Truth Chasers

Chapter Four

Sunday 12th August, 2040.
Hughs- Section 2, Quarter 1.
7:00am
________________________

It's almost as though five minutes after I managed to fall asleep, my alarm blares and wakes me up. I spent the better part of the night tossing and turning as I replayed every mistake I made yesterday in my head over and over again. I cannot seem to get dad's face out of my memory. I have to do something to get him off my mind. I roll towards the edge of the bed and a second later I fall off the three foot high bed and onto the floor. Amidst my horrible failure last night, at least I'm certain that I have something I am still incredibly good at— tripping over myself and being ungracefully clumsy.

Now my right shoulder hurts thanks to the impact of my fall. I shuffle lazily to my suitcase and search for makeshift workout clothes. In the craziness of trying to pack for this impromptu weekend trip, I shoved random bits and pieces of clothing in my black traveling suitcase. The only reason I even have a tuxedo is because after our arrival, I went to a store not too far from the hotel and bought it with my Union ID card. I wasn't going to make my debut into the spy verse in ordinary clothes. But now I'm sure whenever I put on a tuxedo I will forever be haunted by dad's look of anger and disappointment. I shudder.

I'm grateful to find that I packed my gray sweat pants and a plain black tank top. I put them on followed by the same white sneakers I wore Friday night when dad and I had to rush to the airport. Maybe if I engage myself hard enough at the gym I'll wear myself out and feel at peace. When I'm fully dressed, I brush my teeth and rush out of my room towards the staircase, making sure to tie my hair in a loose ponytail as I march up the stairs.

I scan the almost empty gym and my heart sinks at the realization that my dad isn't here. I was kind of expecting to run into him. One of the things dad ensures to take care of is his health. He works out at least three times a week and after years of watching him religiously pay regular visits to the gym, I know for a fact that Sunday mornings are an in-built workout day for him. Was the stunt I pulled yesterday so bad that I succeeded in upturning his Sunday morning routine? I puff out a breath of frustration.

I am slightly relieved at the sight of punching bags a few feet away. I trudge determined towards them like a lion chasing after its prey. I stare down at my trustee black compression gloves that I left on throughout the night and wonder if I should take them off in order to wear the boxing gloves. My eyes scan the people in the room. They're few but I can't risk drawing their attention to my bare hands. I strap on the boxing gloves without taking off my compression gloves. It doesn't take long for me to unleash all my pent up feelings on the thick black bag. I give it a jab with my left arm followed by my right and I keep alternating. My right leg flies to hit the side of the bag and the bag dances in the opposite direction.

I imagine the rude boy's face on the punching bag and my left fist makes contact with his face. "Ah!" I shout. Left arm punch, right arm punch, right arm punch. God knows if I were to ever see him— "Ah!" I'd make sure not one bone in his body stays in its right position. "Hyaah!" Why do people just automatically assume I'm spoilt? They just always have some incorrect assumption of me. It's happened one too many times and frankly, I am fed up with people's assumptions of me.

Droplets of sweat cascade down my face. I imagine the rude boy from Section 2 begging me for forgiveness but it's too late. I'm raining punches now. Left, right, left, right over and over and over. When I feel my body about to give out, I stop and as I struggle to catch my breath, I notice that all ten men in the gym are gaping at me. Their stares vary from shocked to somewhat intimidated and one of them looks downright pleased as he smiles at me. Creep.

I march angrily to the treadmill and hit a low speed and time myself. When was the last time I felt this upset to the point of wanting to wear myself out in order to drain my anger away? Unwanted memories flash in my mind; one of them being almost every single encounter I have with Winter Greene at school. She makes me so mad.