All For You

Twenty-Four

August

Still two weeks earlier

The following night, I have no trouble sleeping. I go to bed early and only wake up to pee, but on my way back, I hear that same rap and clank as I did the night before, and I'm not so sure joining Isla in the gym is a good idea this time round.

But I go anyway. Determined to beat her in a fight, determined to wash away her anger, her stress, with inhumane amounts of exercises that don't even seem to bother her.

This time she notices me right away. Not so caught up in her own world like the night before, or maybe she's refusing to let herself go there. Let her guard down long enough to have someone sneak up on her.

I hold the punching bag for her like the night before, but she doesn't punch as hard. She's slow and steady tonight, taking her time, hitting with precision, until I puff out my chest and square my shoulders and pretend to scoff, like I think she's weak and couldn't faze me no matter how hard she hit.

It does the trick, and all of a sudden she's punching right through the bag and straight onto my gut, and even though the whack isn't direct, it feels like it. Enough to make me sick, and this time I have to step back before she's done.

"I had a big dinner," I say, as if to save my pride, making up lame excuses to keep her from thinking her punches actually hurt through a fifty kilogram bag filled with sand. But her cocky little smirk and practiced unfazed walk towards the treadmills means it only made me seem more pathetic, and I have to sigh into my hand out of embarrassment before joining her on the deathmills.

We run as fast as we did last night, and I'm off before her this time, panting hard. My legs torn in two, burning with a firey passion, and I feel like I could die. But Isla is already moving on. Already removing her hoodie and throwing it onto the ground near the wrestling mats. Already in position, and despite the fire in my lungs, I have to join her.

I have to let her win, even if I never had a choice. She's better than me—thats obvious—but this is good for her. This is her version of sitting in a room and spilling her guts out onto the floor in my arms. This is how she copes, and as scary as that is, as painful as her punches are, I'll take every hit with pride if it means helping her. Because there is no other way. I have no other way. This is it, and I'm happy to play the part.

Even if it means copping a bleeding nose or two.

Still, I won't go down that easy. She needs a challenge—I'll give her one.

§§§

"Is that all you got?" I ask, and I seriously hope it is. I feel like death, and I'm not exaggerating. I've maybe landed three punches I couldn't help but hold back on, and it's been half an hour.

She's put me on my ass as many times as I've landed a hit, and I think it's starting to bruise. How do you fight a killing machine full of anger? How do you win?

Actually, how do you get out alive?

"Say mercy," Isla says, two minutes later, sitting on me with one of my arms stretching painfully high up my back, my face to the ground. I stay stubborn, grinding my teeth to try ignore the pain, but she's going too high and at this point I'm not sure she won't break my arm.

"Mercy!" I yell, sighing in absolute relief when she lets go and stands up, stepping away from me.

"Had enough?" She asks, stretching her arms and cracking her knuckles.

"Have you?" I ask back, bewildered. She's not so much as out of breath, and I don't know how. Is her stamina really that good? Is her heart really that calm? If it wasn't for the pain I felt all over, mine would be beating erratically just from the sight of her, let alone all the cardio we just did.

Just how hard did that damn organisation push her?

She sighs and leaves, and I flop back down onto the mat, exhausted. As much as I think these midnight rushes are helping die down Isla's stress, it doesn't feel like enough. It doesn't feel good enough, and I don't know that it ever will. I want to do more. I wish I could. But Isla is a hard woman to figure out, and even harder to get through to.

She's like a brick wall I have to punch through and there's no damn chance I'm getting in without breaking my fists first.

I get up with a groan and sleep like a baby the rest of the night, despite the pain in my shoulder and pulsing in my nose.

For someone who used to blush a whole bunch, she's got a terrifyingly strong punch.

Now that I think about it, maybe this is her version of payback. Maybe she's getting her revenge for all those times I teased the absolute shit out of her, and I'd love to say I don't deserve it, but I'm sure I do.

As weird as it sounds, I'm not totally against it. At least I'm a part of her life now, at least I'm something to her, even if it means having to stuff twisted toilet paper up my nose every now and then.

I'm sure she'll run out of fuel sooner or later.

That's what I'd hoped. But three midnight's and a whole lot more punches later, and she's still running high. Still punching as hard as she did the night before, and I'm honestly starting to doubt I can take it much longer.

On the sixth night, when I go in to ask her if she'd like to do some yoga and mindful stretching instead, she's not there. I wait for half an hour, mentally preparing myself for what I'm sure is to come, but nothing.

Eventually I give up. Go back to my room, because my eyes are stinging and I'd give anything to be back in bed sleeping like the rest of the house. But I stop a few rooms short as I go past Isla's room, because all of a sudden I'm afraid something's happened to her.

She's suffocated to death or got kidnapped again or ran away without us, too afraid to risk our lives—ready to risk hers for our sake.

But when I creak her door open and step quietly into her room, I freeze. I stop breathing just to hear her quiet snores, and I squint my eyes to see her sprawled out on her bed, fast asleep.

I smile. So fucking happy, because it worked. I'm sure it did. She ran out. Of her fuel, of her anger, I can only hope of her stress, too.

She gave it all to me, and I took it with open arms, and I can only hope that, somehow, I've helped, and that's all I need to climb back in bed and have the best night's sleep since the night before Isla was taken five years ago.

I hope she is, too.

§§§

Sorry about the short chapter, it's just a continuation of the last one! But the next is close-by, so don't worry!

See you then🩷