Dana sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her stitches. Her arm was sore, she was lonely, and she knew she was probably going to end up with a scar. She felt so confused about Alice, and upset about her life in general. Dana was filled with pain and anger, and couldn’t do anything about it. She glanced down at her wrist, tracing the faint scars she’d kept hidden for so many years. That was how Dana used to deal with her problems, with her pain. Cutting her own flesh and watching the blood slowly trickle out had made her feel so much better. She was able to find a release like that, and inflict her mental pain onto herself physically. Dana sighed. She wasn’t going down that road again.

She fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, praying for the sweet release of sleep.

Dana awoke the next morning not feeling much better than she had the night before. She glanced over at the vacant pillow beside her, momentarily forgetting Tonya was gone. She was exhausted, upset, her arm hurt like a *****, and she had practice that morning. Dana rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. *****, she’d overslept and didn’t have time for her morning jog. She would have to haul ***** just to get to practice on time.

Ten minutes later, Dana stepped out of the shower feeling slightly more human. She gathered her tennis gear and stepped outside to leave, only to find all four of the Subaru’s tires slashed and the windshield broken. She groaned and noticed a note on the cracked windshield. One word, in Tonya’s distinctive loopy handwriting: “*****.” Cursing Tonya, as well as herself for ever having gotten involved with her, Dana went back inside to call a tow truck and a cab.

Dana arrived at practice late. At least she didn’t have to see Tonya, as she was no longer Dana’s manager. The Subaru representative had recommened that Dana keep her personal life and career separate and hire someone else as her manager. Tonya had of course thrown a fit, but had finally relented after a large check from Dana convinced her to resign. Dana’s new manager, Brandy, did not look happy as she stood courtside with her arms crossed.

“Where the ***** have you been? You’re late,” Brandy asked.

“Car trouble,” Dana replied curtly, which was in a sense true.

“What happened to your arm?” Brandy demanded, looking worried as she suddenly noticed the ugly stitches across Dana’s forearm.

“Kitchen accident.”

“Maybe it’s best if you don’t practice today, or at least go easy. I don’t you ripping those stitches.”

“I can play just fine,” Dana grunted.

“Boy, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. You’re in a ***** mood today,” Brandy observed. “What’s wrong? Problems with Tonya?”

“We’re not together anymore,” Dana informed her, grabbing her racket and heading toward the court.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be,” Dana interrupted.

“What happened?” Brandy called after her.

“It’s a long story,” was all Dana would say.