart sinks. She's in the hospital. Again. He immediately assumes the worst. There was a dire tone to her first message, and the fact that it's coming from the hospital...

'God, did she take it too far? What happened? Is she crippled? Did she lose a limb? Paralyzed?'

Wait. No. Can't be paralyzed. She's texting him.

'But she could be dictating it.'

Drake worries his teeth over his bottom lip and quickly taps out his next text:

"Room and floor"

His dorm door is drifting shut in his wake before he's even hit send.

Amy could sense the panic through his text message, and she types out her reply as quickly as possible.

calm down, I'm not dying or anything

Then she began to type out the information that he asked for. After a moment she looked up at the ceiling. Shit, I don't know. I was unconscious when they carried me here. Amy buzzed for a nurse. "Excuse me, what room am I in?" The nurse very politely told Amy. "Thank you." As the nurse turned to leave, Amy began again, "Sorry, could I bother you for one last favor?" Amy made her request, and the nurse smiled and left the room.

Amy sent her text to Drake, and then she waited for him to arrive.

Drake's fit to be tied. And that's a phrase he's never used before. Amy's next text does little to dissuade his mounting panic. Sure, she isn't dying, but she's in the hospital, and the situation's bad enough to warrant needing to say something to him! It sounds like parting words! She might be crippled, and is getting shipped out of Japan!

Taptaptap.

"Room!"

And immediately after hitting send, the information reaches him.

It takes very, very little time for Amy's door to drift open. Drake pokes his head in first to assess the room and try to spot the blonde before entering more fully. His cheeks are a bit rosy, strongly suggesting he ran most of the way there.

When Amy turned her head, she was not expecting to find Drake's head peering at her through the doorway, and it startled her. "Jesus, Skip. Whatever happened to knocking?" Then she noticed the color in his face and his relative breathlessness and she couldn't help but laugh. It was tempting to launch right back into their old rhythm, but she knew that they weren't quite there yet. Still, she didn't keep from teasing him a little by waving her most gruesome looking injury- her wrist, covered with a near-fashionable compression wrap- at her guest. "Hey Drake. Thanks for coming."

Amethyst eyes lock onto that wrap like a cat zeroing in on a dangly toy. He slips into the room and pads anxiously closer. "Not... broken?," he asks tentatively. Those eyes flick between her wrist and her face a few times before finally ending on her eyes.

The young model exhales a whoosh of a sigh.

"You had me worried!" As if it wasn't obvious. "Sendin' me... semi-cryptic messages. Geeze..." Drake scrubs his palms over his face briskly before centering himself. For as flustered as he was, he's clearly relieved. "Alright. What's going on? What's on your mind?"

Amy's expression turned serious. She had made enough mistakes in her life to know how to apologize. Luckily, Drake, for whatever reason, seemed to be in a receptive mood and she was hopeful. She looked up into his eyes.

"I’m gonna start with the important part, just so you know I’m not hemming, hawwing, hedging, whatever, despite whatever might get said after: I'm sorry, Drake. You were right, and I was wrong; I should be a little more careful about how I go about picking my fights. Please forgive me."

Drake moves in closer to Amy as she talks, brow furrowed in curiosity. He doesn't interrupt. For her to want to talk to him again, given the venomous way they parted some time ago, it must be important.

As it turns out, it is.

Drake, for his part, was upset at her because he cared for her. He didn't want to see her get hurt. There was some personal pain lumped on top of it preventing him from being properly gentle in his approach of the subject then, and he's going to have to get to that soon. But for now, the little blonde is giving him what seems like simple sincerity.

A hand carefully sets over her closest shoulder. Though he's still puffing with each breath due to the exertion of running so far, he casts her a soft, reassuring smile. "I'm just glad you're gonna be around for a long time," he replies. Of course he forgives her.

His eyes flick low briefly, then back to her face, newly sullen. "I'm sorry I kind'a blew up at you. I could've handled that way different." And if he did, maybe things would've gone differently. There's a big, fat gap in their history, and he can't blame all of that on her. She pushed a button - a vulnerability that he shouldn't have allowed to get to him.