Walking to my room, I realize that my limp isn’t as apparent. I also feel stronger. My body is charged. With so much energy to burn, there is only one place I want to go. I dash to my room and change into gear I never thought I’d wear again. Once my laces are tied and I grab a water bottle, I close my door and head for the gym.
As I’m untangling my earbuds, I hear a near muted voice. It’s coming from the direction I’m headed. Softening my footsteps, I turn my ear when I hear a voice I’d recognize underwater.
“I just…I just wish you’d reconsider.”
“There is nothing to reconsider. It’s done. You knew what my decision was from the very beginning.”
“I know, Roman, I just…why?” June whispers, her voice saddened.
What are they talking about? And why does June sound like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears?
“Can we talk in my office? Please,” she almost begs when he remains silent.
After a pregnant pause, he sighs. “Okay, fine.”
Their footsteps advance down the plush carpet and away from where I stand, hidden and almost breathless. I don’t understand what I just overheard, but it sounded dreadfully grave. What has left June almost in tears?
I want to run after them, press my ear to the door, and finally uncover the skeletons in Roman’s closet, but I won’t.
Once the coast is clear, I amble down the hallway, unable to clear my mind from June’s heartache.
The fitness center is empty, while I’m ready to tackle the treadmill and run myself into fatigue. Powering up my iPod, I select my workout music and press play. The moment the rock music blares through the earbuds, I do some light stretches, not wanting to hurt myself before I’ve even begun.
Five minutes in, my lungs are screaming at me to slow down, but I don’t. All I can focus on is the weight settled in my stomach; the heavy sensation a premonition of what’s to come. I try to shake the feeling, but I can’t. Something big is about to happen, I just don’t know what.
I continue running, increasing the speed, hoping to run away from my fears. But I doubt I’ll ever be able to sprint that fast. The clock reads twenty-two minutes, which is a record for my out-of-shape form.
Once I turn off the treadmill, I guzzle down my water, taking a moment to catch my breath. The red punching bag hangs innocently to my left. The memory of Roman driving into it with feral force is anything but innocent. It was here I saw his tattoo, and the mystery surrounding him began and has only grown.
Deciding to blow off some of my own steam, I make my way over to the bag, marveling at the firm texture as I run my palm across the center. Roman didn’t show this bag an ounce of mercy, delivering blows that looked so effortless. But actually standing in front of it and feeling its density, I appreciate just how strong Roman is. I doubt my scrawny arms could make this thing move, but I suppose there’s only one way to find out.
Remembering Roman’s stance, I place one foot in front of the other and bend my knees. I have no idea how to punch, so I throw all my strength behind it and just hit the thing and hope for the best. Focusing on the center, I curve my arm outward and connect with a brick wall.
“Holy shit!” I cradle my throbbing hand to my chest.
Against my better judgment, I eye the bag, challenging me with its immobile state. Although my hand is aching, it felt mighty good to hit something. Imagine what I could achieve if I threw everything I am behind the next punch, hoping to expunge the years of fury that won’t disappear.
This is suddenly the best idea I’ve had all day.
Every single negative, raw memory, and emotion I can remember comes charging to the surface, armed and ready to explode. I feel like a warrior prepared for battle, but unlike those fighters, my enemies are within. I bend low, engage my core, and just as I’m about to punch the bejesus out of the bag, something, someone stops me.
I don’t have time to turn to see who it is because that person is suddenly pressed up against my back, his firm grip secured tightly around my poised wrist. His essence is the first thing I notice,