Breaking the Grid

Italy

The pounding beat of the gym music faded into the background as I focused on my next rep. I've been here for hours—three, maybe more—cycling through weights, cardio, and core. My muscles ached, my shirt soaked in sweat, but I wasn't done yet. Not until I felt empty.

I glanced at the clock. Two hours until I had to leave Italy, to board the flight with Joe to Japan, but I didn't care. Right now, it was just me and the machines, the burn in my body keeping my mind from wandering too far into places I didn't want to be.

I finished another set of weights and moved to the simulator. It wasn't enough to just train my body; I needed to stay sharp in every way possible. If I wasn't pushing, I wasn't progressing. And I had to keep progressing—always forward, never back. The simulator started up, the screen flickering to life with the digital track. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, leaning into every turn, pushing harder with each lap. The familiar thrill of the race, even in this virtual form, was the closest I could get to clarity.

By the time I was done, my arms and legs were trembling. I stood, wobbling a bit on my feet, but I wasn't finished yet. Ice bath. I needed to cool down, get the muscles to relax before I boarded that flight.

I stripped off my shirt and lowered myself into the freezing water, a hiss escaping my lips as the cold bit into my skin. I welcomed the numbness that followed. For a moment, I just sat there, staring at nothing, my body floating in the cold water, my mind a blur of exhaustion and tension. It was easier this way—focusing on the physical pain, the chill, rather than everything else.

My phone buzzed on the bench next to the bath, pulling me out of the numbness. I didn't reach for it. I knew it would either be Joe or my father.

I stared at the phone for a few moments, the screen lighting up with the notification. Another message I didn't want to read, another conversation I didn't want to have. Joe, my father, or maybe someone from the team. Whoever it was, it could wait. I let my head rest against the edge of the ice bath, eyes closing as I sank deeper into the cold.

The chill wrapped around me like a shield, a temporary escape. But I knew I couldn't stay here forever. My flight to Japan loomed in the back of my mind, the weight of responsibility pressing down harder with every passing minute. And Joe. Ugh. The idea of spending hours trapped on a flight with him made my stomach twist. My dad had arranged it, of course. Control, always control.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself out of the bath. The cold air of the gym hit me as I grabbed my towel, the harsh contrast making me shiver. I dried off quickly, muscles aching from the workout, but there was a strange satisfaction in it. The pain was real. Tangible. Unlike the rest of the mess in my head.

I checked the time—barely an hour and a half until I had to be at the airport. My phone buzzed again on the bench, persistent. This time, I picked it up. A message from Joe: *"You ready? See you soon. Don't be late."* Great. Like I needed the reminder.

I ignored it and tossed my phone back into my gym bag.

Grabbing fresh clothes, I dressed quickly and laced up my running shoes again. I couldn't take the car back home. I didn't want to. I needed the time, needed the rush of the air against my skin, the pounding rhythm of my feet on the pavement, as if I could outrun everything closing in on me. Without thinking, I tied up my hair, threw on a jacket, and left the gym.

The cool Italian air hit me as I started running back towards the house, every step hitting the pavement harder than the last. I pushed myself, harder and faster, as if the speed could clear my head, as if the burn in my legs and lungs could dull the ache inside.

By the time I reached the house, sweat was dripping down my back, my breathing heavy and uneven. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the garden, but I barely noticed. I stood outside for a moment, hands on my knees, catching my breath.