I nod toward the ring at the other end of the gym that has seen better days. “Not training today?”
He shrugs. “Every now and then it’s nice to have a day off.”
He says that but the tone in his voice tells me he’s not taking a day off by choice. And also, can he really say he’s not training if he’s at the gym?
“You have good balance,” he says next, and it catches me off guard. I wasn’t aware he's been watching me. When he’s with his trainer, he’s focused on one thing only and that’s perfecting his already near-excellent fighting skills. I know this because I’ve seen newcomers come in and try to get his attention. He brushes them off every time. More than once, I’ve watched his trainer track down Llewelyn who escorts them out.
“You put your whole body into the punch. Feet are a little slow, but with practice you can improve that. You don’t waste time with long combos.”
“No. They zap your energy.”
He nods. “Lack of energy will kill you in the ring.”
That, I know. I’ve seen it happen time and time again over the years from watching reruns of the fighting DVDs Llewellyn let me borrow when I first took an interest.
He smirks and folds his arms over his chest. “You’d be fun to have in there with me.” He juts his chin at the one place he probably feels most comfortable.
“I don’t know about that.”
“One taste of it and you’ll be singing a different tune.”
“Again, doubt it.”
Growing up with a parent whose actions constantly affected me made me decide as a teenager that I never wanted to take my wrath out on an actual person. The bag is enough for me. It releases the stress that tries to consume me.
“I was like that once.”
“Like what?”
We may have both grown up in unfortunate circumstances and snickered when the kids in our class tried to prank our history teacher—him included, but that doesn’t mean he knows what it’s like to be in my shoes, or in my head.
“Afraid.” He lifts his hands in surrender at my narrowed gaze. “Relax. It’s not an insult as much as it sounds like one. You come here to let go of shit going on outside of Gulliver’s. I used to do the same.” There’s a beat of a pause and then he says, “Until it didn’t work anymore.”
He uncrosses his arms and smacks a palm against the hanging bag. “This pretty little thing was there for me through thick and thin, but then it just…stopped working. I neededsomething that made me feel more. My first fight in the ring silenced it better than she ever could have.”
She.
He’s referring to the boxing bag.
Still, there’s no way I’ll inflict my pain on someone else. Not unless it’s out of self-defense. Like with Finn.
I know my limits, and this is it.
“I’m not like you,” I say.
“Not like me?”
“I’m not a fighter. I don’twantto fight.”
“You sure about that?” He pulls his hand from the bag. “Because from where I stand, it looks like you’ve been fighting for a lot longer than you care to admit.” He steps next to me and at eye-level says, “Offer stands. Come find me when you’re ready to silence those thoughts.”
And just like that, he’s gone, walking back across the gym before picking up a duffel bag and heading out the door. Already feeling the full effects of my workout, I pack up my own shit, drink down an entire bottle of water, and leave.
I swipemy keycard at the apartment complex and head for the elevator. I’m ready to head upstairs, get a shower, and call it a night. I’m not hungry for grub. Not when Eli is in my head.
It looks like you’ve been fighting for a lot longer than you care to admit.
I can’t help but think how fucking right he is. It does feel like I’ve been forcing one foot in front of the other. I’ve constantly kept my chin up, and aside from Aunt Bess and Sebastianreminding me to do so, it’s always been me who has forced myself to stay strong.
