bad expectations | jfg

40

3 days later ---- Jack's POV.

Fucking hell.

As I slam my fists into the punching bag that hangs feet above me, I whisper countless profanities to myself.

Fuck up.

Douche-bag.

Pussy.

Fucking fuck up.

I attempt to push everything into back of my mind, something I'm rather admissible at, but it's never been this impossible. I've always been able to procrastinate, put things off till later, like feelings, or plans. I can't with this, it's beyond my ability.

She's a thousand miles away from me and yesterday she wouldn't stop calling me, messaging me, trying to get ahold of me.

She doesn't understand that this is what was meant to happen.

She was meant to be taken away from me so the next time I blew up, I wouldn't hurt her. Fuck, the second I smashed that lamp a few feet away from her and the glass shattered around her feet, I knew that she needed to get away from me. I would never mean to hurt her physically, but I have done it by mistake before, and emotionally too many times to count.

She just seemed so mad. So antagonized. She slammed her little fists into my chest like that was all she ever wanted to do, with all if the muscles in her arms she tried to cause me the pain that I'd caused her.

I said no to her because she'll be happier this way. She's sad and upset now but this is what is supposed to happen. We aren't supposed to be together.

I slam my fists harder.

She was meant for me but I wasn't fucking meant for her. It's twisted and fucked up, this whole love thing.

I slam harder.

It wouldn't have mother fucking worked anyways. When I told her to relate it to her parents, I meant it. That's a prime example. I would have ended up being so frustrated and needy that I maybe would have done something I'd regret.

I slam harder.

She'll probably meet someone in New York. Someone tall, with a mother fucking degree. He'll probably hold her hand, touch her skin, look at her smile and compliment her. Tell her how fucking flawless she is and how funny and witty she is and how-

"Punch any harder, the chain might break off."

The voice makes me stop my movements, only to have the bag swing back and hit me in the gut, composing me to cough.

Her laugh fills my ears. I grab and hug the bag in my arms to hold it still before connecting eyes with vaguely familiar green ones.

I groan, "what are you doing here, Cass."

"Just working out." She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms.

"I wouldn't have guessed." I snap, "you don't even live in Omaha."

Her lips crack into a smile and she twists the cap off her water bottle, "This is the closest gym. I never see you in here?"

"Maybe because I never come here." I let go of the bag and begin to punch it again.

She takes a long moment before talking again, "I heard your girlfriend moved to New York."

"Oh yeah? Where'd you hear that?" I keep my eyes on the raggedy pattern of the bag swinging back and forth.

"Everyone's talking about it. It's pretty impressive." She keeps talking to me.

"Okay."

I'm not in the mood to have we conversation with anyone, especially this girl. It's rather awkward considering she was the one who sucked my dick a few months ago. She was nice and cool after all of that but something about her still bothers me, and I don't want to speak to her.