ᑌᑎᗷᖇOKᗴᑎ

Breaking Point

The sound of my fists hitting the heavy bag echoed through the gym, each punch harder than the last. The gloves felt like an extension of me—a way to pour out everything I didn't have the courage to say. My breaths came fast, ragged, and my muscles ached, but I didn't care. I was angry. Furious. Not at anyone else—at myself

How could I have let that happen?

I threw another punch, then another. Each hit was like a self-inflicted punishment, a reminder of my own stupidity. My own weakness. I had spent so long building these walls, making sure no one got too close, and then I went and stood there like an idiot, practically begging Leah to step inside them. The way I looked at her. The way I let myself get pulled into those warm, curious eyes. I was such a fool

I let my guard down. I should have known better

My knuckles were burning beneath the wraps, and I could feel the sting of blisters forming, but I didn't stop. I didn't deserve to stop. I needed to feel something—something sharp, real, tangible. Not the confusion, not the heat I felt when I was close to her, not the hurt when I saw that look in her eyes after I apologized. I knew I was shutting her out, and I hated that it made me feel guilty. That it made me feel anything at all

I thought I'd learned my lesson years ago, when I gave my heart to someone who didn't deserve it. When she left without a word, without a goodbye, it felt like my whole world shattered. It wasn't something I could let happen again

I grunted as I landed a hard hook, the chain holding the bag rattling with the force. I couldn't let anyone in again, especially not Leah. She was kind, persistent, and I could already tell she was the kind of person who wouldn't give up easily

That scared me

The way Leah looked at me, the way she saw me, it felt too raw, too exposed. I had seen the hurt in her eyes when I pulled away, and it had cut deeper than any punch I'd ever taken. I didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to feel this twisting ache in my chest. But what choice did I have? If I let her get too close, I'd only end up pushing her away eventually

She deserves better. Better than me, better than someone who doesn't even know how to let themselves be happy

I forced my fists to keep moving, the rhythm becoming a blur of frustration and desperation. I needed this—the pain, the sweat, the physicality of it all. It was the only thing that made sense

"Isabela," John's voice was gentle, cutting through the noise of my thougts. He'd moved closer, standing a few feet away now "You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep going like that"

I didn't respond, just kept hitting the bag. Harder. Faster. My breath came in sharp gasps, and I was dangerously close to losing it, to letting all the anger spill out

"Hey," he said again, firmer this time "What's going on with you? I know something's wrong. You don't have to tell me, but whatever it is... this isn't going to fix it"

I stopped then, fists frozen mid-air, the weight of his words sinking in. My chest heaved, and I couldn't meet his eyes. My hands were trembling, my shoulders slumped. I wanted to tell him to back off, to leave me alone, but I couldn't even find the strength to do that. All I could feel was the shame—the shame of letting my walls crack, even if only for a moment

Without a word, I turned away, heading toward the corner of the gym where my water bottle sat. I needed to cool down. I needed to get my head straight before I did something else I'd regret

John didn't follow. He knew better than that

As I sat down on the bench, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my glove, I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I had to pull it together. I couldn't let one stupid moment—one slip-up—ruin everything I'd built. Whatever this was, whatever pull Leah had on me, I had to fight it