Thump.
My calves scream as I keep my weight on them, bent at the knee with one foot in front of the other.
“What the hell iswrongwith you?”
Thump.
“You’re thick as shit; you’ll never make it as a lawyer.”
Thump.
Sweatsoaks my black T-shirt as I keep hitting over and over again. The voices aren’t fading, only becoming louder as they try to pull me down to the depths of nowhere.
“God, you’re stupid.”
Thump.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
Thump.
“I never wanted you. How could anyone want you?”
I hit harder, faster. My hands are bleeding under the gloves—I can feel the liquid running down. Even as sweat and blood weakens my hold, I keep going, refusing to stop because the intrusive thoughts never do.
“Hey, Theo. Times up, man.”
I don’t listen to the voice of Joey, the gym’s owner. I keep punching. Keep focusing on the way the bag swings back at me with every left jab and right cross I throw. Keep praying it was the face of my abuser so I could end this constant torment of self-destruction.
A hand on my shoulder stops me, and I hug the bag, breathing heavily. I don’t know how long I’ve been here; time seems to lose all meaning when I’m stuck in my own head.
“You doing okay?” he asks gently, a hint of worry in his voice.
I’ve known Joey since I started coming here when I was sixteen. What began as a way to expel excess energy quickly grew into the ability to protect myself. I was a punk ass kid with an attitude problem and three best friends that hated the world just as much as I did. Luckily, we grew up and became decent people… just not without holding onto the demons that haunt us.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and push away from the bag. “Yeah, sorry. Was stuck in my head.”
Joey looks like he doesn’t believe me, his bald head wrinkling as his eyebrows raise. He’s a big guy—6’2”—and an even bigger softie. He’s given me a safe place to let my frustration out when I don’t have the courage to go to my friends. To annoy them with my needy ways.
“You still good for class?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because if you’re not, that’s okay.”
Strolling to the bench, I grab my towel and bottle of water, drinking most of it in one go. Capping the bottle, I finally reply, “I’m good. I’m not gonna let the kids down.”
He slaps my shoulder and then visually winces when his hand comes away wet. I laugh at the face he pulls—disgusted and a little green around the edges.
“It’s just sweat, man.” I chuckle, then grab my bag and head for the locker room.
Joey follows after me. “Look, I don’t mind a bit of sweat, but that was justnasty.” He shivers.
“What time is it again?” I ask, changing the subject.
“7 p.m. The kids are really looking forward to it.”
“They’re looking forward topunchingeach other.” I laugh and turn on the shower.
I’ve been dabbling in MMA for the last twenty years and teach local kids self-defense once a week. After the shitshow of my upbringing, I wanted to make sure kids have a safe place to go to—a way of defending themselves should the unspeakable happen. This was something I’ve always kept from James, Caleb, and Noah. I love those guys with every fiber of my being and probably share more with them than I’m supposed to, but I want to have one thing for myself. Something that no one else knows about.
I undress and step under the spray so I can rid myself of the sweat and grime from today’s workout. I don’t care that Joey’s standingthere talking to me. I’ve always been confident in my own skin. Plus, if he didn’t want to see it, he shouldn’t have followed me in here.
