My Soulmate

Chapter 6 - Grief

Tuesday, April 2nd, XXXX - 2:30pm

The room was heavy with the scent of sweat and a faint tinge of iron. Dust particles danced in the air, illuminated by the slivers of light sneaking through the cracked windows. Each thud of the old, worn-out black punching bag reverberated through the space, the sound amplified by the room's emptiness. The only other noises were the occasional shuffle of feet and the heavy breaths of Colt Grice, who was alone in the gym's punching bag room.

Colt preferred it this way. He had no desire for interaction, for company. His world had shrunk to the four walls of this room, where he could focus on rebuilding what he felt was shattered within him. His pride, his confidence, his heart—each blow he delivered to the bag was an attempt to mend the fractures.

His right hand connected with the bag, a resounding thud echoing off the walls. The impact sent a sharp pain shooting through his knuckles, and he grimaced, clutching his injured hand with the other. He'd been at it for two and a half hours, his hands protected only by bandage wraps. It was a form of self-discipline, a way to endure the physical pain as a distraction from the emotional turmoil.

"There he is..."

The voice was muffled, coming from beyond the room's door. The glass door swung open, and the Galliard brothers stepped inside. Colt's gaze dropped to his feet, his posture a clear indication of his desire to avoid any interaction.

"Hey man...we've been looking everywhere for you," Marcel said, concern etched into his voice as he approached Colt.

"No surprise he's here again, should've looked here first..." Porco grumbled, leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed in a gesture of impatience.

Marcel ignored his brother's remark and continued to check on Colt. "Colt, you've been distant since Levi and (Y/n)'s wedding..."

At the mention of the wedding, Colt's brows furrowed, his attention momentarily pulled away from the bag. Memories of that day surged back, a mixture of discomfort and unresolved feelings swirling within him. He had managed to avoid most of the celebrations, preferring to stay away from the crowd, but the event was impossible to ignore. It was a reminder of the distance he felt from those he once held close, and the gnawing emptiness that had settled in his chest.

"You okay, man?" Marcel asked, stepping closer, his voice softer now. "You've been pushing yourself hard. Maybe it's time to talk about what's going on."

Colt's jaw tightened, his gaze still fixed on the floor. He shook his head, unwilling to meet Marcel's concerned eyes. "I'm fine. Just need to work through some things."

Porco rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "You're not fine, Colt. We're worried about you. You're isolating yourself, and it's not healthy."

Colt finally looked up, his eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and resignation. "I'm just dealing with it in my own way. I don't need anyone's pity or advice."

Marcel placed a hand on Colt's shoulder, his tone firm but gentle. "We're not here to pity you. We're here because we care about you. You don't have to go through this alone."

Colt's shoulders slumped, the weight of their concern settling heavily on him. He let out a long sigh, the stubbornness in his expression wavering. "It's just... hard to be around everyone right now. Seeing how happy they are, it just reminds me of what I've lost."

Porco pushed off the wall and walked over to the bag, his eyes softening as he took in Colt's defeated posture. "You've lost nothing, Colt. You're just going through a rough patch. It doesn't mean everything's over."

Colt's gaze shifted to the bag, his fists clenched at his sides. "Maybe not everything. But it feels like I'm fighting a battle I can't win."

"What's been going on with you? You can talk about it, dude. We won't judge you. The last thing we want is to lose a friend..." Marcel finished.