Bad Rep

SEVENTEEN

Smack!

I draw my gloved fist back, only to jab it forward once again to make contact with the punching bag suspended from the ceiling. I imagine its Eli's face, jabbing at it over and over again until my knuckles actually become sore.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

"You feel better yet?" Rhodes asks, checking up on me for the third time tonight.

"No," I growl, my sole attention focused on punching this bag until my anger fades or my hands fall off... the latter is looking more likely at this point.

Rhodes shrugs a broad shoulder before sauntering back to his office, giving me some space. After last night—after getting my stuff back from Eli's only to realize he already has his side piece staying over—he could tell I was still fuming, needing to blow off some of my anger. So instead of a formal workout session he set me in front of the nearest punching bag and let me go to town.

Admittedly, not only am I pissed about yesterday, but I'm pissed off about today, too, because I haven't heard from Eli.

Stupidly, I've been waiting for his call, almost wanting him to reach out to me. To yell at me about wrecking the kitchen, to question why all of my stuff is gone, to... I'm not even quite sure to be honest. Selfishly, I want him to think of me, to have me at the forefront of his mind, but the fact that he hasn't called...

Is he so over me, so detached and disinterested and disgusted that he can't even call me to chew me out for dumping his protein powder all over the kitchen? Did he even notice that all of my stuff is gone? That I'm fully moved out?

Does he not care at all?

A heavy, uncomfortable weight blankets my chest, tightening my throat and stinging my eyes.

God, I'm so pathetic.

Why hasn't Eli called? Why do I even care so much? After everything... why am I on pins and needles waiting on a guy that cheated on me to call. To care—even though it's apparent he doesn't.

And maybe he never even did.

Does anyone even care about me at all?

I quickly rip off a glove to swipe away a tear sliding down my cheek with the back of my hand.

Eli certainly doesn't care, my parents hate me, and Katie is gone.

I have no one.

That invisible weight pressing down on me gets ten times heavier, until I feel like I can't breathe.

Legs shaky, I take a seat on the nearest bench, placing my head in my hands, holding my breath to keep myself from crying, failing miserably.

"Claire?" Rhodes's voice is close, concerned. "What's wrong?"

I choke back a sob, squeezing my eyes shut tight, thoroughly embarrassed. Unable to form words, my throat tight and my face still buried behind my hands, I profusely shake my head.

Rhodes is quiet, patient as I attempt to compose myself. Until I finally manage to pull my face from my hands to look at him, finding him kneeling before me.

Those soft gray eyes search mine, voice gentle as he asks, "What's going on?"

I swipe at my cheeks, shying my gaze away from his, feeling stupid and pathetic. "I'm just tired of feeling like this," I admit, defeated.

I mentioned this to him once before, about my weight, but this time it's about so much more than just the weight.

He nods patiently. "And how exactly do you feel?"