Raymond went back and fought.
It became routine for him. Nights spent in the ring, his skin scraped and knuckles bleeding. Still unsatisfied, fighting like an automaton, just to forget about everything else.
Had his life changed? Was he happy now?
Was it worth it to live?
Since he didn't know the answer, all he could do was keep going. What was left for him, except to put together the life that he'd given up on? How could he make up for the years he'd lost?
No one could turn back time. He couldn't change the course of his life until now, like it had all been a bad dream. Sometimes he feared he was deluding himself into thinking it'd be different, but then he could feel himself getting stronger, more hardened, someone Vincent would be proud of.
Vincent hadn't spoken to him since then. He didn't see Vincent around, though he looked for him in the audience each night.
He asked the doorman about it after a match.
"Have you seen Vincent?"
"No, not recently. You looking for him or something?"
"He was the one who showed me here, so I..." Raymond wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I thought we might run into each other."
I'll earn back the two hundred if he bets on me again.
The doorman laughed and slapped him on the back. "For such a tough guy, you sure are nice. People come and go around here. He'll show up when he shows up."
Nice. Naive, it sounded like. Raymond flinched.
Seeing Raymond's expression, the doorman seemed to take pity on him.
"Look, I hear he's a mainstay at the poker table and at the slots. Hell, he bet on you the first time, right? Someone like that is an addict. If you hang around in the casino for long enough, he's bound to show his face."
"Thanks," Raymond muttered.
The doorman let him go.