Who Breaks First (Clearwater University)

6

West

I’m punching the heavy bag in the university gym.

Again.

And it still isn’t enough.

There’s been so much tension in me the past couple of weeks. I can’t punch it out, I can’t run it out, and I certainly can’t talk it out, because I’m not much for talking. I think the other guys have gotten used to me over the years, just doing my thing when I get all riled up.

In the early days of grade school, when I was first becoming friends with Reese and Trent, they were always asking, “What’s going on with you?”

Eventually they learned that if I’m quiet, they should probably just let it be.

I had a shitty childhood, which I think explains the silence, but I’ve learned that physically expressing myself is the only way I can work through things sometimes. And I’ve got a whole lot of shit to work through today. Ever since seeing Emma again, I’ve been filled with fucking rage. I can’t even put my finger on the exact reason why. I just know that when I saw her that first morning, I wanted to kick her out.

Of this school.

Of my life.

Of my fucking thoughts.

I wanted to send her back on that bike she came in on and never see her gorgeous, innocent face again.

As I keep punching the heavy bag, I realize I probably look different than I did last time Emma saw me, back in high school. I’m bulkier now, and that’s because I discovered the gym is kinda the only place I can escape. Some days, I’ll go for hours on end, just trying to process things through sweat and exertion. This particular day, Reese and Trent are working out with me, which happens about half the time. To be perfectly honest, I get most of my rage out when I’m alone.

“Training for UFC again, I see,” Trent says with a laugh. He’s always trying to make fun of me when I work out, but I know it’s just ’cause he’s jealous.

“Yeah. Like I do,” I grunt.

“Let me give it a shot.” Trent lifts his chin toward the heavy bag. I step back and let him go at it. Yeah, he’s got some pent up aggression too. “That’s fucking tough, man.”

I shrug. “You get used to it.”

“I saw her at lunch again with that roommate of hers.” Trent stops punching the bag for a second, his lips pressing into a hard line. I’m beginning to get used to him bringing up Emma Holloway out of the blue like this. Especially at the gym. It’s all sweat and testosterone and animal-like behavior.

“Yeah. She’s everywhere. It’s fucking annoying,” I say, and I’m not lying either.

I find Emma’s presence unbearable. Mostly because of the shit that it brings up. I don’t like to talk about feelings, as I already said, and that’s why it frustrates me when someone makes emotions overtake my body that I don’t know how to explain.

“It’s more than annoying, it’s offensive.”

Trent runs a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face. I can see him trying to rationalize his feelings, actually. He’s always trying to explain things. I think that’s a waste of time.

“You should date her roommate,” Reese throws in with his twisted grin. He’s trying to make a joke, but I can tell Trent doesn’t find it funny.

“No way. That chick smiles too much.” Trent whales on the bag a few more times. I stand behind it to stabilize, because he’s giving it some good blows. “And besides, she’s only encouraging Emma to stay.”

He’s got a fucking point. That bubbly, friendly roommate is only encouraging Emma, making her think she’s welcome here, that she’s in the right place. The honest truth is, I thought she’d be gone by now. Or at least, I hoped she would be.

“Aren’t you guys a little curious about the fact that she’s here?” Reese asks, stepping back with his hands on his hips. Jesus Christ. Leave it to this fucker to become the philosophical one. “It’s interesting that she’s staying.”

“I wouldn’t use the word interesting, bro,” Trent grunts, still punching the bag. He’s putting a lot of heat into it. I’m impressed. I’ve always been the heavy hitter of our group, but it seems like the tension of Emma’s presence is putting Trent right into my league.

“Her dad got a job here too—back at his old company. He doesn’t live too far away,” Reese says.

Silence descends in our little corner of the gym as Trent suddenly stops punching the bag. Still gripping the worn leather, I bring my face around it to stare at Reese.