Lost in Salvation

2. The Punching Bag's Last Day

Lorelei

I slowly remove the sweaty tape from my hands, careful of the painful scrapes that have now appeared across my knuckles.

I'm breathing pretty heavily still, as if I had run a few miles, and my whole body is layered in a thin sheen of sweat. My head is even pounding a little, but I don't know whether that's from the intense workout or all of the scary emotions swirling through my thoughts.

Amira tosses me a towel, that I narrowly catch, as she crosses her arms and stares at me questioningly. I've never been able to keep anything from the girl too long. One way or another, she always wears me down, but I'd definitely rather talk about this particular topic somewhere that doesn't have bodybuilding, nosey assholes.

I finish wiping down my face and neck, tossing the towel to the side.

"Are you going to tell my why you were beating the ever living fuck out of that poor punching bag, or am I gonna have to figure it out myself?" Amira's voice is serious but there's a soft, cautious tone hidden underneath.

I take a long look at my best friend, assessing how determined she is to get the answer out of me. Her long, platinum hair flows in rows down her shoulders and back. It's shiny, but not oily, just healthy. She has her arms crossed and a hip, attached to a lengthy leg, is popped out.

Amira's pretty, hot even, and I would be a liar if I said I haven't imagined her in some interesting scenarios. She's got delicious curves but still rocks a thin frame, high cheekbones, smooth skin, cut eyebrows, long eyelashes to accompany doe blue eyes, plump lips, and a tiny little nose. And I've seen the toned muscles in her favorite red bikini more times than I can count. But my favorite parts are the intricate tattoos, similar to mine, and that, "I don't give a fuck" attitude.

I nod my head to the side, not so subtly pointing out the large, 40 year old man listening in. "Let's get out of here first,"

Amira follows my line of sight and in her usual fashion, flips the dude off without a second thought.

That does make me chuckle a little.

But she doesn't protest my request, letting me pack up my things and leading us out of the gym with a similar salute to the desk man.

As soon as we're out of the doors, I take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air like it's my last time. I've been noticing myself appreciating the small things recently. I guess the death of someone so close, so sudden, has me slightly reminiscent.

The sweat brings goosebumps to my skin as it dries in the breeze, even though it's quite warm outside.

"What's going on with you, sexy? And don't say nothing, that punching bag looked like it was about to see its last day today." We're walking towards my bike at this point but I can't avoid her questioning for much longer. It hasn't been that long but my best friend is impatient as hell, especially when it comes to me.

"There's just a lot going on in my head right now, ya know?" I don't sound nearly as certain of myself as I tried to.

Amira definitely notices, grabbing my arm when we reach the motorcycle. "You can always talk to me,"

I nod assuringly. "I know,"

But she doesn't know.

Amira hasn't heard about Mom's death because no one outside of the family has. My dad forcefully kept the news out of the press, citing some bullshit about us needing time to process. And I have chosen not to tell Amira something about my life for the first time since we became friends. I don't exactly know why, I mean she even knows that my family's business is actually assassinations. And that I am the best at it, with more blood on my hands than the devil himself. But for some reason, Amira doesn't know that I've just lost one of the most important people in my life.