Taboo: Bittersweet Revenge (Sequel)

Backlash

....................................

(Noah's P.O.V)

That feeling when my hands strike the punching bag felt indescribable. I had a ball of energy waiting to be released in the most brutal way. I zone in on the sway of the bag, watching it's subtle shifting as my hands made short work of the bag. With every strike, my breath hitches, and I felt the need to push harder, and stronger, and faster.

My body was acting way before my mind was ready to respond. Exerting all this pent up rage through punches were still not enough. I step back and find my balance, my leg fiercely strikes the bag, again and again, and again. I refused to stop, I still had plenty of gas left in the tank and I intend on using all of it before Christian gets back. Better to get my frustrations out on a workout than him. It's not a blame game going on between us, all it was were unspoken words that were bound to come out, one way or another. And we needed to release our demons before this blows way out of hand.

The reason I didn't push him for the past couple of weeks is because I know he needs time. If I had forced him to talked to me, it wouldn't have ended well, I know that much. There was still healing on both sides that needed to happen before we were ready to confront our situation.

Physically, we were both stronger than ever. He's managed to gain even more muscle mass, and he'd healed from his shoulder injury and stab wounds, courtesy of yours truly which I still feel guilty for, and the bullet wound to the back of my head felt virtually non existent, for an injury that should've killed me.

Mentally though? I knew we're at our lowest points. There was one common denominator between us; Raeven. We both weren't expecting a baby any time soon. I'd pretty much buried that hope in the dust along the other broken dreams.

I was so sure I miscarried, and after that I had no signs of pregnancy. I hadn't grown a belly, my cravings were the same, and I was still chugging down a bucket load of beer every hour, let alone every day. So far, there's no sign my reckless behavior had any effect on Raeven.

With every twisted thought building stacking up my dominoes to oppose me, my strikes intensify. I allowed the rage to slowly build up. No strategy was required for me here. I just wanted to get it out of my system. Finding my balance again, my strong kicks strike the bag hard, the sounds echoing throughout the dark room.

Every consecutive strike comes with more concentration, more power with accurate precision. Finally, I unloaded mercilessly. My wicked strikes don't stop, they continue, swaying the bag from left to right, the chain rattling at the top of the bag from the hard impact.

To end it all, I belt out a spinning heel kick with so much force, the bag flew off it's hinges, causing me to land awkwardly on my bad knee. I was more distracted by my mental pain that anything really. I was so high off adrenaline the pain hadn't reached its optimum potential. Dropping to the floor, I allow myself to sit there, and regather.

The sharp pain begins radiated from my knee, the same one I had just recently healed. Closing my eyes, I inhale deep focused breaths to calm myself down and numb the pain. But it still hurt like a motherfucker. Frustrated, my eyes travel back to Raeven, who was seated rather comfortably in his baby travel seat with his wide innocent blue eyes staring back at me.

"Don't give me that look. Grace is not my forte and it certainly won't be yours", I commented. Yes, this was my life, talking carelessly to my son who most likely thinks I'm a crazy woman.

But through my physical pain, I'm able to stand up with the help of the nearby squat rack. That gorgeous squat rack was calling my name for days, ever since I got home. Well, my hone at least. I needed to take a break from Christian's place, or as I like to call it, the haunted mansion. Just knowing there's nothing wrong with our relationship yet still feeling guilty as all hell wasn't making it any easier.