Making it out alive

chapter 6

SOOOOOOOOOO here's the next chapter! Sorry it took a while, not only have I had soooo much going on, no joke, percussion auditions, tests, essays, and other stuff I just love to procrastinate on, but I decided I was going to wait until at least ONE more person voted and commented, butttttt since it's been almost over a week and that has yet to happen, my impatient self decided to give y'all another chapter, so give a nice thanks to my "patience is a dumb virtue" concept.

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One week later:

Nicks POV:

I stretched out each muscle in my body slowly, trying not to pull anything in my stomach. It hurt like a bitch, but I forced myself to come back to kickboxing. I hated not doing anything for a period of time. Don't get me wrong, I could watch marathons of Burn Notice and Chuck, my two favorite shows, I swear you could learn so much from them, I think I've learned how to make three different types of bombs from Burn Notice, and well, I just thought John Casey from Chuck was cute, anyway, I could watch marathons for hours, but I needed at least one hour of something or someone to pound on. I started a slow jog feeling each of my muscles straining from the lack of exercise and a small tug in my gut but I ignored it and pushed through. After about two laps around a small beeping came from my heart rate watch, I looked down to see it at 210. Yea, I know what you're thinking, 'um dude, don't you think, oh I don't know, you should stop before you die?!' but here's the thing, that's normal for me. I can do three pushups and my heart rate will jump to 190, then seven more at I will be at 210, but I never go over. No matter how much I push myself, or how little I do, my heart rate just stays there, not in a 'you're out of shape' kind of way, just in a, this is what I do when I work out. I was about to finish my mile when my teacher stepped in front of me.

"How you doing kid?" he asked stealing a glance at my stomach. Crap I thought, he knew what happened, ugh, now he'll be all worried, dumb gangster making life hard for me, I thought grumpily.

"Ehh, I'll survive, but I think it will be a quicker recovery if I get back up on my feet" I stated trying to get out of trouble.

"Really?" he said in a tone that meant he knew it wasn't true, "because I heard that bed rest helps you recover after you just got stabbed, but then again, that's just what I heard, I'm sure that putting a lot of strain on it and working harder then you should is much better for it" he said sarcastically smirking at me.

I groaned "Come on Alex" I said using his first name knowing it would annoy him, "I've been in bed for a wholllllleeee weeeeeekkkk" I said dragging out each word like a child, but hey, if it got me back out on the mat I was fine with acting like one, I did what I can to get what I want.

"Fine..."

"YES! THANK YOU!" I said doing a happy dance.

"...on one condition." Ew, conditions, I hated conditions but I waited for him to finish before I complained. "There's a boy about your age here, and he wants to learn to fight. I don't have time to teach him basics and you're one of our best fighters..."

"One? I'm just ONE of the best fighters?" I asked, making him beg now.

He sighed "Fine, you ARE the best fighter. Happy?"

"Very" I stated giddy, "Now continue."

He sighed again and mumbled something incoherent under his breath. "Anyway, I was hoping that you could teach him, it would get you off your fat butt and still keep the strain off your stomach and it will save me time."

I looked at him then nodded in agreement. I figured it would keep him off my back, and he was right, it would get me on my feet. He grinned happily and I rolled my eyes.