What gives you the right to smoke in here?
The princess’s words became overwhelming in my head, like a fucking chant, as the punching bag creaked heavily in front of me.
Yes, unfortunately before smoking, I would’ve taken your clothes off right in front of that mirror. But something wasn’t adding up.
And the frightened, guilty look she gave me when I asked her if she used that thing for her hair, well, that said a lot. She never wore her hair curly, so why the fuck did she have that thing on the sink, like she used it?
What the hell was I saying? It was still hot, so obviously she’d just used it. The bag trembled with every punch, and the hits became increasingly clenched and faster, as if they were about to destroy the bag from one moment to the next.
Hitting the bag until exhaustion was my way of blowing off steam. I kept going until my muscles ached, my shoulders were worn out, and I started wheezing. It was my favorite pastime. It took away every thought; emptied the mass of negative emotions that were clashing inside of me. But the moment of relief never lasted long.
I grabbed the plastic bottle and took a few sips of cold water. But I couldn’t help it. I kept thinking about it. I didn’t see any marks on her. I’d looked at all of her except down there, obviously.
I beat my bare chest, glistening with sweat in the full-length mirror. My red cheeks were throbbing, and my brown hair was curling at my temples, while my veins coursed along my sore biceps. The image of her wearing Tiffany’s tight dress came to mind. Tiffany, of course.
When they were in my room, Tiff had loaned her that dress. She must’ve seen June half naked. Just the thought of it made my lower stomach tense up as a devastating heat spread inside my shorts. I attacked the punching bag with an abrupt hook, as if I wanted to punch the thought that had wormed its way into my head onto the bag.
She didn’t want to take her shorts off at the party where I painted her legs, and when we were in Will’s pool, she only wore the bikini top. Was it possible that she never took off those damn shorts?
According to William, she’d never been touched, so it might all be a silly coincidence, or maybe there was a reason why she was so reluctant to take them off.
She definitely couldn’t be embarrassed about that perfect body she had. Or maybe she could be? Of course, it was none of my business, but now I had to know. I undid the boxing gloves with my teeth, pulled my phone from my shorts pocket, and texted Tiffany.
Hunter:Wanna come over for a little while?
She could’ve stopped me. It wouldn’t have cost her anything. All it would have needed was one gesture like pulling her legs away, shaking her head at me, or not looking at me in that way that was so sexy.
For a moment I got distracted by the excited screams coming from my MacBook. I stared at the screen apathetically, like my eyes were glazed over. I would’ve been inconsolable.
Why didn’t she stop me? Maybe she was curious about how far I was willing to take it. But she didn’t know it was better not to put me to the test.
She couldn’t imagine how low I could go just to get what I wanted. But, in this case, Will’s trust was the most important. But right then she looked at me.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, again.”
The voices became more agitated. I took off the other glove and got rid of them, then took one last round of hits. My hands were starting to burn. I felt my knuckles breaking so I stopped and looked at the screen. How classy to watch people bone while I worked out.
I stopped to read Tiffany’s text, then sighed.
Tiffany:Let me finish helping my mom and I’ll be there
I was exhausted, out of breath, and my arms were wrecked, but it still wasn’t enough.
My body still needed to let off steam. I’d been tense since the morning. Or maybe the night before when that princess had brushed up against my dick in a way that was even sexier than strippers.
My brain was clouded by too many twisted thoughts. Will, June White, Tom Austin, Taylor’s dad . . .
And when my issues got the best of me, sex wasn’t even fun. It didn’t do anything. I could go for hours without finding any peace, that was why taking it out on my punching bag was my only outlet. Another punch with my bare hands. I felt the bruises on my knuckles burn, like salt in a wound. And then another. The anger that intoxicated me until it made me my own prisoner disguised itself in each hit. And no matter how much I tried to release it, it always came back. It seemed like a vicious cycle. Beads of sweat lined my face and then tickled my neck. Her little know-it-all voice burrowed into my brain, but the look on her face when I found that tool, I couldn’t forget that. I was still ruminating and drowning myself in my thoughts when someone flung my bedroom door wide open unexpectedly.
I saw Taylor standing in the doorway, staring at me bewildered.
I texted Tiffany to come, so what the fuck was Taylor doing here?
“James?!”
“Eh.”
She looked around, first confused then scandalized.
