The Dumb and The Clueless

Chapter 11: Get In The Ring

A few days pass, nothing really happened it was more awkward than anything else. Harry seems happier. He thinks I broke up with Steven already, but I didn't yet. I get in my car, and drive to this local boxing/yoga centre. I go inside, and run upstairs to an empty punching bag. I punch it, letting all of my frustrations and anger out. I'm taking a short water break and I see Harry walk in. "No no no no no!" I mumble to myself under my breath. I hide behind a plant, and the plant was pretty big so I just slouched over a little bit. I hid from him, because honestly I'm scared of him. I see him walk in, put his towel and water bottle down on the bleacher, and walk over to the punching bag I was using. He starts punching, and he can throw REALLY hard punches. To see how badly the bag would bend and dent, was even more frightening. I shut my eyes tight, and bit my bottom lip every time he's punch it. You can even tell from the sound, that he's punching hard. Boom.Boom.Boom. I'd hear him making groans, as if he was growing tired. He's get so frustrated he eventually started kicking the bag too. High kicks, and his breathing became faster. I kept biting my bottom lip, thinking about how hard he can hit, Boom.Boom.Boom. His curly hair growing wet, his body sweating. His shirt got so uncomfortable, he took it off. People eventually left because they only came for the Zumba class or Yoga class. The punching bags are in the far right corner, really far away from everyone. He takes his shirt off, and puts his snapback on backwards. He keeps punching it, face hardening. Eyes squinting a bit, completely focused on the bag and aiming his punches at perfect timing. His hair grew so wet, his front curls stuck to his forehead. I was looking at how his body moved. Rock-hard abs. A toned, and tan torso. Tattoos that have specific meanings. How rough Harry can really be. When I saw him like this, I thought of an overprotective jerk, but now when I realized this is actually him, I no longer think that way. I keep biting my lower lip, and bite it a little more. I started getting dirty images in my head. What didn't help, was once when he threw a punch, he looked at me. His face meant buisness. Serious, focused, rough, strong. But at the same time, caring, sweet, and gentle. He kept throwing punches, each growing harder. Looking at me with the corner of his eye, and grunting every time he'd punch. Breathing growing faster, and suddenly the room became hotter to me. I started thinking, is this how he'd really be if we were together? I can picture it. His curls slightly sticking to his forehead, body a bit sweaty. Toned torso, emerald green eyes staring down into mine. Hovering over me, someone who cared about me. Who would protect me. Who would never leave my side. I leaned my back to the back of the vase, and sat down on the floor. I started thinking, and I started sweating myself. After I had that daydream, my breathing was fast, I was sweating, hair sticking to my neck.