Chapter 19: TMZ Troubles “Hey,” I said softly when she answered. “It’s me, Jim. I… I need to talk.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “What’s wrong?” Demitra asked, her voice filled with concern. I took another deep breath, trying to find the right words. “It’s Valeria,” I said. “And… well, it’s complicated.” Another pause. “I’m listening,” she said. And so, I began to tell her everything. About the pictures, about the anger, about the fear of losing control. But as I was speaking, my phone beeped. “Hold on, Demitra, I’m getting another call,” I said, switching over. It was Rich again. “Jim, listen, forget what I said before. Don’t call Valeria, don’t do anything stupid. Just stay put, I’m coming to get you.” “What? Why?” I asked, confused. “Just trust me, alright? This is getting out of hand.” Before I could respond, he hung up. I switched back to Demitra. “Sorry, that was Rich. He’s acting like the world’s about to end.” “What did he want?” “He wouldn’t say. Just told me to sit tight.” I hesitated, unsure of what to do. “Maybe I should just wait and see what Rich has to say.” “Maybe that’s for the best,” Demitra agreed. “I’m here if you need anything, okay? Just call.” “Thanks, Demitra. I appreciate it.” I hung up, feeling even more anxious than before. Rich was never this cryptic. Whatever was going on, it couldn’t be good. I sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to calm my racing thoughts. The city lights blurred around me, the earlier sense of peace completely gone. This was exactly what I was afraid of – losing control. Letting my anger dictate my actions. I closed my eyes, trying to remember Demitra’s breathing exercise. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four. But all I could see was Valeria’s face, laughing with Miguel. Kissing Miguel. “Fuck!” I slammed my fist against the dashboard, startling myself. This wasn’t working. Mindfulness was bullshit. I needed to do something. Rich’s SUV screeched to a halt beside me. He jumped out, his expression grim. “Get in, now,” he ordered, opening the door. “What’s going on, Rich? You’re freaking me out.” “No time to explain. Just get in the car.” I hesitated, but his urgency was clear. I climbed in, bracing myself for whatever he was about to drop on me. “Alright, spill it,” I said, as he sped off. Rich took a deep breath. “TMZ just released the photos, Jim. Valeria and Miguel, making out in Times Square. It’s everywhere.” The images flashed in my mind: Valeria’s lips on Miguel’s, their hands intertwined, their bodies pressed together. It was like a punch to the gut. “I need to see it,” I said, grabbing my phone. I pulled up TMZ and there it was, plastered across the homepage. The photos were clear, undeniable. Valeria, the girl I thought I loved, wrapped in Miguel’s arms, her face radiant with a happiness I hadn’t seen in months. A knife twisted in my chest. “I’m going to fucking kill him,” I growled, my hands clenching into fists. “No, Jim! That’s exactly what you can’t do. You’re a Duke commit now, one of the most highly touted recruits in the country. You can’t afford to get into a fight, especially not over some girl.” “Some girl? She cheated on me, Rich! She lied to my face!” “I know, I know. It’s fucked up. But you can’t let her ruin your life. You need to focus on basketball, on your future. This is exactly what Dr. Klein and Demitra were warning you about! Do a breathing exercise!” “That shit doesn’t work!” I snapped, shoving my phone into my pocket. “I need to confront them. I need to see them. I need to know why.” “Seeing them isn’t going to change anything, Jim. It’s just going to make you feel worse.” “I don’t care. I need to do this. Take me there.” Rich sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t let you do that, Jim. I’m responsible for you. If you get into trouble, it’s on me.” “I’m not asking for your permission, Rich. I’m telling you. Take me to Times Square.” He hesitated, then reluctantly changed course. “Fine. But I’m coming with you. And you better promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.” “I promise,” I lied, staring out the window, my mind racing. The drive to Times Square was a blur. Every billboard, every advertisement seemed to mock me, reminding me of the life I thought I had, the future I had planned. The anger was building, simmering beneath the surface. I tried to remember Demitra’s voice, her calm demeanor, but it was drowned out by the roaring in my ears. We arrived at Times Square, the chaotic energy of the city amplifying my own turmoil. The flashing lights, the throngs of people, the constant noise – it was all too much. “Where were the pictures taken?” I asked, scanning the area. Rich pointed to a small café across the street. “Looks like it was right there.” I got out of the car, the cool night air hitting my face. Rich followed close behind. “Remember what I said, Jim. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” I ignored him, my eyes fixed on the cafe. Through the window, I could see them. Valeria and Miguel, sitting at a table, holding hands. They were laughing, their faces close together. It was like a scene from a movie, a romantic comedy, except I was the jilted lover, the one left out in the cold. My breath hitched in my throat. It was even worse seeing them in person. The casual intimacy, the easy affection – it was all a lie. She had been playing me the entire time. I felt a surge of rage, a primal urge to cross the street and tear them apart. But then I remembered Demitra’s words: “It’s not about unleashing your anger, Jimmy. It’s about learning how to manage it, how to transform it into something positive.” I took a deep breath, trying to control my trembling hands. This wasn’t the answer. Violence wouldn’t solve anything. It would only make things worse. But what else was there? How could I just stand here and watch them, knowing what they had done? An idea formed in my mind, a way to strike back, to expose their betrayal without resorting to physical violence. I pulled out my phone, opened the camera app, and zoomed in on Valeria and Miguel. I steadied my hand, making sure the picture was clear. Then, I started recording. Their laughter echoed across the street, taunting me. I watched them, their hands still clasped, their eyes locked in a gaze of what looked like real affection. I pressed record. I filmed for about 15 seconds. I watched them holding hands, laughing and being disgustingly happy. I tucked the phone back into my pocket and looked at Rich, his face a mask of concern. “Let’s go,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “What are you going to do, Jim?” “You’ll see,” I replied, a smirk playing on my lips. I took a step off the sidewalk, then another, heading straight toward the café. Toward Valeria and Miguel. Towards the end of everything I knew.