Or maybe I’ll find a reason to stay.
I glanced up and realized the beauty shop would be opening soon. I wanted to get there as close to opening as I could so I could avoid any unnecessary interactions and crowds of people. I hurried off to the bathroom, turning on the hot water full blast in an attempt to wash all the negative memories from my body. Especially the most recent: James’ sweat and spit still gripping tightly to my skin.
Once I had finished showering, I stepped in front of the bathroom sink, taking my hand and brushing it across the fogged-up mirror. I stared at my naked body, running my hand over my tattoos and across each of my scars, straightening as my slate-gray eyes met the eyes of my reflection. We stood there, looking into each other’s souls, searching for the answers to what would happen next.
My hair was long. It went down to the middle of my back. Blonde with even blonder highlights was as close to rebelling as I had been allowed, and today, I despised it. I took my hair in my hands, gathering it up, raising and lowering it while I peered into the mirror looking at what it could be like at various lengths and promising myself I could trust Summer not to mess it up – even if she did, it would grow back!
I threw my hair up in a messy bun, which only revealed more of the bruising. Letting out a sigh and opening my makeup drawer and began applying heavy layers. By the time I was done, everything was cakey, but I didn’t care. It was better than the alternative of having people stare.
As far as my neck went, thankfully, it was a cool enough day. I wasn’t going to appear out of sorts if I went out wearing a cute scarf.
I selected a cropped turtleneck from the closet and paired it with my favorite flannel and a black scarf. Then, I rushed to the dryer to get my ripped up dark wash jeans.
I finished the ensemble with a basic pair of black tennis shoes and my black and white skull purse. As I walked over to look into the full-length mirror, I put my hands in my pockets and stood flush with the mirror.
Passable. At least I didn’t feel like there was anything standing out that would cause people to stare.
My phone buzzed and I glanced down and noticed the time.Shit, I’m behind schedule.I quickly grabbed my keys and dashed out the front door, locking it behind me before I crunched through the fallen leaves to get to my car.
It was eerily quiet, the crisp air almost burned my nose. I looked back at the house and for a brief moment I considered dashing back inside and staying there until I no longer looked like a busted up freak.
You’ve gotta get yourself together, Val.
I could hear Summer’s voice in my head pepping me up and cheering me on. I got in my car and secured myself into my seat, my phone connected to the bluetooth without even prompting and the songLittle Girl Goneby Chinchilla started to play.
Alright.I bobbed my head. If I needed a sign everything was going to be okay, this was it. I started singing along, bouncing in my seat as I threw my car into drive and began heading down the road.
Three
Kaden
The familiar thud of my fist against the heavy bag echoed in the relatively empty gym. Sweat streamed down my skin, stinging my eyes, but I pushed through. My focus locked on the rhythm of striking and movement.
Arlo, my training partner and best friend since high school, was a blur of motion beside me. His own grunts punctuating the air as he worked a separate bag.
“Alright, Kaden, five more!” Arlo yelled, his voice strained but still carrying his usual, playful challenge.
I dug deep, channeling the lingering frustration from my relationship into each jab, hook, and uppercut. The gym, especially during the mid-afternoon lull, was my sanctuary. It was where I could shed the corporate drone persona and justbe:a fighter, an athlete, a man in control of his own physical output. The smell of rubber mats and old sweat was almost therapeutic. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. But for me, there’s a vast difference between training and being a trainee.
We moved from bag work to sparring; a controlled dance of offense and defense. Arlo, with his wiry frame and deceptivespeed, was always an excellent test. He landed a quick body shot causing me to grunt, and I responded with a feint and a low kick; that clipped his inner thigh.
“Good one, man,” he conceded, rubbing the spot. “You’re looking sharp today. Did something fire you up?”
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Life felt like it was dangling a grenade in front of my face, threatening to pull the pin. “Just trying to stay ahead of the game, you know?”
Arlo nodded. He knew my aspirations better than anyone. We’d dreamt of turning pro in MMA since we were kids, shadowboxing in our parents’ basements. I was well on my way until a fight almost ended me, my opponent pile-driving me into the floor of the octagon. This move had been illegal for years, and I was lucky I wasn’t left paralyzed… or worse.
????After my accident, Arlo gave up his dreams and instead decided to make a career out of coaching and running this gym. It was successful and kept him connected to the sport he loves. Once I healed, Arlo invited me to lunch and offered for us to become partners.
At first, I focused on marketing until I was released by my doctor to start working out again. When I was given the all clear I began squeezing in training whenever I could. It was a constant push-and-pull, the corporate ladder vs. the octagon. It wasn’t long before I wanted more.
“Speaking of staying ahead,” Arlo said, pulling off his headgear, his face flushed. “You still on for the open mat session next month? Word is a few scouts are gonna be there.”
My heart pounded with excitement. “I wouldn’t miss it. Alex has been looking sharp in training lately.”
“He has been putting in overtime,” Arlo noted. “He’s ready.”
We spent another hour drilling ground game, practicing submissions and escapes. The exhaustion was a welcome weight on my limbs, a sign of effort well spent. My mind, usuallybuzzing with work and relationship anxieties, was quiet, focused only on the immediate task.