Impasse

43. Isolate

Even though he wrapped his hands properly, Kai's knuckles are bleeding. The sting of broken skin flares every time his fists connect with the bag, but it's nothing compared to the knot of guilt still flaring in his chest. Kai's skin feels clammy. The slide of sweat makes him shiver. The bag sways with his ragged breathing. He is aware of trainers and other fighters around him, but no one asks why he's come alone, or why he's attacking the bag, or why his face is pale and his eyes are red-rimmed.

In the gym, there are no questions, just the grounding reality of training. Kai needs to feel grounded. He needs to stop shaking. He needs to punch harder, faster, with more precision. All that exists is the bag—solid, unyielding, controlled.

After Pepper picked him up at the hospital, she'd taken him to her place. She hadn't asked him questions or tried to make him feel better, which was fine because Kai hadn't wanted either of those things. He lay awake in the front room, watching the shadows turn into the furniture, then at sunrise asked Pepper to drive him to the gym and leave him there. She'd done just as he asked.

Each jab, hook and uppercut Kai throws is harder and faster than the last, as though he can pummel his feelings into submission. Snatches of his conversations with Jet echo through Kai's churning brain, tangling together, hitting him harder than any strike.

"Why didn't you tell me?...Things got complicated... you kept secrets long enough to call off our deal...Call me 'Hia'."

Kai changes his stance, adding kicks. The impact against the bag reverberates up his leg.

"The Shark gave me your message...Don't want to see you...Get away from me."

He readjusts so he can throw in a higher one. It's not enough to block out Jet's white face outside the dorm, and the blood—all that blood pouring out onto the grass around them. The stench clings to Kai's nostrils. Maybe it's his own.

"Call me 'Hia'."

Kai changes his stance again, alternating between punches and kicks. His thighs burn, his shins sting, his hands scream for mercy, but he doesn't stop. He remembers what Talay told him—about Muay Thai being about discipline, focus and control. Right now, he's disciplined. Physical pain is something he can focus on, something he can control.

Right now, Kai craves control.

"I thought you'd hate me."

His breathing is erratic. There's a vice strapped around his lungs.

"You're right...Get away from me."

Something streams down the side of his face—sweat or tears or both. Jab, kick, hook, kick.

"Call me 'Hia'."

Kick, kick, kick.

"Get away from me."

Jab, kick, hook, kick. Harder, faster. Uppercut, kick. Jet's face, his voice, his blood—all crashing down around him. Kai can't stop. He won't.

"Call me 'Hia'...get away...Call me 'Hia'... get away..."

Harder. Kick, uppercut, kick.

"Get away...get away...get away..."

Faster. Kick, kick, kick.

"Hia...Hia...Hia..."

Kai loses his balance. Grabbing the bag is the only thing keeping him from toppling onto the mat. His legs are numb, shins pink and scraped raw. The wrapping on his throbbing hands has a spreading red mark above each of his knuckles.