Addicted

14

Will found himself at the gym again. It was the third time this week, and the most he had been there in a long time. His friend Cecil, who worked there, let him use the equipment for free, so long as he cleaned up after him and set everything up properly. Once in a while Cecil used to call Will in to help spot people on the machines in exchange for Will's using them, but that hadn't happened since Will got his job.

He threw a punch at the bag, glancing quickly over the positions of his wrapped hands before making impact with an echoing thud. God, he was tired, but lately all he'd been able to do consistently was fight. Even at the nightclub, he'd found himself more aggressive, more easily aggravated, and quick to pick on the customers. A few times Kayla had even stopped him and quickly apologized before giving him a scolding and letting him go. This was the only place he could go to burn off that energy. He was frustrated. They were the same feelings that he felt when he first started living on his own- annoyance, confusion, guilt. And the truth was, he was kind of lonely, too.

He had thought about telling Nico about his past when he was still there. He remembered Nico asking, tentatively, "what did he mean when he said that?" And then, warmly, "it's okay, you don't have to tell me anything." So quick to be kind. So quick to forgive him. Quick to accept his limits and comfort levels. He'd never met anyone like Nico.

He wondered what he might have said. Maybe he would have started with, "okay, the truth is that I'm not as innocent as you probably think I am." Or maybe he'd just say it- "I lost my mother in a street fight when I was young, but hey, at least I ended up saving a bunch of other people. Yep. They held a trial for me and ruled it as self defense so I was set free. Lucky, really." And then Nico might have looked up at him in awe and asked, "how did you save them?" And he would say, "I jumped the guy and kicked the gun out of his hand, then when I went to grab it I fired it into his leg. Then all of his hostages were free, and one of them called the police. Been living on my own ever since."

Will threw another punch. What the hell was he thinking? He wasn't going to get a chance to talk to Nico about his past, or answer his questions, so why bother imagining it? Secretly he had hoped that maybe Nico would be someone he could confide in- someone who wouldn't judge him and maybe help him and accept him for his nightmares, but then, Nico was gone, wasn't he?

Cecil poked his head in the door. "Will, you good in there?" Will huffed in response, the punching bag flying backwards with the force of his fists. "Yeah. Great. Can't you tell? These are my hardest hits ever."
"I didn't mean if your boxing was good, dummy. Is your head okay?" Will turned around, confused, as Cecil entered the room and stood in front of him. "How about your heart?"

Will shook his head with a forced chuckle. "What are you talking about?"  Cecil frowned. "Come on, stupid. I'm your oldest friend. I know you. Something's happened, and I'm worried you got hurt." 
Will stopped moving. As always, Cecil was right. He gave in with a sigh. "Can I talk about it?"

Nico was sketching on the porch outside his dorm. The weather was clear and sunny- a really lovely day to be outside. He sat on a porch swing and rocked himself back and forth slowly, trying not to disturb the flow of his pencil on paper. He had been trying, lately, to fill up his time with more activities- job applications, creative work, even homework was good. His stomach churned as he drew- he had an interview at a bookstore later in the day, and he really wanted it. Dang it! Drawing was supposed to take his mind off stressful stuff like job interviews! Somehow, it was only making it worse. He glared at the book in his lap before shutting it abruptly and leaning back into the porch swing. Yeah, he was nervous, but he was kind of happy. Kind of proud of himself. Kind of lonely, but he could shove that down. And maybe his hands shook when he couldn't sleep at night, and a knot formed in his throat when he thought of things like butter pecan ice cream, but that was fine. He could deal. And he really wanted this job.