Living with Handsome Satan (book 2)

Chapter 22

*Matt's POV*

I. Am. Miserable.

Now I am dumb but I wasn't naive enough to think that this break up wouldn't be painful. I knew it would be, even with months to prepare for it. What I wasn't expecting was it to be so all consuming. I just assumed that with the months of mentally preparing myself and the excitement of being in the Olympic Village about to wrestle for team USA with eyes on the gold I would at least be somewhat ok, functional at least. Wrong.

In the 5 days since I walked out that door I have been just a shell of myself. For the few hours a day I have to have human contact I can just barely fake it enough to not raise too many suspicions. I guess when you spend nearly 10 years of your childhood repressing the pain of your dead mom you learn a thing or two. But unlike when I was younger I only have the energy to fake it for a short amount of time.

Thinking back I am not sure how I woke up everyday and went to school and went to practice and hung out with my friends and no one realized who I really was. To everyone I was the manwhore bad boy, why? Because I could be. They all saw this rich kid whose daddy bought him everything and anything he wanted. No one except Tom, who no one even knew I was friends with for nearly 7 years, knew the truth. Knew the fights were because I was bitter and mad at the world, that some days I missed my mom so much I could cry but then moments later the guilt over missing my mom when I had Celia would start and I would be so angry. That secretly I had a 4.0 Gpa and that I didn't enjoy hooking up with someone new every week. No one knew the true me, not until Sydney walked into my life.

That girl truly broke me. Suddenly I didn't care about faking it. I laid it all out there just for her to stay because losing her was way worse than whatever bullshit image I had crafted. For once the real me was enough and she understood me. I felt alive with her.

Felt.

Emphasis on the word felt.

I am not sure I feel anything anymore. Actually correction I feel one thing, exhaustion. I can't sleep. I have tried everything I can legally try. Obviously I have to be careful because of drug testing and all that jazz but anything else I could possibly try I have.

It is beginning to worry my coaches and trainers but I keep lying to them and assuring them that it is just jetlag and I will be at my peak by the time competitions begin. But I am not sure I will be.

I am walking from the dining area back to my room one of the few times a day I leave my room. My roommate on the other hand, another young wrestler, is almost never around. His girlfriend is also here competing so when he isn't training he is watching or helping her train, and when neither of them are training they are eating or exploring the village and the rest of Tokyo. They are doing what I should be doing. Making the most of a once in a lifetime experience. Instead I am sitting locked away in my room wondering how she is. Is she eating? Should I check on her? Does she miss me? Is she crying? Is she safe? A million questions, almost all about Sydney running through my mind on a constant loop.

"Matt!" I hear my name yelled from somewhere behind me and wonder if I could slip through the crowd before whoever is yelling my name can catch me.

No such luck, apparently my sleepless exhausted body is significantly slower than I thought it was because within seconds there is a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey Matt," Ellen greets with Max right next to her. Max Ellen and I all went to Penn State together and they shared in my crazy insane Olympics dream. We all played different sports Max swims and Ellen plays Volleyball but we all became decently close in college. After we made our respective teams, us and a few other Penn State Alum who made it started talking and making plans to hang out here together so it wasn't as scary.